Rasputin lessons to French read a summary. The beginning of an independent life

Year: 1973 Genre: story

Main characters: Boy and teacher of French Lidia Mikhailovna.

In a story in. Rasputin "Lessons of French" The narration comes from the face of the main character, the eleven-year-old rustic boy. The story takes place in the hungry post-war time. The boy with his family, mom and two sisters, lives in the village. He graduated from elementary school and is considered a competent person. For help, all fellow villagers are treated for help: read or write any paper, check the Table of Bonds. Celebrates consider the boy lucky and share with him a small part of the winnings.

Mother gets the children alone and seeing the desire of the eldest son to knowledge, sends it to the district center so that he can continue his studies. The collective farm driver brings him to a familiar mother, who will now live a boy. So begins his independent life, full of sorrows and constant feeling of hunger. Mother could not send him money for food, so occasionally passed some products. However, they were enough for a while. The hostess, and maybe her children, burned the products from the boy, and he remained hungry.

At school, it was not bad. In all subjects, the boy was an excellent student, the only thing he could not master, was French. He mastered the grammar and reading quickly, but the pronunciation was not given in any way, the words sounded rudely and dry. The teacher tried very hard to teach the boy to pronounce, but her efforts were in vain.

Once, after the next hungry worships on the street, the son of the housewife at home, Fedya approached the boy, and asked him if he was able to play the game for money - "Chiku". Fedya introduced him to the boys who, hiding from adults on the wasteland, played money. The rules of the game were simple: you need to hit the washer to coins so that they fall the eagle. It turned out - your money.

The boy looked after a long time and worked out the throws, training the strength of the blow, and when the mother sent him a little money with the package, first decided to participate in the game. Initially, he did not work, but over time he began to win, increasingly and more often. When the ruble accumulated in the amount of him, the boy walked to the market with him and bought milk that saved him from hunger. But it lasted not long. The oldest of the players, Vadik, did not like that the boy constantly wins.

During the next game Vadik and his friend Ptah, they played not honestly, specially turning coins. It was noticed all, but only the boy decided to challenge the result of the game. A fight was started and he was greatly beaten, smashed her nose and cheek. None of the others attended the game did not come to help him, even his classmate.

The next day, the teacher asked the boy where he broke his face, and his classmate issued him, told about the game for money. The teacher left the boy after class. He confessed to her that he really plays for money, but it buys not candy, as the teacher thought, and the milk he needs to drink from Malokrovia.

Instead of reporting the game director, the teacher invites him home, for additional classes in French. The boy goes to her with fear and reluctant, because the apartment director of the school is located in the same house. In class, he cannot focus, wants to go as soon as possible.

Lydia Mikhailovna sorry the starving boy, she tries to feed him. For the sake of this, she even sends the parcel to the school, allegedly from the village. But Lydia Mikhailovna is urban, she does not know which products can be in the village, and what no, and it gives out itself. At first, the boy rejoices an unexpected premise, but seeing Makaroni and hematogen among the contents, he understood that the teacher sent it.

Over time, French is given the boy everything is easier, he is already talking to him quite well. But the teacher does not manage to feed the boy, and she decides to resort to tricks. During the next lesson, she asks the boy to tell about the game and offers to play with her. First, the boy is very surprised, but agrees. Lydia Mikhailovna clearly sculpts, playing the boy, and it offends him. He refuses to play, and then the teacher begins to play truly. Gradually, French is moving into the background, and most of the lesson they devote to the game. Players play emotionally, loudly quarrel, counting points. During one such disputes in the room, the director suddenly comes in. I realized what was happening, he was terrified, because such behavior could not be expected from a decent teacher.

Lydia Mikhailovna decides nothing to explain and goes into work. She leaves Kuban, where he was born and grew, and the boy remains to learn. Saying goodbye to the boy, the teacher asks him to not give up their studies, and they are not afraid of anything, with her departure about this story will forget. After some time, a parcel from Kuban comes to school in the name of the boy. She lay pasta and red apples, whom the boy had never tried before.

Picture or drawing of french lessons

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"French lessons" summary

The events of the story happened in 1948, when the hunger was hunger in the courtyard.

The main character is an eleventh-year-old boy, from whose person is a story. The boy was eldest in a family of three children, they had no father. Mother with difficulty found at least some crumbs of food to feed the children, and he helped her. Sometimes the grain of oats and the eyes of sprouted potatoes were the only thing they "sazhali" in their stomach. Until eleven years he lived and studied in the village. He was considered "Bashchyt", in the village "confessed for a diploma", wrote for the old woman and read the letters, checked bonds.

But in the village where our hero lived, there was only an elementary school, and therefore, to continue to learn, was forced to leave to the district center. In this time, the mother gathered and sent her son to learn. In the city, he felt hunger even stronger, because in the village it is easier to find a meal, and in the city everything needs to be bought. The boy had to live in aunt nadium. He suffered a little manocardance, so I bought a glass of milk every day.

In school, he studied on one fives, except French: he was not given a pronunciation. Lydia Mikhailovna, a French teacher, listening to him, frightened and closed his eyes.

At his next arrival, Mom noticed that the boy was very stupid. She thought it was from experiences and boredom around the house, I wanted to even pick it up home. But the thought that you have to leave to study stopped. In fact, such malnutrition was due to the fact that some of the products sent somewhere disappeared somewhere, and the boy could not understand where. He suspected the aunt Nadia, who had to feed three kids, but did not speak anyone. Unlike the village, there is no normal fish here, it was impossible to catch edible roots, so he remained hungry day. Often, his dinner was only a mug of boiling water.

One day the main character learns that you can make money, playing in the "Chiku", and he begins to play this game with other guys. The rules were simple. The coins were a stack, a holding up. In order to win, it was necessary to hit the stack so that as much as possible coins turned over an eagle up. It was winning. There was a classmate of the boy - a fussy Tishkin. Play learned quickly, but the winning has always been meager. Vadik won most of all, as Zhulnichli. When the boy tried to catch him in this, he beat him.

The next day, the boy comes to school all beaten, and Lydia Mikhailovna tell what happened. When the teacher learned that the boy plays for money, he called him a conversation. Lydia Mikhailovna thought that he spends money on candy, and in fact he bought milk for treatment. After that, her attitude changed, and she decided to deal with him French separately. The teacher invited him to his home, treated dinner, but the boy did not eat from shyness and pride.

Lydia Mikhailovna, a rather secured woman, very sympathized with the boy and wanted to seriously surround his attention and care, knowing that he was undernourished. But he did not want to accept the help of a noble teacher. She tried to send him a parcel with food (Macaro, sugar and hematogen), but he gave it back, as he understood that the mother such products could not let him buy, and he could not accept it from an outsider.

Then Lidia Mikhailovna, in order to somehow help the boy, comes up with the game in the "frozen". And he, thinking that such a way will be "honest", agrees and wins. Having learned about the actions of the teacher, the director of the school considered the game with a disciple of the crime, and did not even understand essentially, which made it go for it. A woman is fired and she leaves for her Kuban, but the teacher did not forget the boy and sent him a parcel with the Macaronians and even with apples that the boy never tried, but saw only in the pictures. Lydia Mikhailovna is a kind, disinterested and noble person. Even having lost work, she does not blame the boy and does not forget about him.

"French lessons" brief content for the reader's diary

The case was in 1948, when the hunger was hunger in the courtyard. Even in the village there is difficult to live. Narrator - Boy 11 years old, he leaves to the district center to learn, because in his village only elementary school. He is a fifth grader. All the time I want to eat, but he understands that the mother can not help with money. The boy begins to play the game for money, but local boys play dishonestly, once beaten for the truth. A young teacher who immediately understood the reason for his game in Chiki appoints him additional classes in French at home. She always prepared dinner from which the boy always refused and escape. Then Lidia Mikhailovna, offered him to play in the "frozen" for money, she succumbed to won money for milk. Once, for this game, they took them director of school. The teacher was fired, and she went to her Kuban. After winter, she sent the author to the parcel, in which there were pasta and apples that he saw only in the picture.
"French lessons" is a story about good and responsive people.

Strange: Why are we just like before parents, whenever we feel your guilt before teachers? And not for that at all, what was at school, no, but for what happened to us after.

I went to the fifth grade in the forty-eighth year. It is correct to say, I went: we had only an elementary school in the village, so to learn further, I had to equip out of the house in fifty kilometers to the district center. A week earlier, my mother went there, persuaded with her friend that I would buy a quarter, and on the last day of August, Uncle Vanya, the driver's uncle in the collective farm, unloaded me on the street of the replacement, where I had to live, helped to put a knot to the house with Binding, encouragingly patted for a farewell on the shoulder and drank. So, at eleven years, my independent life began.

The hunger did not let go of that year, and the mother had three, I am the oldest. In the spring, when it had to be particularly tight, I swallowed myself and forced you to swallow the sister of eyes sprouted potatoes and grains of oats and rye to dilute landing in the stomach, then you don't have to think about food all the time. All summer, we diligently watered our seeds with clean Angarsk water, but for some reason the crop did not wait or it was so small that we did not feel it. However, I think that this undertaking this is not quite useless and a person will ever come in handy, and we did something wrong there on inexperience.

It is difficult to say how the mother decided to let me go to the area (the district center called the district). We lived without a father, they lived very badly, and she could see, judged, which will not be worse - nowhere. I studied well, I went to school with pleasure and confessed in the village for a diploma: I wrote for the old woman and I read the letters, went over all the books that were in our non-zeysh library, and in the evenings, they told all sorts of stories from them, more than adding from themselves. But especially in me believed when the case concerned the bonds. Their people had a lot for war, the winnings table came often, and then the bonds carried to me. It was believed that I had a happy eye. The winnings really happened, most often small, but the collective farmer in those years was happy to be any penny, and here out of my hands fell and completely unknown luck. The joy of her unwittingly slept and me. I was allocated from the village guys, even fed; Once uncle Ilya, in general, a stingy, nimble old man, winning four hundred rubles, dried up a bucket of potatoes - under the spring it was a considerable wealth.

And all because I understood in the rooms of bonds, the mother said:

Bashkin, your boyfriend is growing. You ... let's teach him. Digger in vain will not disappear.

And the mother, by all unhappiness, gathered me, although no one from our village in the area did not study. I was the first. Yes, I did not understand how it follows that I have to have, what trials are waiting for me, dovethe, in a new place.

I learned and here well. What remained me? "Then I came here and arrived here, I didn't have a different thing here, but he believed his sleeves to the fact that I was imposed on me, I didn't know how to me. I could hardly dare to go to school, I remained unsessing at least one lesson, so in all subjects, except French, I kept five of them.

With French I did not fit because of the pronunciation. I easily remembered the words and turnover, quickly translated, perfectly coped with the difficulties of spelling, but the pronunciation of his head was given all my Angarsk origin until the last knee, where nobody called foreign words, if they suspected their existence. I spared in French on the manner of our village patter, half of the sounds in the inappropriateness swallowing, and in the second half blowing out short-trailet queues. Lydia Mikhailovna, French teacher, listening to me, frightened and closed his eyes. Nothing like it, of course, did not hear. Again and again, she showed how the nasal pronounces, combinations of vowels, asked to repeat - I was lost, my mouth was riddled in my mouth and did not move. Everything was wasted. But the worst started when I came from school. There I was unwittingly distracted, all the time I was forced to do something, the guys brake me, along with them - you wanted you do not want to move, play, but in the lessons - we have. But I barely stayed alone, immediately sprinkled melancholy - longing for the house, in the village. I have never taken away from the family even for a day before and, of course, I was not ready to live among other people's people. So I was bad, so bitterly and pushed! - Worse than any disease. I just wanted one, dreamed of one thing - home and home. I lost much; Mother, who arrived at the end of September, was frightened for me. With her, I was mounted, did not complain and did not cry, but when she began to leave, could not stand and tried with the roar for the car. Mother Maha's hand from the body so that I was behind, I did not disgrace myself and her, I did not understand anything. Then she decided and stopped the car.

College, she demanded when I approached. Enough, I studied, go home.

I came to my senses and ran away.

But I lost it not only because of longing the house. In addition, I was still constant. In the autumn, as long as Uncle Vanya drove bread at his two-weeks to the protesno, standing nearby from the district center, I sent me quite often, about once a week. But the whole trouble is that I was missing her. There was nothing there, except for bread and potatoes, occasionally the mother stuck in a jar of cottage cheese, who took someone to something: a cow she did not hold. They seem to be brought, they are enough in two days - empty. I very soon began to notice that the good half of my bread disappears somewhat mysteriously. Checked - it is: it was not. The same thing happened with potatoes. Who dot - aunt Nadia Lee, shouting, a clutched woman, who washed with three kids, someone from her senior girls or younger, Fedka, - I did not know, I was afraid to even think about it, not to follow. It was a shame only that the mother sake me takes away the last from His, from his sister with a brother, and it still goes by. But I forced myself to put up with it. Mother will not be easier if she hears the truth.

Hunger here was not at all like hunger in the village. There is always there, and especially in the fall, it was possible to intercept something, rip out, dig, raise, a fish went in the hangar, a bird flew in the forest. Here everything was empty for me: strangers, other people's gardens, someone else's land. A small river for ten rows was filled with wanderings. I somehow sat on Sunday with the fishing rod all day and caught three small, with a teaspoon, sandwich - from such fishing, too, do not get off. No longer walked - that in vain time to translate! In the evenings, she was covered with a teahouse, in the bazaar, remembering what they sell, as they sell, he was given saliva and went back with anything. On the plate at the aunt Nadi stood a hot kettle; Cathedral boiling water and hewing the stomach, went to bed. In the morning again to school. So she got up to that happy hour when one and a gun went to the gate and uncle Vanya knocked in the door. Helling and knowing that Harch would still not last for a long time, no matter how I saved him, I went to the dump, to a sharp and stomach, and then, in a day or two, I again sat down the teeth on the shelf.

* * *

Once, in September, Fedka asked me:

Are you not afraid of playing in Chiki?

Which "Chiku"? - I did not understand.

The game is this. For money. If there is money, let's go.

And I do not have. Let's go like that at least see. See how great.

Fedka led me for the gardens. We passed on the edge of the oblong, ridge, the hill, completely overgrown with nettle, already black, confused, with the disgusts of poisonous closes of seeds, moved, jumping around the pile, through the old landfill and in the lowland, on a clean and smooth small glade, they saw the guys. We approached. Guys were alerted. All of them were about the same years as I, except for one - the sharp and strong, noticeable by its strength and power, a guy with a long redhead. I remembered: he walked in the seventh class.

Why did this happen? - On Fedka said displeasure.

He is his, Vadik, his own, - Fedka began to justify. - He lives.

Will you play? - I asked the Vadik.

No money.

Looks not to Vikni to whom we are here.

Here's another! - I was offended.

Most of me did not pay attention, I went to the sideline and began to observe. Not all the six, then seven, the rest only stole, pain mostly for Vadik. Humming here he, I understood it right away.

It was worth understanding the game. Everyone laid out on the context of ten kopecks, a stack of coins by the robes upwards lowered to the platform, limited by a fat line of meters in two from the box office, and on the other hand, from boulder, who took to the ground and served focusing for the front legs, threw a round stone washer. It was necessary to throw it with the settlement, so that it would rush as close as possible to the art, but did not come out for her, then you received the right to be the first to break the cashier. Bey all the same washer, trying to flip. Coins on the eagle. Turned over - yours, bai further, no - give it the right to next. But the most important thing was thought to cover coins with a puck, and if at least one of them turned out to be on the Orel, the entire ticket without conversations passed into your pocket, and the game began again.

Vadik Chitril. He walked to the boulder after all, when the full picture of the oddity was in front of his eyes and he saw where to throw to come forward. Delivered the money first, they rarely reached the latter. Probably, everyone understood that Vadik Schitrt, but no one was able to tell him about it. True, he played well. Approaching the stone, I sat down a little, squinting, crushed the puck to the target and leisurely, smoothly straightened - the washer slipped out of his arms and flew there, where he methyl. The fast movement of the head, he threw the crowned cheek up, carelessly sprout aside, showing that the case was done, and the lazy, deliberately slowed down the step to money. If they were in a heap, beat sharply, with a ringing, the single coins trottered the puck carefully, with a roll, so that the coin did not fight and not spinning in the air, but, not rising high, just turned over the other side. No one else was able to do so. The guys were gladed by Naobum and got new coins, and whom had nothing to get, passed to the audience.

It seemed to me that if I had money, I would be able to play. In the village we hung up with grandmothers, but also need accurate eyes. And I, in addition, loved to invent for myself fun to accommodate: I will give a handful of stones, I will find the goal to crack and throw it into it until I finish the full result - ten out of ten. Throw from above, due to the shoulder, and from the bottom, hanging the stone over the goal. So I had some skill with me. There was no money.

Mother because I sent me bread that we didn't have money, otherwise I would buy it here. Where did they get to the collective farm? Still two times, she put me in a letter on the top five - on milk. In the present, this is fifty kopecks, you will not divert, but still the money, on them in the bazaar you could buy five half-rolled jars of milk, by the ruble per jar. Milk can be punished from Malokroviya, I often had a suddenly spinning my head with nothing.

But, having received a five times for the third time, I did not go for milk, and I crossed her on a trifle and went for the landfill. The place here was chosen with a sense, you will not say anything: the Polyanka, closed by hills, did not look anywhere. In the village, in sight of adults, for such games they drove, threatened by the director and the police. No one interfered with us. And not far, you commend ten minutes.

For the first time I lowered the ninety kopecks, in the second sixty. The money was, of course, it's a pity, but I felt that I would fit to the game, the hand gradually got used to the puck, learned to let go for the throw exactly so much strength as it was necessary that the washer would go true, the eyes also learned to know in advance where she would fall and how much more Races on the ground. In the evenings, when everyone was diverged, I returned here again, I took a puck from under the stone, piled my trifle from my pocket and threw it, until it was dark. I achieved that out of ten throws three or four guess exactly for money.

And finally, the day came when I stayed in winning.

Autumn stood warm and dry. In October, he sat down in October, so that it was possible to walk in a shirt, rains rarely rarely and seemed random, larded from somewhere from Nekotka a weak passing breeze. The sky is bluish quite in a summer, but it would be like already, and the sun came early. Over the hills in the clean clock, the air was smoking, the spreading of a bitterly, the dramatic smell of dry wormwood, who clearly sounded the distant voices, shouted flying birds. The grass on our glade, yellowed and curly, nevertheless remained alive and soft, there were free from the game on it, and better to say, the losers guys.

Now every day after school I resorted here. The guys changed, newcomers appeared, and only Vadik did not miss a single game. She without him and did not start. Behind the Vadik, like a shadow, followed by a large-wheel, cutting under the machine, a chunky guy, on nicknamed Ptah. In school, I didn't meet Ptahu before, but, closing ahead, I will say that in the third quarter he suddenly, as the snow on his head, fell to our class. It turns out, it remained in the fifth to the second year and under some kind of pretext, I made myself before January vacation. Ptaha also usually won, although not as Vadik, smaller, but did not remain at a loss. Yes, because, probably, I did not stay, that was at the same time with Vadik and he helped him slowly.

From our class on the clearing, sometimes tashkin raided, a fussy, with blinking glasses, a boy who loved her hand in the lessons. He knows, does not know - still pulls. Call - silent.

What did you raise your hand? - Ask Tishkin.

He slapped his eyes:

I remembered, but still got up, I forgot.

I was not friends with him. From timidity, silence, excessive rustic closetness, and most importantly - from wild longing around the house, which did not leave any desires in me, I have not yet come up with any of the guys. They did not pull them either, I stayed alone, not understanding and not highlighting my loneliness from the bitter position: one - because here, and not at home, not in the village, there are many comrades there.

Tishkin seemed to not notice me on the clearing. Quickly losing, he disappeared and appeared again not soon.

And I won. I began to win constantly, every day. I had my own calculation: do not roll the puck on the site, seeking the right to the first blow; When a lot of playing, it's not easy: the closer you get to the draw, the more danger to translate it and remain the last. It is necessary to cover the cashier when throwing. So I did. Of course, I risked, but with my skill it was justified risk. I could lose three, four times in a row, but on the fifth, taking the box office, returned his loss triple. Losing again and returned again. I was rarely knocked me to knock on the coins, but here I used my admission: if Vadik beat with risen on myself, I, on the contrary, a shut down from myself - it was unusual, but so the washer he held the coin, did not let her turn her away and leaving her turned over after me.

Now I have money. I did not allow myself too to get involved in the game and hang around on the clearing until the evening, I needed only a ruble, every day by ruble. Having to get it, I flew, bought a jar of milk at the bazaar (the aunt grumbled, looking at my sleeved, broken, thered coins, but poured the milk), dinner and sat down for the lessons. I still didn't go away, but already one thought that I drink milk, I added my strength and smoked hunger. It became me to seem to me that my head was now spinning much smaller.

At first, Vadik calmly treated my winnings. He himself did not stay at Vaklada, and from his pockets it was unlikely to fall something to me. Sometimes he even praised me: here, they say, how to throw, learn, masisles. However, Vadik soon noticed that I walked too quickly from the game, and once stopped me:

Are you what is - Zagreb Cass and tear? Chew what! Play.

I need lessons, Vadik, do, - I began to dissuade.

Who needs to do lessons, he does not go here.

And Ptaha tied:

Who told you that he played for money? For this, you want to know, beat small. Understood?

More Vadik did not give me a puck before himself and let me down to the stone only the last. He threw well, and often I was lying in my pocket for a new coin, without touching the washer. But I threw better, and if I had the opportunity to throw, the washer, like the magnetized, flew exactly for money. I myself was surprised at my accuracy, I would have to guess to hold her, to play unnoticed, and I was intensely and mercilessly continued to bomb the Cass. How did I know that I had never been forgotten anyone else, if in his case he breaks forward? Do not wait then mercy, do not look for intercession, for others he is an upset, and he hates him the one who goes behind him. I had to comprehend this science at that autumn on my own skin.

I just got to the money again and went to collect them when I noticed that Vadik had stepped on one of the coins scattered on the sides. All the rest lay up the rivers. In such cases, when the throw is usually shouting "in the warehouse!" To - if there is no eagle - to collect money to hit one bunch, but I, as always, hoped for good luck and did not shine.

Not in the warehouse! - announced Vadik.

I approached him and tried to move his leg from the coin, but he pushed me away, quickly grabbed her from the ground and showed me a holding. I managed to notice that the coin was on Orel, - otherwise he would not close it.

You turned her, "I said. - She was on Orel, I saw.

He put me a fist under his breath.

And that you have not seen? Snuhai than smelling.

I had to accept. Insist on their own meaningless; If the fight becomes, no one, none of the soul will stand for me, even Tishkin, who spoiled right there.

Evil, pretty eyes Vadik looked at me focus. I got down, quietly hit the near coin, turned it over and moved the second. "Humidity will bring to the truth," I decided. - Anyway, I'll take them now. " He again set the puck for the blow, but I did not have time to lower: someone suddenly loomed to my knee very much, and I was awkward, pronounced down my head, jumped into the ground. Around laughed.

For me awaitingly smiling, Ptah was standing. I did:

What about you?!

Who told you that it is me? - he fell apart. - Did you dream that?

Come here! - Vadik extended his hand for the washer, but I did not give it. Hazard overwhelmed in me the fear of nothing in the world was no longer afraid. For what? Why are they with me? What did I do them?

Come here! - demanded Vadik.

You turned one coin! I shouted to him. - I saw that turned over. Saw.

Well, repeat, - after going to me, he asked.

You turned her, "I said quiet already, good knowing what follows.

First, again, I hit Ptah. I flew to Vadik, he quickly and cleverly, not doing it, fetped me head in the face, and I fell, I splashed blood out of my nose. I barely jumped, Ptaha again pounced on me. You could still break out and run away, but for some reason I did not think about it. I am spoiled between Vadik and Ptahova, almost without defending, clamping the nose with the palm from which the blood was whipped, and in despair, adding them rage, stubbornly shouting the same thing:

Flipped over! Flipped over! Flipped over!

They beat me in turn, one and the second, one and the second. Someone is the third, small and evil, kicking me on my feet, then they almost completely covered with bruises. I tried only not to fall, no longer fall, even in those moments it seemed to me shame. But in the end, they pushed me to the ground and stopped.

Go from here, while alive! - Commanded Vadik. - Fast!

I rose and, sobbing, a shit dead nose, washed uphill.

Only Vikni to whom - kill! - promised me after Vadik.

I did not answer. Everything in me somehow solidified and closed in the offense, I did not have the strength to get the word. And, just rising to the mountain, I did not lose and, as if Sdurev, shouted that it was urine - so I heard, probably, the whole village:

Turning-u-ul!

Ptah was rushed after me, but immediately returned - it can be seen, Vadik causing that he was enough with me, and stopped him. Five minutes I stood and, sobbing, looked at the clearing, where the game began again, then descended on the other side of the hill to the hill, tightened around a black nettle, fell on a hard dry grass and, without holding back more, bitterly, I cried.

It was not that day and could not be in all white light of a man unhappy me.

* * *

In the morning I looked at myself with fear in the mirror: the nose rolled and swollen, under the left eye of the bruise, and below it, on the cheek, the oily bloody beggar bent. How to go to school in such a form, I did not imagine, but somehow it was necessary to go, I did not solve the reason for any reason. Suppose the noses in humans and from nature happen more often than mine, and if it were not for the usual place, you can not know what it is nose, but the abrasion and bruises can not justify anything: it is immediately seen that they are not clearly banging here.

Covering her eyes with hand, I jurmed into class, sat down for my desk and lowered my head. The first lesson, as discharged, was French. Lydia Mikhailovna, according to the right of a class teacher, we were interested in more than other teachers, and to hide something difficult from her. She entered, greet, but before planting a class, had a habit to carefully inspect almost every one of us, making it as if joking, but mandatory comments. And the signs on my face she, of course, saw at once, even though I could, and hid them; I understood it because the guys began to turn around for me.

Well, - said Lydia Mikhailovna, opening the magazine. Today there are wounded among us.

The class laughed, and Lydia Mikhailovna again raised her eyes on me. They mowed her and watched as if, but we had already learned to recognize where they were looking.

What happened? She asked.

Fallen, - I blurted out, for some reason I did not guessed in advance to come up in advance at least a decent explanation.

Oh, how unsuccessful. Yesterday fell or today?

Today. No, last night, when it was dark.

Hee, fell! - cried out Tishkin, dying from joy. - This is his Vadik from the seventh grade. They played for money, and he began to argue and earned. I saw. And he said, fell.

I am dumbfounded from such a betrayal. He is what does not understand anything or is it necessary? For the game for the money of us in two accounts could be expelled from school. Finished. In my head, I had everything from fear and thickened: disappeared, now disappeared. Well, Tishkin. Here is Tishkin so Tishkin. Have pleased. Clarity made - nothing to say.

You, Tishkin, I wanted to ask quite another thing - not surprising and without changing the calm, a little indifferent tone, Lydia Mikhailovna stopped him. - Go to the board, since you talked, and get ready to answer. She waited until confused, who immediately became unhappy Tishkin will reach the board, and briefly told me: - After the lessons stay.

Most of all I was afraid that Lydia Mikhailovna will drag me to the director. This means that, except for today's conversation, tomorrow they will be deployed before the school line and make it makes talk that I prompted this dirty business. The director, Vasily Andreevich, asked the sheltered, whatever he created, broke the window, rushed or smoked in a dressing room: "What prompted you to do this dirty business?" He packed in front of the line, throwing his hands behind his back, pulling out the shoulders to be wide in the tact, so it seemed as if he had a tightly stipped, hopping dark Franch moves on his own slightly alternate director, and caught up: "Respond, answer. We are waiting. Look, the whole school is waiting for you to tell us. " The student began to fight something in his justification, but the director broke it down: "You answer me to answer, to the question. How was the question set? " - "What prompted me?" - That's it: what prompted? We listen to you. " The case was usually ended with tears, only after that the director calmed down, and we diverged into classes. It was more difficult with high school students who did not want to cry, but could not answer the question of Vasily Andreevich.

Once the first lesson, we started late for ten minutes, and all this time the director interrogated one nine-grader, but not having achieved anything intelligible from him, took it to his office.

And what, I wonder, I say? It would be better if you immediately kicked out. I am a glimpse, a little touching this thought, I thought that then I could return home, and immediately, as if I had sinking, I was afraid: no, it is impossible with such disgrace and home. Another thing - if I myself threw school ... But then I can say about me that I am unreliable, since I could not stand what I wanted, and here everyone will be happy. No, only not. I would still have failed here, I would be used, but you can't go home.

After lessons, having silent from fear, I was waiting for Lydia Mikhailovna in the corridor. She came out of the teacher and, nodded, started me in class. As always, she sat down at the table, I wanted to settle for the third desk, away from her, but Lydia Mikhailovna showed me on the first, right in front of him.

Is it true that you play for money? - immediately started. She asked too loudly, it seemed to me that in school it was necessary to speak only with a whisper, and I was frightened even more. But there was no sense to put any sense, Tishkin managed to sell me with guts. I missed:

Well, how - win or lose? I envied, not knowing what is better.

Let's tell how to eat. Losing, probably?

You ... win.

Well, at least so. I win, it means. And what are you doing with money?

At first, at school, I could not get used to the voice of Lydia Mikhailovna for a long time, he confused me. In the village they talked, fossy voice deep into the larger, and therefore he sounded the anniversary, and Lydia Mikhailovna was somehow small and easy, so it had to listen to him, and not from powerlessness at all - she could sometimes say and nothing , and as if facilitating and unnecessary savings. I was ready to dump everything into French: Of course, while I studied, while I was found to someone else's speech, the voice was satisfied without freedom, we are wearing like a bird in a cage, wait now when it will disperse and grow strengthened. So now Lydia Mikhailovna asked as if she was busy at this time, more important, but it was still not to leave.

Well, so what are you doing with money that win? Buy candy? Or books? Or do you copy something? After all, you probably have them now?

No, not much. I only won the ruble.

And no longer play?

And ruble? Why is the ruble? What do you do with him?

I buy milk.

She sat in front of me neat, all smart and beautiful, beautiful and in clothes, and in her female young pore, which I was vaguely felt, I got the smell of spirits from her, which I took for the very breathing; In addition, she was a teacher not arithmetic about some, not history, but a mysterious French language, from which something special, fabulous, beyond anyone, like, for example, to me. Not daring to raise your eyes to her, I did not dare and deceive her. And why, in the end, I was deceived?

She paused, looking at me, and I felt the skin like at the glance of her mowing attentive eyes all my troubles and inspirctions would be straightened and poured and poured on with their bad strength. To see, of course, it was for: in front of her hooked on the party, a skinny dyed boy with a broken face, untidyless without mother and lonely, in an old stuffed jacket on a sagging shoulders, which was in the chest, but from which his hands got out of her way; In the marked light-green pants with the traces of yesterday's fights sent to the chirks of the Father Galifa and filled into chirks. I noticed before, with what curiosity Lydia Mikhailovna looks at my shoe. From the whole class in Chirki only me. Only on the next autumn, when I flatly refused to go to school, my mother sold the sewing machine, the only value of our value, and I bought me to kizzy boots.

And yet it is not necessary to play for money, - Lydia Mikhailovna said thoughtfully. - You would have done somehow without it. Can you do?

Not daring to believe in your salvation, I easily promised:

I spoke sincerely, but what can you do if our sincerity can not be born with ropes.

In fairness I must say that in those days I had to be completely bad. Our collective farm on dry autumn early calculated the bumps, and Uncle Vanya no longer came. I knew that the mother's mother did not find himself at home, surviving for me, but it was not easier for me. The bag of potatoes, brought for the last time of Wanney's uncle, evaporated as quickly as she was fed, at least cattle. Well also, that, having tried, I guessed a little stray in the abandoned Sarayushka standing in the courtyard, and now I only lived this trick. After school, suffer, as a thief, I was shydro in a saradow, I asshed a few potatoes in my pocket and ran around the street, in the hills, so that somewhere in a comfortable and hidden mile dilute fire. I wanted to eat all the time, even in a dream, I felt convulsive waves rolled in my stomach.

In the hope of stumble upon a new player company, I began to slowly examine the neighboring streets, wandered on the wasteland, followed the guys who entered the hills. Everything was in vain, the season ended, the cold October winds poured. And only in our clearing the guys still continued to gather. I snatched nearby, I saw the puck on the sun, like swinging his hands, commands Vadik and lean over the jacket figures.

In the end, I could not stand and descended to them. I knew that I was going to humiliate, but not less humiliation was once and permanently expressing that I was beaten and kicked out. I was asked to see how Vadik and Ptaha will treat my appearance and I can keep myself. But most of all customized hunger. I needed a ruble - no longer on milk, but on bread. I did not know about other paths.

I approached, and the game has suspended myself, everyone stared at me. Pthaha was in a hat with the ears sitting, like everything on it, careless and boldly, in a checkered, high-sleeved shirt; Vadik Forsil in a beautiful thick jacket with a lock. Near the swamps and hairdo, they sat down at the wind, sitting under the wind, sitting on them, sitting under the wind, and a little boy.

The first met in Ptah:

What came? How long did not beat?

Play came, - I answered as calmly, looking at Vadik.

Who told you that with you, "Pthaha cursed," will they play here? "

What, Vadik, will we immediately beat or wait a little bit?

What are you stuck to man, Ptah? "Shooting at me, Vadik said. - I understood, a person came to play. Maybe he wants to win with you ten rubles?

You do not have ten rubles, - just to not seem to yourself a coward, I said.

We have more than you dreamed. Put, do not talk until Ptah is angry. And then he is a hot man.

Give him, Vadik?

Do not, let him play. - Vadik winked the guys. - He plays great, we are not suitable at the notes.

Now I was a scientist and understood what it was - Vadik's kindness. He can see, tired of a boring, uninteresting game, so to rinse your nerves and feel the taste of the real game, he decided to admit me to her. But as soon as I will raise his pride, I will not appear again. He will find what to find face, next to him Ptah.

I decided to play carefully and do not go to the cashier. Like everything, so as not to stand out, I'm riding the puck, afraid to please the money in money, then quietly shutted on the coins and looked around, did not go from behind Ptah. In the first days I did not allow myself to dream of the ruble; Kopecks twenty-thirty, on a piece of bread, and that is good, and then come here.

But what was supposed to happen sooner or later, of course, it happened. On the fourth day, when, winning the ruble, I was going to go away, I was beaten again. True, this time it happened easier, but one mark remained: my lip had a lot. The school had to constantly bite her. But, no matter how I hid it, no matter how bites it, but Lydia Mikhailovna saw. She deliberately caused me to the board and forced to read the French text. I could not pronounce him with ten healthy lips, and there is nothing to talk about one.

Stop, oh, enough! - Lidia Mikhailovna was frightened and snapped at me, like an unclean power, hands. - What is it like this?! No, you have to do with you separately. There is no other way out.

* * *

So began for me painful and awkward days. From the morning, I have been waiting with fear of that hour when I have to stay alone with Lydia Mikhailovna, and, breaking the language, repeating after it is uncomfortable for pronunciations invented only to punish the word. Well, why still, as not for bullying, three vowels to drain into one thick drum sound, the same "O", for example, in the word "beaucoup" (many), which can be stored? Why, with some kind of Proston, let the sounds through the nose, when did he serve a person completely for the age of centuries? What for? There must be a reasonable border. I was covered later, I blinked and sank, and Lydia Mikhailovna without a breather and no pity forced me to call me poor my tongue. And why is me alone? At school, how many children were, who spoke in French no better than me, however, they walked on freedom, did what they wanted, and I, as damned, fade away one for everyone.

It turned out that this is not the worst thing. Lydia Mikhailovna suddenly decided that the time at school we had to the second shift remained in the edge, and said that I would come to her in the evenings. She lived next to the school, in teacher homes. On another half of the house, Lydia Mikhailovna lived the director himself. I walked there like torture. And without the nature of a timid and shy, losing from any trivia, in this clean, neat teacher's apartment, I was literally browsing and afraid to breathe. I needed to say that I would undress, went to the room, sat down - I had to move, like a thing, and almost the words from me almost by force. My successes in French did not contribute. But, a strange thing, we also engaged here less than at school, where the second shift would be interfered. Moreover, Lydia Mikhailovna, smoking something around the apartment, asked me or told me about himself. I suspect that it was on purpose for me for me, as if I went to the French Faculty because it was not given this language in school, and she decided to prove to himself that he could not master them worse than others.

Having clogged into the corner, I listened, I did not wait for tea when I was released home. There were a lot of books in the room, the window had a large beautiful radio receiver at the bedside table; With a player - a rare at that time, and for me an unprecedented miracle. Lydia Mikhailovna put the records, and a clever male voice again taught the French language. One way or another, it was not going anywhere. Lydia Mikhailovna in a simple home dress, in soft felt shoes walked around the room, forcing me to shock and dying when she approached me. I could not believe that I was sitting in her house, everything was here for me too unexpected and extraordinary, even the air, soaked with light and unfamiliar smells, than I knew life. The feeling was involuntarily created, as if I spy on this life from the side, and I was still deeper than I was still deeper into my Kiguzy Pigeachish.

Lydia Mikhailovna then was probably twenty-five years or so; I remember her correct and therefore not too a living face with risen to hide the kosnica, eyes; Tight, rarely dropped to the end smile and completely black, short-sided hair. But with all this, it was not visible in her face of the rigidity, which, as I later noticed, it becomes almost a professional sign of teachers, even the most kind and soft in kind, and there was some careful, with a sickness, perplexity To her, and as if said: I wonder how I found himself here and what am I doing here? Now I think she had time to go to the time; By voice, on a gait - a soft but confident, free, over all of her behavior there were courage and experiences. And besides, I always adhered to the opinion that the girls studying French or Spanish, become women before their peers who are engaged in, say, Russian or German.

It is ashamed to remember how I scared and was lost when Lidia Mikhailovna, having finished our lesson, called me to dinner. Whether I'm a thousand times hungry, from me the bullet immediately popped out every appetite. Sit down in one table with Lydia Mikhailovna! No no! I'd rather take the whole French day to tomorrow's day to ever come here anymore. A piece of bread, probably, really stuck in my throat. It seems before that I did not suspect that Lidia Mikhailovna, too, as we all feed on the most ordinary meal, and not some semolina heaven, so it seemed to me an extraordinary person, unlike all the rest.

I drove up and, mumbling, what is fed that I do not want, he farthed along the wall to the exit. Lydia Mikhailovna looked at me with surprise and offend, but it was impossible to stop me any forces. I flew. So repeated several times, then Lydia Mikhailovna, desperately, stopped inviting me at the table. I sighed freely.

Once I was told that at the bottom, in the locker room, for me there is a parcel, which was taken to school some man. Uncle Vanya, of course, our driver, - What another man! Probably, the house was closed with us, and I could not wait for me to wait for me with lessons - so I left in the locker room.

I hardly confused until the end of the classes and rushed down. Aunt Vera, a school cleaner, showed me on the corner of a white plywood box, in which parcels are equipped. I was surprised: why in the box? - Mother usually sent meals in an ordinary bag. Maybe this is not me at all? No, my class and my surname were displayed on the lid. It can be seen, the uncle Vanya inspected here - so as not to confuse for whom. What is this mother invented smoking products in a box?! Look at what intelligent has become!

Carry the parcel home without learning that in it, I could not: Not that patience. It is clear that there is not potato. For Bread Tara, too, is probably not enough, and it's inconvenient. In addition, the bread was sent to me recently, he was still. Then what's there? Immediately, at school, I climbed under the stairs, where, I remembered, there is an ax, and, finding it, tear off the lid. Under the stairs it was dark, I got back and, beware looking around, put the box to the near window sill.

Looking into the parcel, I Oboml: from above, covered with a gentially large white sheet of paper, lay pasta. Blimey! Long yellow tubes, laid alone to other smooth rows, broke out in such wealth, more expensive for me nothing existed for me. Now it is clear why the mother gathered a box: so that the pasta was not broken, did not finish, profits for me safely and preservation. I gently took out one tube, I looked, I blew into her, and not able to hold back to her, I began to greedy. Then he took the same way for the second, for the third, thinking where to hide me a box, so that pasta did not get too voracious mice in the storage room of my mistress. Not for that mother bought them, spent the last money. No, Macarona, I do not care so simple. This is not some kind of potatoes.

And suddenly I choked. Makaroni ... Indeed, where mother took pasta? We have nothing to do with our village, you can not buy them for any shyshi. What is it then it turns out? Hurry, in despair and hope, I'm wrapped the pasta and found some large saches and two hematogen tiles at the bottom of the box. Hematogen confirmed: the parcel sent not a mother. Who, in this case, who? I once again looked at the lid: my class, my surname - me. Interesting, very interesting.

I squeezed the nails of the cover in place and, leaving the box on the windowsill, rose to the second floor and knocked into the teacher. Lydia Mikhailovna has already gone. Nothing, let's go, know where he lives, were. So, here's like: you do not want to sit at the table - get products to the house. So. Will not work. More than no one. This is not a mother: she would not have forgotten a note, they would say, from where, from which cruisions such wealth took.

When I got a barrel with a parcel at the door, Lydia Mikhailovna took the form that he did not understand anything. She looked at the box, which I set it to the floor in front of her, and I asked in surprise:

What is it? What did you bring? What for?

That you did, - I said to a trembling voice.

What have I done? What are you talking about?

You sent this parcel to school. I know you.

I noticed that Lydia Mikhailovna blushed and embarrassed. It was the only one, obviously, the case when I was not afraid to look straight into her eyes. I did not care, the teacher she or my rosework. I asked, and not she, and asked not in French, but in Russian, without any articles. Let him answer.

Why did you decide that this is me?

Because we have no macaronium there. And hematogen does not happen.

How! Do not happen at all? - She was amazed so sincerely, which gave herself with his head.

It does not happen at all. It was necessary to know.

Lydia Mikhailovna suddenly laughed and tried to hug me, but I pulled away. from her.

Indeed, it was necessary to know. How am I so?! - She thought for a minute. - But here it was difficult to guess - honestly! I am a city man. At all, you say, does not happen? What happens then?

Peas happens. Radish happens.

Peas ... radish ... And we have apples on the Kuban. Oh, how many apples are now. I now wanted to go to Kuban, but for some reason I arrived here. - Lydia Mikhailovna sighed and glanced at me. - Do not get mad. I wanted it better. Who knew what could be caught on the fruits? Nothing, now I will be smarter. And the pasta you take ...

I won't take it, I interrupted it.

Well, why are you so? I know you are starving. And I live alone, I have a lot of money. I can buy that I want, but I am alone ... I am something small, I'm afraid to get fat.

I'm not hungry at all.

Do not argue, please, with me, I know. I talked with your hostess. What is bad, if you take these pasta now and weld yourself a good dinner today. Why can't I help you the only time in my life? I promise no more parcels to fit. But this, please take. You need to have an appropriate to learn. How many full-time lobotryers in our school, who do not understand anything and never, probably, will not figure it out, and you can not throw a boys.

Her voice began to act on my mind; I was afraid that she would persuade me, and, angry for himself for the fact that I understand the correctness of Lydia Mikhailovna, and for the fact that I was still not understanding, I am not understanding my head and murming something, jumped out the door.

* * *

Our lessons did not stop at this, I continued to go to Lydia Mikhailovna. But now she took a truly for me. She apparently decided: Well, French is so french. True, it was a sense from this, gradually I began to pronounce French words rather tolerably, they were no longer cut in my feet with heavy cobblestones, but, calling, tried to fly somewhere.

Well, "Lydia Mikhailovna prompted me. - In this quarter, the five will not work yet, and in the next - necessarily.

We did not remember about the premise, but I was kept on the case. Did you never know what Lydia Mikhailovna will still come up with? I knew by myself: when something does not go out, you will do everything in order to come out, so simply you can not get away. It seemed to me that Lydia Mikhailovna all the time awaitingly looking forward to me, and looking after my darling, - I was angry, but this anger, oddly enough, helped me to stay confident. I was not the unrequited and helpless boy who was afraid to step here, I got angry with Lydia Mikhailovna and her apartment. Still, of course, he was shy, hiding in the corner, hiding his chirks under the chair, but the former stiffness and oppression retreated, now I myself dared to ask Lydia Mikhailovna questions and even join the disputes with her.

She made another attempt to put me at the table - in vain. Here I was adamant, stubbornness in me enough for decades.

Probably, it was already possible to stop these classes at home, the most important thing I learned, my dention and moved my tongue, the rest would have been added to school lessons with time. Ahead of the years and years. What then will I do if I started to learn everything from one time? But I did not decline to say about this Lydia Mikhailovna, and she apparently did not consider our program at all, and I continued to pull my French strap. However, whether strap is? Somehow unwittingly and imperceptibly, without expecting, I felt the taste for my tongue and in his free minute, without dulling, I climbed into the dictionary, looked into the distant textbook. The punishment turned into pleasure. I was still climbed by pride: I did not work - it turns out, and it turns out - no worse than the best. From the other I test, or what? If it was not yet necessary to go to Lydia Mikhailovna ... I would myself, myself ...

Once, two weeks after the story with the parcel, Lydia Mikhailovna, smiling, asked:

Well, you no longer play for money? Or somewhere are going on the side and play?

How now to play?! - I was surprised, showing a look outside the window where the snow lay.

What was it for the game? What is it?

Why do you need? - I am alerted.

Interesting. We once played in my childhood, so I want to know, this is the game or not. Tell me, tell me, do not be afraid.

I told, silent, of course, about Vadik, about Ptahu and his little tricks, which I used in the game.

No, - Lydia Mikhailovna shook her head. - We played in "Priennok". Do you know what it is?

Look. "She easily jumped out of the table, followed by a coin in her handbag and pulled the chair from the wall. Go here, see. I beat the coin about the wall. "Lydia Mikhailovna hit Lydia, and a coin, Zzven, Arc flew to the floor. Now, - Lydia Mikhailovna jumped me a second coin in his hand, begone. But keep in mind: you need to beat so that your coin is as close as possible to mine. So that they can be measured, get the fingers of one hand. A different game called: frozen. Will you get, "he also won. Bay.

I hit my coin, hitting the edge, rolled into the corner.

Oh, - Lydia Mikhailovna waved his hand. - Long away. Now you start. Taking into account: if my coin fell yours, at least a little, edge, - I won doubly. Do you understand?

What is incomprehensible here?

Play?

I did not believe my ears:

How will I play with you?

What is?

You are a teacher!

So what? The teacher is so another person, or what? Sometimes bored to be only a teacher, teach and teach without end. It is impossible to constantly cry: it is impossible, it is impossible, - Lydia Mikhailovna more ordinary seen eyes and thoughtfully, dismissed looked out the window. - Sometimes it is useful to forget that you are a teacher, - not the same, you will be bicked and beech that live people will be bored with you. For a teacher, maybe the most important thing - not to take herself seriously, to understand that he can teach absolutely a little. - She shake and joy at once. - And I was a desperate girl in my childhood, my parents suffered with me. I and now often want to jump, ride, to rush somewhere, do not do anything according to the program, not on schedule, but at will. I happen here, jumping, jumping. The person does not grow up when he lives to old age, and when he stops being a child. I would love to jump every day, yes, Vasily Andreevich lives behind the wall. He is a very serious person. In no case can it not know that we play in the "frozen".

But we do not play any "frozen". You just showed me.

We can play as simple as they say, Ponaroshka. But you still do not give me to Vasily Andreevich.

Lord, what is happening on white light! Did I have been afraid to death for a long time that Lydia Mikhailovna for the game will drag me to the director, and now she asks me to not give it away. Lights - not otherwise. I looked around, it is unknown what to scare, and confusedly slapped my eyes.

Well, try? Do not like it - throw.

Let's, - I agreed hesitantly.

Start.

We took the coins. It was seen that Lydia Mikhailovna had once played, and I just tried to the game, I did not find out for myself how to beat the plastle on the wall of the wall, or the plafhmy, at what height and with what force when it is better to throw. My blows walked blindly; If the score would have lost, I would have lost quite a lot in the first minutes, although there was nothing sly in these "frozen". Most of all me, of course, shy and oppressed, did not let me get comfortable what I play with Lydia Mikhailovna. None in the dream could have been dreamed, none in one bad thought to think. I did not come to my senses immediately and is not easy, and when he came to his senses and became a bit of sight to the game, Lydia Mikhailovna took and stopped her.

No, it's not interesting, "she said, straightening and removing her hair gathered. - Play - so truly, and the fact that we are with you as three-year-old kids.

But then it will be a game of money, - I did not remind you.

Sure. And what do we keep in your hands? The game for money is impossible to replace anything else. It is good and bad at the same time. We can agree on a very small bet, but still an interest will appear.

I was silent, not knowing what to do and how to be.

Are you afraid of? - Lydia Mikhailovna was late for me.

Here's another! I'm not afraid of anything.

I had something with myself a little thing. I gave the coin Lydia Mikhailovna and took his own from his pocket. Well, let's play truly, Lydia Mikhailovna, if you want. I am that - I'm not my first started. Vadik across me too zero attention, and then came to my senses, climbed with fists. He learned there, learn and here. This is not French, but I and French soon to the teeth to confess.

I had to take one condition: since the hand in Lydia Mikhailovna is more and the fingers are longer, it will measure the big and middle fingers, and, as it should, big and the little finger. It was fair, and I agreed.

The game began again. We moved out of the room to the hallway, where it was free, and beat a smooth militant fence. Bey, went down to her knees, crawled, but the floor, assisted each other, stretched the fingers, measuring the coins, then rising to the feet again, and Lydia Mikhailovna declared the score. She played noisy: screeching, chlo in his hands, teased me - in one word, behaved like an ordinary girl, and not a teacher, I even wanted to shrink. But I won nevertheless, and I lost. I did not have time to come to my senses, how eighty kopecks came to me, I managed to buy this debt to thirty with great difficulty, but Lydia Mikhailovna fell out of my coin on my coin, and the account immediately jumped to fifty. I began to worry. We agreed to pay at the end of the game, but if it goes on, then it will go, my money is very soon not enough, they have a little more ruble. It means that the ruble cannot be transferred - not the shame, shame and shame for life.

And then I unexpectedly noticed that Lydia Mikhailovna was not trying to win at all at all. When noting, her fingers hung up, without glaving for the whole length, - where she supposedly could not reach the coin, I got out without any Natugi. It offended me, and I rose.

No, "I said," I don't play. " Why do you burn me? It's not fair.

But I really can't get them, she began to refuse. - I have some wooden fingers.

Good, good, I will try.

I do not know how in mathematics, but in life the best proof - from the opposite. When the next day I saw that Lydia Mikhailovna, in order to touch the coins, the soda pushes her to his finger, I was overhell. Looking at me and for some reason I do not remember that I perfectly see her pure fraud, she didn't happen to move the coin.

What are you doing? - I was indignant.

I? And what am I doing?

Why did you move it?

Yes, there is no, she was lying here, - the most darling way, with some even joy Lidia Mikhailovna was not worse than Vadik or Ptakhi.

Blimey! Teacher called! I saw my own eyes at a distance of twenty centimeters that she touched the coin, and she assures me that he did not touch, and even laugh at me. For blind, what does she take me? For little? French teaches, called. I immediately completely forgot that just yesterday Lydia Mikhailovna tried to play me, and watched just for her to deceive me. Well well! Lydia Mikhailovna is called.

On this day we were engaged in french minutes fifteen to twenty, and then less. We have a different interest. Lydia Mikhailovna forced me to read the passage, made comments, I listened to the comments again, and we did not bag go to the game. After two small losses, I began to win. I quickly brought to "frozen", figured out in all the secrets, knew how and where to beat what to do in the role of playing, so as not to substitute my coin under the measurement.

And again I had money. Again, I ran to the bazaar and bought milk - now in ice cream circles. I cautiously cut off the mug of a cream with a mug, assumed scattering ice slices in the mouth and, feeling in the whole body, their fed sweets, closed the pleasure of his eyes. Then I turned the circle upside down and darked the knife is sweetish milk sucks. Remains allowed to melt and drank them, swaying with a black bread.

Nothing could live, but in the near future, as herself wounds of war, they promised for everyone and happy time.

Of course, taking money from Lydia Mikhailovna, I felt awkward, but every time calmed down that this is an honest win. I never suggested a game, Lidia Mikhailovna offered her herself. I do not bother. It seemed to me that the game gives her pleasure, she was fun, laughing, brake me.

You would know how it will end ...

... standing against each other kneeling, we set about the bill. Before that, it seems that something argued about something.

Understand you, the head of the garden, - by walking on me and waving his hands, Lydia Mikhailovna argued, - Why should I deceive you? I keep the bill, and not you, I know better. I lost three times in a row, and before that was "Chik."

- "Chika" is not considered.

Why isn't it read?

We shouted, interrupting each other when we were afraid of surprised, if not to say, amazed, but solid, ringing voice:

Lydia Mikhailovna!

We froze. In the doorway stood Vasily Andreevich.

Lidia Mikhailovna, what about you? What's going on here?

Lidia Mikhailovna slowly, very slowly rose from his knees, painted and slammed, and, after bypassing his hair, said:

I, Vasily Andreevich, hoped that you would knock before entering here.

I pounded. No one answered me. What's going on here? Explain, please. I have the right to know as director.

We play in "Tennyok," Lydia Mikhailovna answered calmly.

Do you play for money with this? .. - Vasily Andreevich poked my finger in me, and I am with fear crawled for the partition to hide in the room. - Play with a student?! Did I understand you correctly?

Right.

Well, you know ... - the director chuckled, he lacked the air. - I'm going to immediately call your deed. It is a crime. Plant. Seduction. And also, more ... I work in school twenty years, I have given anything, but this ...

And he embalted over his head.

* * *

Three days later, Lidia Mikhailovna left. On the eve, she met me after school and spent to home.

I will go to my Kuban, "she said, saying goodbye. - And you learn calmly, no one will touch you for this stupid. I am guilty here. Learn, she saved me on his head and left.

And I never saw her anymore.

Among the winter, after the January vacation, I came to school by mail the parcel. When I opened it, delivering the ax again from under the stairs, - neat, dense rows in it lay the macaron tubes. And below in a thick cotton wrapper, I found three red apples.

I used to see apples only in the pictures, but I guessed that they were.

One of the best works V. Rasputin is the book of "French Lessons", which is proposed in the article. It is dedicated to A.P. Copyl - teacher of the writer, for the first time for the first time, forced a teenager about what kindness, humanity is, willingness to sacrifice themselves for the sake of the well-being of the other.

The beginning of an independent life

The narrative is conducted from the first person and represents the memories of an adult about the most significant days of his difficult childhood.

The action takes place in 1948 in the Siberian village. The main hero is an eight-year-old boy who was in the family of eldest of three children. Mothers had to raise them alone, but seeing the wonderful abilities of the Son to study, she was decided to give it to the 5th grade of the district school. It was fifty kilometers from the house, and therefore the boy, who had never parted with his relatives, felt there very lonely. He lived at the familiar mother, too, without a husband of raising children.

Studying was easy, the problems caused only the lesson of French. Rasputin (summary transmits only the highlights of the story) noted that his rustic reprimand was opposed to foreign words. And every time the teacher, Lidia Mikhailovna, began to be frozen and close his eyes from hopelessness.

Chiki game

Another problem was constant hunger. Products mother passed little, and they ended very quickly: whether the hostess helped, or her children. Therefore, the hero began to immediately eat all the products, and then several days "sat down his teeth on the shelf." A couple of times the mother passed the money: a little, but I bought a little milk on the jar of milk. More often went to bed, drinking boiling water.

The summary of the work of "Lessons of French" continues the story of how the hero began to play for money. One day, Fedka, Leskin Son, led him for the gardens. There the boys played chik. While the boy had no money, he carefully watched and delve into the rules. And when the village driver brought money from the mother, he decided to try happiness in the game instead of buying milk. At first he lost, and therefore it resorted to the glades in the evenings, took the hidden washer and trained. Finally, the hero first turned out to be in winning. Now he had money for milk every night. I didn't want much - the ruble won and immediately escaped. This was the cause of unpleasant story, which soon happened in the meadow. Here is her brief content.

"French lessons" contain a story about the boys who were collected for the gardens. The main thing was Vadik - the oldest. He led the game and some time did not touch the boy. But one day he stopped him when he was going to leave. Vadik, who came to the coin, said that she did not turn from the strike, and therefore the win no. As a result, the hero tried to prove something, and he was beaten.

Hard conversation

In the morning Lydia Mikhailovna, who was also a class teacher, immediately noticed bruises on the face of the boy. After classes, she left a student for conversation. We bring it a brief content.

"French lessons" emphasize the contrast between heroes. Lydia Mikhailovna was neat, beautiful, from her always proceeded by a pleasant smell of perfume, which she seemed to the boy unearthly. He walked in the oversized father's clothing, old chirks, which at school no one else was. And now he answered her questions about where he spends money won. The author emphasizes that the news of milk has become a complete surprise for the teacher.

Before the director, this incident did not reach what the hero was very happy.

Painful classes with Lydia Mikhailovna

In the fall, the hero has become quite bad: the chauffeur did not come, and the potato bag brought by it literally evaporated. The boy had to go for the gardens again. However, on the fourth day, he was again beaten, and Lydia Mikhailovna, seeing bruises on his face, went to the trick. She decided to give him an individual lesson of French at home.

Rasputin (a summary does not fully talk about how hard the hero was given by these visits to the teacher) notes that the boy was lost from fear and every time he could not wait for the end of the classes. And Lidia Mikhailovna first tried to invite him to the table, and when she realized that it was useless, sent the parcel. Opening the box, the boy was delighted, but immediately she unwound: where did the mother of the macaroni? There were no them in the village. And hematogen! He immediately understood everything and went with a parcel to the teacher. That was sincerely surprised that it was possible to eat only potatoes, peas, radish ... such was the first attempt to help the capable, but starving student. We described her brief content. French lessons at Lydia Mikhailovna continued, but now it has already been real classes.

Playing in "Farmers"

After a couple of weeks after the story with the package, the teacher began a conversation about Chika, as if in order to compare it with "frozen". In fact, it was the only way to help the boy. At first she simply told him about how the girl loved to play in the "Priennik". Then she showed that the essence of the game was finally offered to try his strength "Ponaroshka". And when the rules were mastered, noted that it was just so interesting to play: the money is added by Azart. So the short content of the story continues.

French lesson has now passed quickly, and then they began to play "Priennik", or "frozen". The main thing, the boy could buy milk for "honestly earned" every day.

But one day Lydia Mikhailovna became "Makhlevna." It happened after the hero realized that she was playing by him. As a result, a verbal switter arose, the consequences of which were tragic.

Talking with the director: summary

"French lessons" ends not very fun for heroes. They were so fascinated by the dispute that they did not notice how in the room she was at school - the director entered. Stunned seen (the class teacher plays with his student for money), he called the crime that was happening and did not even try to understand the situation. Lydia Mikhailovna said goodbye and left three days later. They never see each other.

Among the winter, a parcel came to the school in the name of the boy, in which pasta and three apples were lying with Kuban.

This is a summary of the story, the French lesson in which it became, maybe the main moral lesson in the life of the hero.

French lessons under the authorship of Rasputin that we study in a brief retelling for a reader diary, the writer wrote in 1973. It was created in the style of rustic prose and can be fully considered an autobiographical story, because episodes from the life of the writer himself are revealed. Let's get acquainted with a brief retelling of French lessons on chapters to be able to make answers to the teacher at the lesson.

French lessons: short retelling

At the very beginning, we get acquainted with the main character of the story, a boy of fifth grader. He studied the first four classes in the village, and then it was necessary to go to the district center for fifty kilometers from home. From the story of the lessons of French, we learn that I first arrange my mother's housing to go to the city. And in August, by car with Uncle Vanya, the boy came to the city and settled in aunt. It was then eleven, and it was at this age that his independent adult life begins.

It was 1948th year. In the courtyard stood hungry times. There was not enough money catastrophe, and the hero of the story was difficult to believe that the mother still let go to the city of his son. The family lived poorly, and without a father. The storyteller finished the elementary school well, he was called visitor to the village. The whole village went to him with bonds when the winning table came, believing that he had a happy eye. And the truth is, in the village, many won, albeit small cash prizes, but people were happy. Everyone said that the guy grows with a bar and he needs to continue to learn.

Here is a mother and gathered the Son to the city school, where in general the boy studied well, chrome only French. Rather, chrome pronunciation. No matter how many teacher showed how to disconnect the words and sounds, everything was in vain.

Next, in a brief retelling of the story of the lessons of French, we learn how hard it was a boy. Not only that he had a deadly mortal, so there was nothing. Mother tried, as she could, feed her son in the city, sending her bread with potatoes, but it was easier from it. As it turned out, the hostess children stole, but the mother did not say anything, because it would not be easier for anyone. In the village, too, it was hungry, but it was easier to live there, finding some fruits or vegetables. In the city, everyone had to buy. So hungry for our hero until the uncle Vanya arrives and will not bring meals. There was no sense to save, because the food still steal me. And fed to the dump on the day of arrival Uncle Vani, all the other days the boy was hungry again.

Once, Fedka spoke about the game for money, which was called Chik. There was no money from our hero, so the guys just went to see. A seamless boy quickly figured out in the essence of the game and realized that there was a kind of a kind of Vadik, which is still alone. All this knew, but did not say anything.

So our hero decided to try his hand in the game. Money that mother sent him from time to time to milk, he decided to put on the game. Due to the lack of experience, he was not at first, but when everyone went, he trained to throw the puck and came the day when luck turned face, and the boy began to win. The game itself was never fond of the game, and as soon as you managed to win the ruble, the boy took the money and ran after milk. Now the child was not happy, but the thought itself is that every day he can drink milk soothing. Once the Vadka noticed that the novice, as soon as the money won, immediately tried to escape. So no one was playing, and this was not forgiven here. Once again, when the storytellor managed to pick up the cashier, the vad is fraudulently tried to prove that he muffles. A fight began. Everyone beat the boy, and then they said to leave and no longer return. And if the one who tells about this place - he does not live.

The next morning had to go to school with a broken face, and it was the first lesson of French was the first on schedule and Lydia Mikhailovna first saw his decorated face. Talking with the student, she heard that he received injury from falling. However, classmate Tishkin, who also walked to play, told the teacher about the vad and the fact that he broke his classmate. Told about the game for money. The teacher asked to remain our hero after lessons, and Tishkina called to the board.

The boy was afraid of meeting with the director who would definite exactly from school for the fact of the game for money. But Lydia Mikhailovna said anything to anyone, but only began to ask about the game. The teacher learned that he was playing to win the ruble for which milk buys. Considering the boy, she saw how much he was dressed. But he asked him no longer to experience fate.

Autumn issued a lack of town and the mother had nothing to send to her son, and that potato, which was sent for the last time turned out to be eaten. Hunger again makes the boy go to play. At first, he did not want to let him, but then the vad allowed to play. He played now carefully to win only a few kopecks on bread, but for the fourth day won the ruble and was again beaten.

First, additional classes were held at school, but then under the pretext of lack of time, Lydia Mikhailovna began to invite a student to his home. These additional lessons were torture for our hero. He did not understand why only a teacher is doing with him, because others had no better pronunciation. But the individual classes continues to visit. At the end of the classes, the teacher invited him at the table, but the boy with the words that was fed, flew. After time, the woman stopped attempts to invite a child for dinner.

One day, the boy reports that the parcel is waiting for him down. He thought that this uncle Vanya sent. Seeing the parcel, the boy seemed strange that it was not in the bag, but in the drawer. Makaroni was in the parcel, and the boy understands that the mother could not send them to them, because there was no such thing in the village. And he understands that the parcel is not exactly from the mother. Together with the drawer, the narrator goes to Lydia Mikhailovna, who pretended that he did not understand what it was about. The teacher was surprised that there were no such products in the village, and eventually admitted that she sent the parcel. No matter how persuaded his Lydia Mikhailovna, the package did not take the parcel. But nevertheless, the lessons of French have continued and from additional classes were quite good results.

Somehow the boy came once again on classes and the teacher asked if he was playing. He said that no, and after told about the game from his childhood. It was not a chicken, but trimenting or a frozen, and after he suggested trying to play. The boy was heard and did not agree, but the teacher was able to bring the necessary arguments and persuade. And here their game has begun. At first it was a sun, but then the teacher suggested playing money. At first he saw that the teacher heeps himself so that he constantly won. What a child began to resent. And so things went. After the lesson of the French, they began to constantly play. The boy had money, he began to drink milk.