Literary holiday based on the work of A.P. Gaidar. A. blue cup (continued) - what to read in the summer - reading room - file directory - school world

To shorten the path, we went straight to the river through damp meadows.

Soon we found ourselves in front of dense thickets of marsh bushes. We did not want to return, and we decided to somehow get through. But the farther we moved, the tighter the swamp tightened around us.

We circled the swamp, turned right and left, climbed the flimsy perches, jumped from bump to bump. Wet, smeared, but could not get out.

And somewhere not far away, behind the bushes, a flock tossed and mooed, a shepherd cracked his whip, and angrily barked a little dog that sensed us. But we saw nothing but rusty swamp water, rotten bushes and sedge.

Already alarm appeared on the freckled face of the subdued Svetlanka. More and more often she turned around, looking into my face with a silent reproach: "What is this, daddy? You are big, strong, but we are really bad!"

I turned into a thicket, but in that direction there was only a green sludge intertwined with fat swamp flowers.

I returned and saw that Svetlana was not standing at all, but carefully, holding on to the bushes, was making her way towards me.

Stop where you put it! I said sharply.

Svetlana stopped. Her eyes blinked and her lips twitched.

And I felt very sorry for Svetlanka, who got into trouble because of me.

Here, take a stick, - I shouted, - and beat them, useless frogs, for anything! Just stay where you are! Let's move on now.

I turned back into the thicket and got angry. What's this? Is it possible to compare this filthy swamp with the endless reeds of the wide Dnieper region or with the gloomy floodplains of Akhtyrka, where we once smashed and strangled the white Wrangel landing!

From bump to bump, from bush to bush. Once - and waist-deep in water. Two - and dry aspen crunched. Following the aspen, a rotten log flew into the mud. A rotten stump flopped heavily into the same place. Here is the support. Here is another puddle. And here is the dry shore.

And, parting the reeds, I found myself near a frightened goat.

Hey gay! Svetlana! I shouted. - You stand?

Hey gay! - quietly came from the thicket plaintive thin voice. - I'm a hundred!

We got out to the river. We cleaned off all the dirt and mud that stuck around us from all sides. We rinsed our clothes, and while they were drying on the hot sand, we bathed.

And all the fish rushed away in horror into their deep depths, when we churned sparkling foamy waterfalls with laughter.

And the black mustachioed crayfish, which I pulled out of its underwater country, shifting its round eyes, thrashed and jumped in fear: it must have been the first time I saw such an unbearably bright sun and such an unbearably red-haired girl.

And then, contriving, he angrily grabbed Svetlana by the finger. With a cry, Svetlana threw him into the very middle of the goose herd. Stupid fat goslings shied away.

But an old gray goose approached from the side. He saw a lot and more terrible in the world. He mowed his head, looked with one eye, pecked - then he, cancer, and death came.

... But here we bathed, dried off, dressed and went on.

And again, we came across a lot of everyone along the way: people, and horses, and carts, and cars, and even a gray beast - a hedgehog, which we took with us. Yes, but he soon pricked our hands, and we pushed him into a cold stream.

The hedgehog snorted and swam to the other side. "Here," he thinks, "ugly people! Now look for your hole from here."

And finally we went to the lake.

We approached the fence from the side where the estate was guarded by tall, like soldiers, flowers - sunflowers.

On the porch, in the garden, stood Valentina herself. She was tall, broad-shouldered, like her father, the watchman. The collar of the blue jacket was open. She held a floor brush in one hand and a wet rag in the other.

Fedor! she shouted sternly. - Where did you hit the gray pan, you scoundrel?

Won! - an important voice was heard from under the raspberries, and the blond Fyodor pointed to a puddle where a saucepan loaded with wood chips and grass floated.

And where, shameless, hid the sieve?

Won! - Fyodor answered all the same importantly and pointed to a sieve pressed down by a stone, under which something tossed and turned.

Wait a minute, ataman!.. When you come home, I’ll smooth you with a wet rag,” Valentina threatened and, seeing us, pulled down her tucked-up skirt.

Hello! - I said. - Your father sends a bow.

Thank you! Valentina replied. - Come into the garden, have a rest.

We went through the gate and lay down under a ripe apple tree.

The fat son Fyodor was wearing only one shirt, and his wet trousers, soiled with clay, lay in the grass.

I eat raspberries, - Fedor told us seriously. - Ate two bushes. And I will.

Eat well, I said. - Just look, friend, do not burst.

Fyodor stopped, poked himself in the stomach with his fist, looked angrily at me, and, grabbing his trousers, waddled towards the house.

For a long time we lay in silence. It seemed to me that Svetlana fell asleep. I turned to her and saw that she was not sleeping at all, but, holding her breath, was looking at a silvery butterfly that was quietly creeping up the sleeve of her pink dress.

And suddenly there was a powerful roaring rumble, the air trembled, and the brilliant plane, like a storm, rushed over the tops of quiet apple trees.

Svetlana shuddered, a butterfly fluttered, a yellow rooster flew off the fence, a frightened jackdaw flashed across the sky with a cry - and everything was quiet.

This is the same pilot who flew by, - Svetlana said with annoyance, - this is the one who came to us yesterday.

Why is that one? I asked, raising my head. - Maybe it's completely different.

No, the same one. Yesterday I myself heard him tell my mother that he was flying away tomorrow for good. I ate a red tomato, and my mother answered him: "Well, goodbye. Happy journey" ...

Folder, - sitting down on my stomach, Svetlana asked, - tell me something about my mother. Well, for example, how everything was when I was not there yet.

As it was? Yes, it was the same. First day, then night, then day again, and then night...

And a thousand more days! Svetlana interrupted impatiently. - Well, here you are and tell me what happened these days. You know, but you pretend...

Okay, I’ll tell you, just get off me onto the grass, otherwise it will be hard for me to tell. Well, listen!

Our Marusa was then seventeen years old. Whites attacked their town, they grabbed Marusya's father and put him in prison. But her mother was gone for a long time, and our Marusya was left completely alone ...

Something feels sorry for her, - moving closer, put in Svetlana. - Well, tell me more.

Marusya threw on a scarf and ran out into the street. And on the street, white soldiers are leading both workers and working women to prison. And the bourgeois, of course, are happy with the whites, and everywhere in their houses lights are on, music is playing. And there is nowhere for our Marusa to go, and there is no one to tell her about her grief ...

Something is already quite a pity, - Svetlana interrupted impatiently. - You, daddy, tell the red ones as soon as possible.

Then Marusya went out of town. The moon was shining. The wind roared. And a wide steppe stretched out before Marusya ...

With wolves?

No, no wolves. The wolves then hid in the forests from the shooting. And Marusya thought: "I will run away through the steppe to the city of Belgorod. The Red Army of Comrade Voroshilov is standing there. They say he is very brave. And if you ask, then maybe he will help."

And stupid Marusya did not know that the Red Army never waits to be asked. And she herself rushes to help where the whites attacked. And already close to Marusya, our Red Army detachments are advancing across the steppe. And each rifle is loaded with five rounds, and each machine gun with two hundred and fifty rounds.

I then rode across the steppe with a military patrol. Suddenly, someone's shadow flashed and immediately - over the hillock. "Aha! - I think. - Stop: a white scout. You won't go anywhere further."

I hit the horse with my spurs. Jumped over the hill. I look - what a miracle: there is no white scout, but some girl is standing under the moon. The face is not visible, and only the hair flutters in the wind.

And Marusya came up, sat down beside me and put her hand on my completely hot head and said:

"I've been looking for you all day after the fight. Does it hurt you, honey?"

4th grade Storozhenko O.N.

Purpose: acquaintance with the work of A. Gaidar;

development of reader's outlook;

cultivating a love of literature.

Equipment: portrait of the writer; books.

Introduction.

For some time you have been reading the works of Arkady Petrovich Gaidar.

Did you like the stories and novels by A. Gaidar? Which ones especially?

What facts from the life of Gaidar do you know?

Exhibition of books.

Brief information about the books and their heroes.

"School"

In 1930, a story called "School" was published as a separate book.

"School" is written as an autobiographical story.

The story is told from the perspective of Boris Gorikov. And a lot of what Boris talks about actually happened to the author, Boris's peer, Arkady Golikov.

Reading two paragraphs of the story .

Pre-revolutionary Arzamas, Arzamas real school, the First World War, revolution, civil war - everything is described as the future writer Gaidar remembered.

"Distant countries"

Gaidar began writing the story "Distant Countries" in the spring of 1931 in Kuntsevo. The impetus for the idea was a large factory construction site, which unfolded in a village not far from the house where the writer lived. At the same time, a collective farm was created in the neighborhood. It turned out that journalists, including Gaidar, went for material about construction to "distant countries" - to the Urals, to Siberia, and "distant countries" began nearby.

"Chuk and Gek"

“Chuk and Gek” is a story about the meaning of human life, about happiness, about love for the Motherland. “What is happiness - everyone understood it in their own way. But all together people knew and understood that it was necessary to live honestly, work hard and love and protect this huge happy land, which is called the Soviet country.- in these words of Gaidar lies the main idea of ​​the story.

Chuk and Gek are two brothers, and each has his own habits and thoughts. A huge and kind world is revealed to the brothers during a trip from Moscow to the East, to the Blue Mountains.

Gaidar's plan to write a "light as a pearl" story was fully realized.

"Smoke in the Forest"

The story "Smoke in the Forest" was published in Pioneer magazine in 1939. Since then, it has been published more than once as a separate book, translated into other languages ​​both here and abroad.

"Smoke in the Woods" reminds the boys and girls of today that we live in a troubled world. The story of Arkady Gaidar teaches vigilance.

"Blue Cup"

"Blue Cup" - the pearl of Gaidar's creativity.

In The Blue Cup, we understand and are close to the experiences of six-year-old Svetlana, who, in the course of one endlessly long day, discovers a huge and excitingly interesting world that begins right outside the threshold of her country house.

The title of the story is symbolic. A blue porcelain cup broken by mice should not be an obstacle to the good life of heroes. On the contrary, it should serve as a warning. After all, kind, attentive relationships of close people are somewhat similar to fine, fine porcelain.

"The Fate of a Drummer"

The idea for the story arose in May 1936. The writer lived in the Golitsino Creativity House near Moscow. The reason for reflection was the increase in delinquency among teenagers. More often, children were involved in hooligan acts, for one reason or another, left without fathers, or even without both parents. Gaidar was convinced that these guys should be restored to faith in goodness and justice, respect for adults.

The plot of the story quickly formed, which is based on the difficult fate of Seryozha Sherbachev, who, due to an unkind set of circumstances, found himself face to face with the dark world of criminals.

The story immediately became one of the children's favorite books.

"Timur and his team"

Arkady Gaidar's characteristic fusion of "something boyish and something soldierly" is perhaps stronger than his other books, expressed the story "Timur and his team."

The image of Timur contains the best features of the pioneer. “A simple and sweet boy”, “a proud and ardent commissioner” rallied a friendly team.

The story "Timur and his team" had a great influence on readers. Timur's movement unfolded throughout the country. During the Great Patriotic War, Timurovites helped the families of soldiers of the Soviet Army.

The guys told you about some of the works of A.P. Gaidar.

4. Quiz on the story "Timur and his team."

What was the name of the movement in which all the guys participated? (Timurovskoye)

Why did Zhenya and Timur come to Moscow? (On a motorcycle)

What did the boys decide to send to Kvakin's gang? (Ultimatum)

What was the name of the main character in the story? (Timur)

What was the name (nickname) of the leader of the hooligans? (Figure)

What were the guys playing when they received a letter from Timur's team? (Cards)

What did the guys help fold Nyurka's grandmother? (Firewood)

Where was Kvakin's gang locked up? (In the chapel)

Who did Uncle Timur play in the theater? (old man)

What did the guys draw on the houses of the Red Army soldiers who went into the army? (Stars)

5. Quiz "Know the work."

1) There lived a lonely old man in the world. He was weak, weaved baskets, hemmed felt boots, guarded the collective farm garden from the boys and thus earned his bread.

He came to the village a long time ago, from afar, but people immediately realized that this man had a lot of grief. He was lame, gray beyond his years. A crooked, ragged scar ran from his cheek through his lips. And so, even when he smiled, his face seemed sad and stern.

("Hot Stone")

2) That night Dimka could not fall asleep for a long time. Having recovered from his fright and feeling safe behind the strong bolt of the door, he pondered intently over the strange events of the last days. Little by little, some assumptions began to form in his head ... “Who ate the meat? .. Why was Bumblebee grumbling? .. Whose groan was that? .. What if? ..”

("R.V.S")

3) The suitcases were dumped on the snow. The wooden platform was soon empty, and the father never came out to meet.

Then the mother got angry with her father and, leaving the children to guard things, went to the coachmen to find out what kind of sleigh their father had sent for them, because it was still a hundred kilometers to go to the place where he lived in the taiga.

("Chuk and Gek")

4) We lay in silence for a long time. It seemed to me that Svetlana fell asleep. I turned to her and saw that she was not sleeping at all, but holding her breath, she was looking at a silvery butterfly that was quietly creeping along the sleeve of her pink dress. And suddenly there was a powerful roaring rumble, the air trembled, and a brilliant plane, like a storm, rushed over the tops of quiet apple trees.

("Blue Cup")

5) In order to teach Zhenya a lesson, in the evening, without saying a word to her sister, Olga left for Moscow.

She had no business in Moscow. And so, without stopping by her place, she went to her friend, stayed with her until dark, and only at ten o'clock did she come to her apartment. She opened the door, turned on the light, and immediately shuddered: a telegram was pinned to the door to the apartment. Olga tore off the telegram and read it. The telegram was from dad.

("Timur and her team")

6) And the whole airplane, powerful and beautiful, faster than the fastest steam locomotive, but lighter than the fastest steppe eagle, with a cheerful roar of strong engines, smoothly swept over the dark forest, over the Quiet River, near the banks of which the children were sitting.

- Far flew! - Petka said quietly, not taking his eyes off the receding airplane.

- To distant countries! - said Vaska ... - They, airplanes, always fly only to distant ...

("Distant countries")

6. Final word.

Golikov Arkady Petrovich lived and died with a weapon in his hands, defending his native country and the life he loved and believed in.

In the Soviet children's literature of the 1930s, many remarkable writers worked with Gaidar. A strong long-term friendship connected Arkady Petrovich with Konstantin Paustovsky.

7. Reading the story of K. Paustovsky "Meeting with Gaidar".

What work by A. Gaidar reminded you of this story by K. Paustovsky?

8. Reading the poem by S. Mikhalkov "Arkady Gaidar"

Arkady Gaidar.

S. Mikhalkov

Favorite children's books creator

And a true friend of the guys,

He lived like a fighter should live,

And he died like a soldier.

You open the school story -

Gaidar wrote:

The true hero of that story

And dared, though small in stature.

Read Gaidar's story

And look around

Live among us today

Timur, and Gek, and Chuk.

They are recognized by their actions.

And it's not a problem

What is the Gaidar name

Heroes are not always

Pages of honest, clean books

left as a gift to the country

Fighter, Writer, Bolshevik

And Citizen - Gaidar.

9. Bottom line.

Literary holiday based on the work of A.P. Gaidar

4th grade

Storozhenko O.N.

Gaidar's stories

An interesting story about one family - a father, a wounded Red Army soldier, 32 years old, his wife Marusya, 29 years old, and their daughter Svetlana, 6.5 years old, who came on vacation to a dacha near Moscow. Once, a father and daughter were making a beautiful toy for the roof of their house - a sparkling spinner that spins in the wind. But mother came and drove her home from the roof, and the next morning Marusya accused her father and daughter of having broken her blue cup in the closet. But they did not do this and, offended, left the house aimlessly. And their eyes looked far into the field. On the way, they met Sasha, whom everyone called a fascist because in anger he called the girl Bertha a "Jew". His friend Pashka wanted to kick for it, but Sasha joined the travelers and he did not touch him. Then they reached the field, where they met the Red Army artillerymen, who fired volleys at the enemy, and also met a local watchman with a dog who was guarding the fields. The old watchman talked to them, told them where his daughter and grandson lived, and dad and daughter went on. We got into a swampy area on the way to the river and barely found a way out of the swamp. We reached the river and began to swim, dad caught the cancer, which grabbed Svetlana and she threw it to the geese, one of which punished the cancer to death for this. After the river, dad and Svetlana reached the house where the watchman's daughter and her son Fyodor lived. They rested, treated Fyodor with gingerbread, and began to wait until they were taken back to the mill. Fedor, in gratitude for the gingerbread, gave Svetlana a kitten, which they brought home. And Marusya was waiting for them at home. They arrived and decided that it was the mice that broke the blue cup and none of them were offended anymore.

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I was then thirty-two years old. Marusya is twenty-nine, and our daughter Svetlana is six and a half. Only at the end of the summer did I get a vacation, and for the last warm month we rented a dacha near Moscow.
Svetlana and I thought about fishing, swimming, picking mushrooms and nuts in the forest. And I had to immediately sweep the yard, fix the dilapidated fences, stretch the ropes, hammer in crutches and nails.
We got tired of all this very soon, and Marusya, one after another, kept coming up with new and new things for herself and for us.
Only on the third day in the evening, finally, everything was done. And just when the three of us were about to go for a walk, her friend, a polar pilot, came to Marusa.
They sat for a long time in the garden, under the cherry trees. And Svetlana and I went into the yard to the shed and, out of annoyance, began to make a wooden turntable.
When it got dark, Marusya shouted for Svetlana to drink milk and go to bed, and she herself went to see the pilot to the station.
But I got bored without Marusya, and Svetlana didn’t want to sleep alone in an empty house.
We got flour from the closet. They brewed it with boiling water - it turned out to be a paste.
They pasted over the smooth revolver with colored paper, smoothed it well and climbed through the dusty attic to the roof.
Here we are sitting on the roof. And we can see from above, as in the neighboring garden, at the porch, the samovar smokes from the chimney. And on the porch sits a lame old man with a balalaika, and children crowd around him.
Then a barefoot, hunched-over old woman jumped out of the black passage. She turned the children, scolded the old man and, grabbing a rag, began to slap the samovar burner to make it boil faster.
We laughed and thought: the wind will blow, spin, buzz our fast turntable. Children from all yards will come running to our house. We will have our own company.
And tomorrow we'll come up with something else.
Maybe we'll dig a deep cave for that frog that lives in our garden, near the damp cellar.
Maybe we'll ask Marusya for harsh threads and fly a kite - higher than the silo, higher than the yellow pines, and even higher than the kite that guarded the owner's chickens and rabbits from the sky all day today.
Or maybe tomorrow, early in the morning, we will get into the boat - I am on the oars, Marusya is at the wheel, Svetlana is the passenger - and we will sail along the river to where, they say, there is a large forest, where two hollow birches grow on the shore, under which the neighbor found yesterday girl three good white mushrooms. The only pity is that they were all worms.
Suddenly Svetlana pulled me by the sleeve and said:
“Look, papa, it seems that our mother is coming, and no matter how we are with you now.
Indeed, our Marusya is walking along the path along the fence, but we thought that she would not return soon.
“Bend over,” I said to Svetlana. Maybe she won't notice.
But Marusya immediately noticed us, raised her head and shouted:
- Why did you, worthless people, climbed onto the roof? It's already damp outside. It's time for Svetlana to sleep. And you were glad that I was not at home, and are ready to pamper even until midnight.
- Marusya, - I answered, - we do not indulge, we nail the turntable. You wait a bit, we only have three nails left to hammer.
- Finish tomorrow! Marusya ordered. "Now get off, or I'll get really angry."
We exchanged glances with Svetlana. We see that our business is bad. They took it and got off. But they were offended by Marusya.
And although Marusya brought a large apple from the station to Svetlana, and a pack of tobacco to me, they were still offended.
So with resentment, they fell asleep.
And in the morning - another new thing! We have just woken up, Marusya comes up and asks:
- You better confess, mischievous people, that they broke my blue cup in the closet!
I didn't break cups. And Svetlana says that she didn’t break either. She and I looked at each other and both thought that it was Marusya talking about us in vain.
But Marusya did not believe us.
“Cups,” she says, “are not alive: they have no legs. They can't jump to the floor. And besides you two, no one climbed into the closet yesterday. Broken and do not confess. Shame on you, comrades!
After breakfast, Marusya suddenly packed up and went to the city, and we sat down and thought.
Here you go on a boat!
And the sun peeks through our windows. And sparrows jump along the sandy paths. And chickens scurry through the wooden wattle fence from the yard to the street and from the street to the yard.
And we're not having fun at all.
- Well! - I say to Svetlana. - From the roof you and I were driven yesterday. A kerosene can was recently taken away from us. For some blue cup in vain scolded. Is this a good life?
- Of course, - says Svetlana, - life is very bad.
- Come on, Svetlana, put on your pink dress. We will take my hiking bag from behind the stove, put your apple, my tobacco, matches, a knife, a bun there, and we will leave this house wherever our eyes look.
Svetlana thought and asked:
- Where do your eyes look?
- And they look, Svetlana, through the window, at that yellow meadow where the owner's cow is grazing. And behind the glade, I know, there is a goose pond, and behind the pond there is a water mill, and behind the mill on the mountain there is a birch grove. And what is beyond the mountain, I myself do not know.
- All right, - Svetlana agreed, - let's take bread, and an apple, and tobacco, but just take another thick stick with you, because somewhere in that direction lives the terrible dog Polkan. And the boys told me about her that she almost ate one to death.
So we did. They put everything they needed in the bag, closed all five windows, locked both doors, and slipped the key under the porch.
Farewell, Marusya! And we didn't break your cup anyway.
We went out the gate, and the thrush woman met us.
- Do you need milk?
- No, grandma! We don't need anything else.
- I have fresh, good milk, from my own cow, - the milkmaid was offended. Come back, you'll be sorry.
She rumbled with her cold cans and went on. And how can she guess that we are going far and maybe we will not return?
Yes, and no one thought about it. A tanned boy rode a bicycle. He walked, probably into the forest for mushrooms, a fat guy in shorts and with a pipe. A fair-haired girl with wet hair after bathing passed by. We didn't meet anyone we knew.
We got out through the vegetable gardens into a clearing yellow from night blindness, took off our sandals and walked barefoot along the warm path through the meadow straight to the mill.
We go, we go, and now we see that a man is rushing towards us at full speed from the mill. He ducked down, and from behind the willow bushes clods of earth flew at his back. It seemed strange to us. What? Svetlana has sharp eyes, she stopped and said:
- I know who's running. This is a boy, Sanka Karyakin, who lives near the house where someone's pigs climbed into the garden on the tomato beds. Yesterday he rode a strange goat in front of our dacha. Do you remember?
Sanka ran up to us, stopped and wiped his tears with a cotton bag. And we ask him:
- Why is it, Sanka, you rushed at full speed and why did clods fly behind you from behind the bushes?
Sanka turned away and said:
- My grandmother sent me to the collective farm shop for salt. And the pioneer Pashka Bukamashkin is sitting at the mill, and he wants to fight me.
Svetlana looked at him. That's the way it is!
Is there such a law in the Soviet country that a person would run to a collective-farm shop for salt, would not touch anyone, would not bully anyone, and suddenly they would start to fight him for no reason at all?
- Come with us, Sanka, - says Svetlana. - Don't be afraid. We are on the road, and we will intercede for you.
The three of us went through the thick broom.
- Here he is, Pashka Bukamashkin, - said Sanka and backed away.
We see - there is a mill. Near the mill cart. Under the cart lies a curly-haired little dog covered in burdocks and, opening one eye, looks at how nimble sparrows peck at the grain scattered on the sand. And on a pile of sand, Pashka Bukamashkin sits without a shirt and nibbles on a fresh cucumber.
Pashka saw us, but was not frightened, but threw the stub into the dog and said, without looking at anyone:
- Chu! .. Sharik ... Chu! .. The famous fascist, the White Guard Sanka, is coming here. Wait, you unfortunate fascist! You and I will still get along.
Here Pashka spat far into the sand. The curly-haired dog growled. Frightened sparrows flew up the tree noisily. And Svetlana and I, having heard such words, approached Pashka closer.
“Wait, Pashka,” I said. - Maybe you made a mistake? What kind of fascist is this, a White Guard? After all, this is simply Sanka Karyakin, who lives near the house where someone's pigs climbed into someone else's garden on tomato beds.
“Anyway, a White Guard,” Pashka repeated stubbornly. - And if you don't believe me, then you want me to tell you his whole story?
Here Svetlana and I really wanted to know the whole story of Sanka. We sat on the logs, Pashka opposite. Curly little dog at our feet, on the grass. Only Sanka did not sit down, but, going behind the cart, he shouted angrily from there:
- Then tell me everything! And how it hit me on the back of the head, also tell me. Do you think the back of the head doesn't hurt? Take it and hit it.
- There is a city of Dresden in Germany, - Pashka said calmly, - and one worker, a Jew, escaped from this city from the Nazis. He ran away and came to us. And with him came the girl, Berta. He himself now works at this mill, and Berta plays with us. Only now she ran to the village for milk. So, the day before yesterday we were playing siskin: me, Berta, this man, Sanka, and another one from the village. Berta hits the siskin with a stick and accidentally hits this same Sanka on the back of the head, or something ...
“She hit me right on the top of my head,” said Sanka from behind the cart. - My head was buzzing, and she is still laughing.
- Well, - continued Pashka, - she hit this Sanka with a siskin on the top of his head. He first at her with his fists, and then nothing. He put a burdock to his head - and again he plays with us. Only after that he became impossible to cheat. He will take an extra step, and he marks with a siskin right at the stake.
- You lie, you lie! - Sanka jumped out from behind the cart. - This is your dog poked his muzzle, here he is, siskin, and rolled up.
- And you're not playing with the dog, but with us. I would take it and put the siskin in its place. Here you go. He threw a siskin, and as soon as Berta had enough with a stick, this siskin flew right to the other end of the field, into the nettles. It's funny to us, but Sanka is angry. It is clear that he is reluctant to run after the siskin into the nettles ... He climbed over the fence and yells from there: “Fool, Jewess! So that you fall back into your Germany! But Berta already understands the Russian fool well, but still does not understand the Jewess in any way. She comes up to me and asks: “What is a Jewess?” And I'm ashamed to say. I shout: "Shut up, Sanka!" And he deliberately screams louder and louder. I follow him over the fence. He is in the bushes. And so he hid. I returned - I look: the stick is lying on the grass, and Berta is sitting in the corner on logs. I call: "Bertha!" She is not responding. I approached - I see: there are tears in her eyes. So, she figured it out. Then I picked up a stone from the ground, put it in my pocket and thought: “Well, wait a minute, damned Sanka! This is not Germany for you. With your fascism, we can handle it ourselves!” We looked at Sanka and thought: “Well, brother, you have a bad story. It's disgusting to even listen to. And we were still going to intercede for you.”
And just as I was about to say this, the mill suddenly trembled and rustled, the rested wheel spun on the water. Jumped out of the mill window sprinkled with flour, frightened cat. Waking up, she missed and fell right on the back of the dozing Sharik. The ball yelped and jumped. The cat rushed to the tree, the sparrows from the tree to the roof. The horse lifted its muzzle and jerked the cart. And some shaggy, gray from flour uncle looked out of the barn and, without understanding, shook Sanka, who had bounced off the cart, with a long whip:
- But, but ... look, do not indulge, otherwise I’ll tear it out alive!
Svetlana laughed, and somehow she felt sorry for this unfortunate Sanka, whom everyone wants to tear out.
"Daddy," she told me. “Maybe he’s not such a fascist after all?” Maybe he's just stupid? Is it true, Sanka, that you're just a fool? - Svetlana asked and affectionately looked into his face.
In response, Sanka only snorted angrily, shook his head, sniffed and wanted to say something.

And what can you say when you yourself are to blame and, in truth, there is nothing to say.
But here Pashka's little dog suddenly stopped barking at the cat and, turning to the field, raised her ears.
Somewhere behind the grove, a shot rang out. Another. And it's gone, and it's gone!
- Fight nearby! Pasha screamed.
“Fight is nearby,” I said. - It's firing rifles. But do you hear? It fired a machine gun.
- And who is with whom? Svetlana asked in a trembling voice. - Is it already a war?
Pashka jumped up first. The dog ran after him. I picked up Svetlana in my arms and also ran to the grove.
Before we had run halfway, we heard a scream behind us. We turned around and saw Sanka.
Raising his arms high so that we could notice him sooner, he rushed straight towards us through ditches and bumps.
- Look at you, how a goat jumps! - Pashka muttered. - And what is this fool waving over his head?
- It's not stupid. He's dragging my sandals! Svetlana screamed happily. - I forgot them on the logs, but he found them and carries them to me. You would make peace with him, Pashka!
Pashka frowned and did not answer. We waited for Sanka and took Svetlana's yellow sandals from him. And now the four of us, with the dog, went through the grove to the edge.
Before us stretched a hilly field overgrown with bushes. By the stream, jingling a tin bell, a goat tied to a peg nibbled at the grass. And a lone kite flew smoothly in the sky. That's all. And there was no one else and nothing on this field.
- So where is the war? - Svetlana asked impatiently.
- And now I'll look, - said Pashka and climbed onto a stump.
He stood for a long time, squinting from the sun and covering his eyes with his hand. And who knows what he saw there, but only Svetlana got tired of waiting, and she, tangled in the grass, went to look for war herself.
“The grass is tall for me, and I am low,” Svetlana complained, rising on tiptoe. - I can't see it at all.
- Look under your feet, do not touch the wire, - a loud voice came from above.
Instantly Pashka flew off the stump. Clumsily bounced towards Sanka. And Svetlana rushed to me and firmly grabbed my hand.
We backed away and then saw that right above us, in the dense branches of a lonely tree, a Red Army soldier was hiding.
The rifle hung beside him on a bough. In one hand he held a telephone receiver and, without moving, looked through a shiny black binoculars somewhere at the edge of a deserted field.
We had not yet had time to utter a word, when from afar, like thunder with rifts and booms, a terrible gun salvo struck. The ground trembled underfoot. Far from us, a whole cloud of black dust and smoke rose from the field. Like crazy, the goat jumped up and fell off the wash rope. And the kite wagged in the sky and, quickly, quickly flapping its wings, sped away.
- It's bad for the fascists! - Pashka said loudly and looked at Sanka. - This is how our batteries beat.
“It’s bad for the Nazis,” the hoarse voice repeated like an echo.
And then we saw that a gray-haired bearded old man was standing under the bushes.
The old man had powerful shoulders. In his hands he held a heavy knotted club. And at his feet stood a tall, shaggy dog, baring its teeth at Pashkin's Sharik, who had his tail between his legs.
The old man lifted his wide straw hat, bowed gravely, first to Svetlana, then to all of us. Then he laid the club on the grass, took out a crooked pipe, stuffed it with tobacco and began to smoke.
He smoked for a long time, now crushing the tobacco with his finger, now turning it with a nail, as if with a poker in the stove.
Finally he lit a cigarette, and then he puffed and smoked so much that the Red Army soldier sitting on the tree sneezed and coughed.
Here the battery thundered again, and we saw that the empty and quiet field suddenly came to life, rustled and stirred. From behind the bushes, from the hillocks, from the ditches, from the bumps, Red Army men jumped out from everywhere with rifles at the ready.
They ran, they jumped, they fell, they got up again. They moved, closed, they became more and more; at last, with loud cries, they rushed in full force at the top of a gently sloping hill, where a cloud of dust and smoke was still smoking.
Then everything was quiet. From the top waved flags barely noticeable to us and like a toy signalman. A military trumpet sounded sharply.
Breaking off branches with heavy boots, the Red Army observer-observer got down from the tree. He quickly stroked Svetlana, thrust three shiny acorns into her hand and hurriedly ran away, winding a thin telephone wire around the coil.
The military exercise is over.
- Well, did you see it? - Pushing Sanka with his elbow, Pashka said reproachfully. - This is not a siskin on the back of your head. Here you will quickly help the tops.
- I hear strange conversations, - moving forward, said the bearded old man. - It can be seen that I have lived for sixty years, but have not acquired my mind. Nothing is clear to me. Here, under the mountain, is our Rassvet collective farm. All around these are our fields: oats, buckwheat, millet, wheat. This is our new mill on the river. And there, in the grove, is our large apiary. And over all this I am the chief watchman. I saw swindlers, I also caught horse thieves, but for at least one fascist to appear on my site - this has never happened under Soviet rule. Come to me, Sanka is a formidable person. Let me take a look at you. Yes, wait, wait, you just pick up the drool and wipe your nose. And I'm scared to even look at you.
All this was said unhurriedly by the mocking old man and peered with curiosity from under his shaggy eyebrows ... at the astonished Sanka, who was wide-eyed.
- Not true! - sniffing his nose, yelled offended Sanka. - I'm not a fascist, but all Soviet. And the girl Berta has not been angry for a long time and yesterday she bit off more than half of my apple. And this Pashka is setting all the boys on me. He swears himself, but he cheated my spring. Since I am a fascist, it means that the spring is fascist. And he made some rocking chair out of it for his dog. I tell him: “Come on, Pashka, let’s make peace,” and he says: “First I’ll pull it off, and then we’ll make up.”
- It is necessary to put up without fighting, - Svetlana said with conviction. - It is necessary to grapple with little fingers, spit on the ground and say: "Quarrels, never quarrels, but peace, peace forever." Well, grab on! And you, chief watchman, shout at your terrible dog, and let it not frighten our little Sharik.
- Get back, Polkan! - shouted the watchman. - Lie down on the ground and don't touch your own!
- Oh, that's who! Here he is, Polkan the giant, shaggy and toothy.
Svetlana stood still, turned around, came closer and shook her finger:
- And I'm mine, but don't touch yours!
Polkan looked: Svetlana's eyes are clear, her hands smell of grass and flowers. He smiled and wagged his tail.
Then Sanka and Pashka became envious, they moved in and also asked:
- And we are ours, but don't touch yours!
Suspiciously pulled Polkan with his nose: doesn't the cunning boys smell of carrots from the collective farm gardens? But then, as if on purpose, a stray foal rushed along the path, kicking up dust. Polkan sneezed without understanding. Touch - did not touch, but did not wag his tail and did not allow to stroke.
“We have to go,” I said. The sun is high, it's almost noon. Wow, how hot!
- Goodbye! - loudly said goodbye to everyone Svetlana. - We're going far again.
- Goodbye! - the already reconciled children answered in unison. - Come to us again from afar.
“Goodbye,” the watchman smiled with his eyes. - I do not know where you are going and what you are looking for, but just know: the worst thing for me is far away - it is to the left by the river, where our old rural cemetery stands. And the best thing is far away - it's to the right, across the meadow, through the ravines where they dig a stone. Then go through the woods, go around the swamp. There, above the lake, there is a huge pine forest. There are mushrooms, flowers, and raspberries in it. There is a house on the beach. My daughter Valentina and her son Fedor live in it. And if you get there, then bow to them from me.
Here the wonderful old man raised his hat, whistled to his dog, puffed on his pipe, leaving behind him a wide swath of thick smoke, and strode off towards the yellow pea field.
We exchanged glances with Svetlana - what a sad cemetery for us! We joined hands and turned to the right, to the best far.
We crossed meadows and descended into ravines.
We saw people dragging white, like sugar, a stone from deep black pits. And not just one pebble that falls. They already piled up a whole mountain. And the wheels are spinning, the cars creak. And they're still being transported. And they're still pouring.
It can be seen that a lot of all sorts of stones are hidden underground.
Svetlana also wanted to look underground. For a long time, lying on her stomach, she looked into the black hole. And when I pulled her by the legs, she said that at first she saw only one darkness. And then I saw some kind of black sea underground, and someone there in the sea was making noise and tossing and turning. It must be a shark fish with two tails, one in front and one in the back. And she also fancied a Scarecrow at three hundred and twenty-five feet. And with one golden eye. The Scarecrow sits and buzzes.
I looked slyly at Svetlana and asked if she had seen a steamer with two chimneys, a gray monkey on a tree, and a polar bear on an ice floe.
Svetlana thought, remembered. And it turns out that she saw it too.
I shook my finger at her: oh, isn't he lying? But she laughed in response and ran as fast as she could.
We walked for a long time, often stopping, resting and picking flowers. Then, when they got tired of dragging, they left bouquets on the road.
I threw one bouquet to an old grandmother in a cart. At first the grandmother was frightened, not understanding what it was, and shook her fist at us. But then she saw, smiled and threw three large green cucumbers from the cart.
We picked up the cucumbers, wiped them off, put them in the bag and merrily went on our way.
On the way we met a village where those who plow the land live, sow bread in the field, plant potatoes, cabbage, beets, or work in gardens and orchards.
Outside the village, we also met low green graves, where those that have already been weeded out and worked out lie.
We came across a tree broken by lightning.
We stumbled upon a herd of horses, each of which - at least to Budyonny himself.
We also saw a priest in a long black robe. They looked after him and marveled at the fact that there were still eccentric people left in the world.
Then we got worried when the sky darkened. Clouds have fled from everywhere. They surrounded, caught and covered the sun. But it stubbornly burst out first into one hole, then into another. Finally, it burst out and sparkled over the vast earth, even hotter and brighter.
Far behind was our gray house with a wooden roof.
And Marusya must have returned a long time ago. I looked - no. Searched - did not find. Sitting and waiting, stupid!
- Dad! - finally tired Svetlana said. Let's sit down somewhere and eat something.
We began to search and we found such a clearing, which not everyone will come across in the world.
With a noise, the lush branches of a wild hazel tree swung open before us. A young silver fir-tree rose with its tip to the sky. And thousands, brighter than the flags on the First of May - blue, red, blue, purple - fragrant flowers surrounded the Christmas tree and stood motionless.
Even the birds did not sing over that clearing - it was so quiet.
Only a gray fool-crow plummeted on a branch, looked around, that she had hit the wrong place, croaked in surprise: “Carr ... carr ...” - and immediately flew away to her filthy garbage pits.
- Sit down, Svetlana, guard the bag, and I'll go and get some water in a flask. Don't be afraid: only one animal lives here - a long-eared hare.
- I'm not even afraid of a thousand hares, - Svetlana answered boldly, - but you come as soon as possible.
The water was not close, and, returning, I was already worried about Svetlana.
But she was not afraid and did not cry, but sang.
I hid behind a bush and saw that the red-haired fat Svetlana was standing in front of the flowers, which rose to her shoulders, and enthusiastically sang this song she had just composed:
Hey!.. Hey!..
We didn't break the blue cup.
No no!..
A field watchman walks in the field.
But we did not climb for carrots in the garden.
And I did not climb, and he did not climb.
And Sanka once climbed into the garden.
Hey!.. Hey!..
The Red Army is walking in the field.
(She came from the city.)
The Red Army is the reddest,
And the white army is the whitest.
Tru-ru-ru! Tra-ta-ta!
These are the drummers
These are the pilots
These are drummers flying on airplanes.
And I, the drummer... standing here.
Silently and solemnly, the tall flowers listened to this song and quietly nodded to Svetlana with their magnificent heads.
- Come to me, drummer!

I shouted, pushing the bushes. - There is cold water, red apples, white bread and yellow gingerbread. For a good song nothing is a pity.
Svetlana was a little embarrassed. She shook her head reproachfully and, just like Marusya, screwing up her eyes, she said:
- Hiding and eavesdropping. Shame on you, dear friend!
Suddenly Svetlana quieted down and thought.
And then, while we were eating, a gray siskin suddenly descended onto a branch and chirped something.
It was a bold siskin. He was sitting right in front of us, jumping up and down, chirping and not flying away.
“This is a familiar siskin,” Svetlana decided firmly. - I saw him when my mother and I were swinging in the garden on a swing. She rocked me high. Fut! .. Fut! .. And why did he fly to us so far?
- Not! Not! I answered decisively. - This is a completely different siskin. You are wrong, Svetlana. That siskin does not have enough feathers on his tail, which his owner, a one-eyed cat, tore out for him. That siskin is fatter, and he chirps in a completely different voice.
- No, the same one! Svetlana repeated stubbornly. - I know. He flew so far for us.
- Hey, hey! I sang in a sad voice. - But we didn't break the blue cup. And we decided to go away for good.
The gray siskin chirped angrily. Not one flower out of a million swayed or nodded its head. And Svetlana, frowning, said sternly:
You don't have that kind of voice. And people don't sing like that. But only bears.
Silently we gathered. They came out of the grove. And here, for my happiness, a cool blue river sparkled under the mountain.
And then I raised Svetlana. And when she saw the sandy shore, the green islands, she forgot everything in the world and, clapping her hands joyfully, she shouted:
- Bathe! Bathe! Bathe!
To shorten the path, we went straight to the river through damp meadows.
Soon we found ourselves in front of dense thickets of marsh bushes. We did not want to return, and we decided to somehow get through. But the farther we moved, the tighter the swamp tightened around us.
We circled the swamp, turned right and left, climbed the flimsy perches, jumped from bump to bump. Wet, smeared, but could not get out.
And somewhere not far away, behind the bushes, a flock tossed and mooed, a shepherd cracked his whip, and angrily barked a little dog that sensed us. But we saw nothing but rusty swamp water, rotten bushes and sedge.
Already alarm appeared on the freckled face of the subdued Svetlanka. More and more often she turned around, looking into my face with a silent reproach: “What is this, folder? You are big, strong, and we are really bad!”
- Stay here and don't move! - I ordered, placing Svetlana on a patch of dry land.
I turned into a thicket, but in that direction there was only a green sludge intertwined with fat swamp flowers.
I returned and saw that Svetlana was not standing at all, but carefully, holding on to the bushes, was making her way towards me.
- Stop where you put it! I said sharply.
Svetlana stopped. Her eyes blinked and her lips twitched.
- Why are you screaming? she asked softly in a trembling voice. - I'm barefoot, and there are frogs - and I'm scared.
And I felt very sorry for Svetlanka, who got into trouble because of me.
“Here, take a stick,” I shouted, “and beat them, useless frogs, for anything!” Just stay where you are! Let's move on now.
I turned back into the thicket and got angry. What's this? Is it possible to compare this filthy swamp with the endless reeds of the wide Dnieper region or with the gloomy floodplains of Akhtyrka, where we once smashed and strangled the white Wrangel landing!
From bump to bump, from bush to bush. Once - and waist-deep in water. Two - and dry aspen crunched. Following the aspen, a rotten log flew into the mud. A rotten stump flopped heavily into the same place. Here is the support. Here is another puddle. And here is the dry shore.
And, parting the reeds, I found myself near a frightened goat.
- Hey-gey! Svetlana! I shouted. - You stand?
- Hey-gey! - quietly came from the thicket plaintive thin voice. - I'm a hundred!
We got out to the river. We cleaned off all the dirt and mud that stuck around us from all sides. We rinsed our clothes, and while they were drying on the hot sand, we bathed.
And all the fish rushed away in horror into their deep depths, when we churned sparkling foamy waterfalls with laughter.
And the black mustachioed crayfish, which I pulled out of its underwater country, shifting its round eyes, thrashed and jumped in fear: it must have been the first time I saw such an unbearably bright sun and such an unbearably red-haired girl.
And then, contriving, he angrily grabbed Svetlana by the finger. With a cry, Svetlana threw him into the very middle of the goose herd. Stupid fat goslings shied away.
But an old gray goose approached from the side. He saw a lot and more terrible in the world. He mowed his head, looked with one eye, pecked - then he, cancer, and death came.
... But here we bathed, dried off, dressed and went on.
And again, we came across a lot of everyone along the way: people, and horses, and carts, and cars, and even a gray beast - a hedgehog, which we took with us. Yes, but he soon pricked our hands, and we pushed him into a cold stream.
The hedgehog snorted and swam to the other side. “Here,” he thinks, “outrageous! Look for your hole from here now.
And finally we went to the lake.
It was here that the farthest field of the Rassvet collective farm ended, and on the other side the lands of the Red Dawn were already spread out.
Here we saw a log house on the edge of the forest and immediately guessed that the watchman's daughter Valentina and her son Fyodor lived here.
We approached the fence from the side where the estate was guarded by tall, like soldiers, flowers - sunflowers.
On the porch, in the garden, stood Valentina herself. She was tall, broad-shouldered, like her father, the watchman. The collar of the blue jacket was open. She held a floor brush in one hand and a wet rag in the other.
- Fedor! she shouted sternly. - Where did you hit the gray pan, you scoundrel?
- Wow! - an important voice was heard from under the raspberries, and the blond Fyodor pointed to a puddle where a saucepan loaded with wood chips and grass floated.
- And where, shameless, hid the sieve?
- Wow! - Fyodor answered all the same importantly and pointed to a sieve pressed down by a stone, under which something tossed and turned.
- Just wait, chieftain! .. When you come home, I will smooth you with a wet rag,
Valentina threatened and, seeing us, pulled down her tucked-up skirt.
- Hello! - I said. - Your father sends a bow.
- Thanks! Valentina replied. - Come into the garden, have a rest.
We went through the gate and lay down under a ripe apple tree.
The fat son Fyodor was wearing only one shirt, and his wet trousers, soiled with clay, lay in the grass.
“I eat raspberries,” Fyodor told us seriously. - Ate two bushes. And I will.
“Eat well,” I said. - Just look, friend, do not burst.
Fyodor stopped, poked himself in the stomach with his fist, looked angrily at me, and, grabbing his trousers, waddled towards the house.
For a long time we lay in silence. It seemed to me that Svetlana fell asleep. I turned to her and saw that she was not sleeping at all, but, holding her breath, was looking at a silvery butterfly that was quietly creeping up the sleeve of her pink dress.
And suddenly there was a powerful roaring rumble, the air trembled, and the brilliant plane, like a storm, rushed over the tops of quiet apple trees.
Svetlana shuddered, a butterfly fluttered, a yellow rooster flew off the fence, a frightened jackdaw flashed across the sky with a cry - and everything was quiet.
- This is the same pilot flew by, - Svetlana said with annoyance, - this is the one who came to us yesterday.
- Why is that one? I asked, raising my head. - Maybe it's completely different.
- No, the same one. Yesterday I myself heard him tell my mother that he was flying away tomorrow for good. I ate a red tomato, and my mother answered him: “Well, goodbye. Happy path...
“Daddy,” Svetlana asked, sitting down on my stomach, “tell me something about my mother.” Well, for example, how everything was when I was not there yet.
- As it was? Yes, it was the same. First day, then night, then day again, and then night...
- And another thousand days! Svetlana interrupted impatiently. - Well, here you are and tell me what happened these days. You know, but you pretend...
- Okay, I'll tell you, just get off me on the grass, otherwise it will be hard for me to tell. Well, listen!
Our Marusa was then seventeen years old. Whites attacked their town, they grabbed Marusya's father and put him in prison. But her mother was gone for a long time, and our Marusya was left completely alone ...
“Something feels sorry for her,” Svetlana put in, moving closer.
- Well, tell me more.
Marusya threw on a scarf and ran out into the street. And on the street, white soldiers are leading both workers and working women to prison. And the bourgeois, of course, are happy with the whites, and everywhere in their houses lights are on, music is playing. And there is nowhere for our Marusa to go, and there is no one to tell her about her grief ...
“Something is quite pitiful,” Svetlana interrupted impatiently. - You, daddy, tell the red ones as soon as possible.
- Then Marusya went out of town. The moon was shining. The wind roared. And a wide steppe stretched out before Marusya ...
- With wolves?
- No, no wolves. The wolves then hid in the forests from the shooting. And Marusya thought: “I will run away across the steppe to the city of Belgorod. Comrade Voroshilov's Red Army stands there. He is said to be very brave. And if you ask, then maybe it will help.
And stupid Marusya did not know that the Red Army never waits to be asked. And she herself rushes to help where the whites attacked. And already close to Marusya, our Red Army detachments are advancing across the steppe. And each rifle is loaded with five rounds, and each machine gun with two hundred and fifty rounds.
I then rode across the steppe with a military patrol. Suddenly, someone's shadow flashed and immediately - over the hillock. “Aha! - think. - Stop: white scout. You won't go anywhere else."
I hit the horse with my spurs. Jumped over the hill. I look - what a miracle: there is no white scout, but some girl is standing under the moon. The face is not visible, and only the hair flutters in the wind.
I jumped off my horse, and just in case, I keep a revolver in my hand. I came up and asked: “Who are you and why are you running around the steppe at midnight?”
And the moon came out bigger, bigger! A girl saw a Red Army star on my hat, hugged me and cried.
It was then that we met with her, with Marusya.
And in the morning we drove the whites out of the city. The prisons were opened and the workers released.
Here I am lying in the infirmary during the day. My chest is a little pierced. And my shoulder hurts: when I fell from a horse, I hit a stone.
My squadron commander comes to me and says:
“Well, goodbye, we go further for the whites. Good tobacco and paper are on you as a gift from your comrades, lie still and get well soon.
So the day has passed. Hello evening! And the chest hurts, and the shoulder aches. And my heart is boring. It's boring, friend Svetlana, to be alone without comrades!
Suddenly the door opened, and Marusya quickly, noiselessly entered on her toes! And then I was so happy that I even screamed.
And Marusya came up, sat down beside me and put her hand on my completely hot head and said:
“I was looking for you all day after the fight. Does it hurt you, honey?"
And I say:
“I don’t care that it hurts, Marusya. Why are you so pale?"
"Sleep," answered Marusya. - Sleep tight. I'll be by your side all the days."
It was then that Marusya and I met for the second time and since then we have always lived together.
- Folder, - then Svetlana asked excitedly. “We didn’t really leave home, did we?” Because she loves us. We just walk, walk, and come again.
- How do you know that he loves? Maybe he still loves you, but I'm no longer there.
- Oh, you lie! Svetlana shook her head. - I woke up last night, I look, my mother put down the book, turned to you and looks at you for a long time.
- Eco thing that looks! She looks out the window, she looks at all the people! There are eyes, that's what it looks like.
- Oh, No! Svetlana retorted with conviction. - When through the window, it looks completely different, but this is how ...
Here Svetlana raised her thin eyebrows, tilted her head to one side, pursed her lips and looked indifferently at the rooster passing by.
- And when they love, they look wrong.
It was as if a radiance lit up Svetlanka's blue eyes, her lowered eyelashes fluttered, and Marusin's dear, thoughtful look fell on my face.
- Rogue!

Picking up Svetlana, I shouted. - And how did you look at me yesterday when you spilled the ink?
- Well, then you kicked me out the door, and the kicked out always look angrily.
We didn't break the blue cup. Maybe Marusya herself broke it somehow. But we forgave her. Who knows who in vain thinks bad things? Once Svetlana thought of me. Yes, I myself thought badly about Marusya too. And I went to the hostess Valentina to ask if there was a closer way to the house.
- Now the husband will go to the station, - said Valentina. - He will take you to the very mill, and there it is already not far.
Returning to the garden, I met an embarrassed Svetlana at the porch.
- Dad, - she said in a mysterious whisper, - this son Fyodor got out of the raspberry tree and pulls gingerbread out of your bag.
We went to the apple tree, but the cunning son Fyodor, seeing us, hastily disappeared into the thick of the burdocks under the fence.
- Fedor! I called. - Come here, don't be afraid.
The tops of the burdocks swayed, and it was clear that Fyodor was resolutely moving away.
- Fedor! I repeated. - Go here. I'll give you all the cakes.
The burdocks stopped swaying, and soon a heavy sniffing came from the thicket.
“I’m standing,” an angry voice finally rang out, “here without pants, nettles everywhere.
Then, like a giant above the forest, I strode through the burdocks, took out the stern Fyodor and poured all the remains from the bag in front of him.
He unhurriedly gathered everything into the hem of his shirt and, without even saying "thank you", went to the other end of the garden.
“Look how important,” Svetlana remarked disapprovingly, “he took off his pants and walks like a gentleman!”
A cart pulled by a couple pulled up to the house. Valentina came out on the porch:
- Get ready, the horses are good - they will quickly domchat.
Fyodor appeared again. He was now in trousers and, walking quickly, was dragging a pretty smoky kitten by the scruff of the neck. The kitten must have gotten used to such tricks, because it did not break out, did not meow, but only twirled its fluffy tail impatiently.
- On the! - said Fyodor and thrust the kitten to Svetlana.
- For good? - Svetlana was delighted and hesitantly looked at me.
“Take it, take it if you need it,” Valentine suggested. - We have a lot of this stuff. Fedor! And why did you hide the gingerbread in cabbage beds? I saw everything through the window.
“Now I’ll go even further and hide it,” Fyodor reassured her and left waddling like an important clumsy bear cub.
- All in the grandfather, - Valentine smiled. - A sort of healthy. And only four years.
We were driving on a wide flat road. Evening came. Tired but cheerful people came to meet us from work.
A collective farm truck rumbled into the garage.
A military trumpet sang in the field.
The alarm bell rang in the village.
A heavy-heavy locomotive buzzed behind the forest. Tuu! .. Tu! .. Spin, wheels, hurry, wagons, the railway is long, far away!
And, holding the fluffy kitten tightly, happy Svetlana sang this song to the sound of the cart:
Chiki-chiki!
Mice are walking.
They walk with tails
Very evil.
They fly everywhere.
They're on the shelf.
Fuck it!
And the cup flies.
And who is to blame?
Well, no one is to blame.
Only mice
From black holes.
Hello mice!
We have returned.
And what is
Do we carry with us?
It meows
It jumps
And he drinks milk from a saucer.
Now get out
Into black holes
Or will it tear you apart
In pieces,
For ten pieces
For twenty pieces
For a hundred million
Shaggy pieces.
Near the mill, we jumped off the cart.
They could hear Pashka Bukamashkin, Sanka, Berta and someone else playing siskin behind the fence.
- You don't cheat! Sanka shouted indignantly at Bertha. - Either they spoke to me, or they step on their own.
“Someone is stepping there again,” Svetlana explained, “it must be that they will quarrel again now. - And, sighing, she added: - Such a game!
With excitement we approached the house. All that remained was to turn the corner and climb up.
Suddenly, we looked at each other in bewilderment and stopped.
Neither the leaky fence nor the high porch could yet be seen, but the wooden roof of our gray house was already visible, and our luxurious sparkling turntable was spinning above it with a cheerful buzz.
- This mother herself climbed onto the roof! Svetlana squealed and pulled me forward.
We went up the hill.
The orange rays of the evening sun illuminated the porch. And on it, in a red dress, without a scarf and in sandals on her bare feet, our Marusya stood and smiled.
- Laugh, laugh! - allowed her to run up Svetlana. We have already forgiven you.
I approached and looked Marusya in the face.
Marusya's eyes were brown, and they looked kindly. It was evident that she had been waiting for us for a long time, finally she waited and now she is very glad.
“No,” I firmly decided, discarding the scattered shards of a blue cup with the toe of my boot. - It's all just gray evil mice. And we didn't crash. And Marusya didn’t break anything either.”
... And then there was the evening. And the moon and the stars.
For a long time the three of us sat in the garden, under ripe cherries, and Marusya told us where she had been, what she had done and what she had seen.
And Svetlanka's story would probably have dragged on until midnight if Marusya hadn't realized it and sent her to bed.
- Well?! - the cunning Svetlanka asked me, taking the sleepy kitten with her. - Do we have a bad life now?
We got up too.
The golden moon shone over our garden.
A distant train thundered north.
The midnight pilot honked and disappeared into the clouds.
- And life, comrades ... was quite good!

The story of Gaidar A.P. "Blue Cup" is included in

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I was then thirty-two years old. Marusya is twenty-nine, and our daughter Svetlana is six and a half. Only at the end of the summer did I get a vacation, and for the last warm month we rented a dacha near Moscow.

Svetlana and I thought about fishing, swimming, picking mushrooms and nuts in the forest. And I had to immediately sweep the yard, fix the dilapidated fences, stretch the ropes, hammer in crutches and nails.

We got tired of all this very soon, and Marusya, one after another, keeps coming up with new and new things for herself and for us.

Only on the third day in the evening everything was finally done. And just when the three of us were about to go for a walk, her friend, a polar pilot, came to Marusa.

They sat for a long time in the garden, under the cherry trees. And Svetlana and I went into the yard to the shed and, out of annoyance, began to make a wooden turntable.

When it got dark, Marusya shouted for Svetlana to drink milk and go to bed, and she herself went to see the pilot to the station.

But I got bored without Marusya, and Svetlana didn’t want to sleep alone in an empty house.

We got flour from the closet. They brewed it with boiling water - it turned out to be a paste.

They pasted over the smooth revolver with colored paper, smoothed it well and climbed through the dusty attic to the roof.

Here we are sitting on the roof. And we can see from above, as in the neighboring garden, at the porch, the samovar smokes from the chimney. And on the porch sits a lame old man with a balalaika, and children crowd around him.

Then a barefoot, hunched-over old woman jumped out of the black passage. She turned the children, scolded the old man and, grabbing a rag, began to slap the samovar burner to make it boil faster.

We laughed and thought: the wind will blow, spin, buzz our fast turntable. Children from all yards will come running to our house. We will have our own company.

And tomorrow we'll come up with something else.

Maybe we'll dig a deep cave for that frog that lives in our garden, near the damp cellar.

Maybe we'll ask Marusya for harsh threads and fly a kite - higher than the silo tower, higher than the yellow pines and even higher than the kite that guarded the master's chickens and rabbits from the sky all day today.

Or maybe tomorrow, early in the morning, we will get into the boat - I will row, Marusya will drive, Svetlana will be the passenger - and we will sail along the river to where, they say, there is a large forest, where two hollow birches grow on the shore, under which the neighbor found yesterday girl three good white mushrooms. The only pity is that they were all worms.

Suddenly Svetlana pulled me by the sleeve and said:

Look, papa, but it seems that our mother is coming, and no matter how it hits you and me now.

Indeed, our Marusya is walking along the path along the fence, but we thought that she would not return soon.

Bend over, - I said to Svetlana. - Maybe she won't notice.

But Marusya immediately noticed us, raised her head and shouted:

Why are you, worthless people, climbed onto the roof? It's already damp outside. It's time for Svetlana to sleep. And you were glad that I was not at home, and are ready to pamper even until midnight.

Marusya, - I answered, - we do not indulge, we nail the turntable. You wait a bit, we only have three nails left to hammer.

Finish it off tomorrow! - ordered Marusya. - Now get off, or I will be completely angry.

We exchanged glances with Svetlana. We see that our business is bad. They took it and got off. But they were offended by Marusya.

And although Marusya brought a large apple from the station to Svetlana, and a pack of tobacco to me, they were still offended.

So with resentment, they fell asleep.

And in the morning - another new thing! We have just woken up, Marusya comes up and asks:

Better confess, mischievous people, that they broke my blue cup in the closet!

I didn't break cups. And Svetlana says that she didn’t break either. She and I looked at each other and both thought that it was Marusya talking about us in vain.

But Marusya did not believe us.

Cups, she says, are not alive: they have no legs. They can't jump to the floor. And besides you two, no one climbed into the closet yesterday. Broken and do not confess. Shame on you, comrades!

After breakfast, Marusya suddenly packed up and went to the city, and we sat down and thought.

Here you go on a boat!

And the sun peeks through our windows. And sparrows jump along the sandy paths. And chickens scurry through the wooden wattle fence from the yard to the street and from the street to the yard.

And we're not having fun at all.

Well! - I say to Svetlana. - We were driven from the roof yesterday. A kerosene can was recently taken away from us. For some blue cup in vain scolded. Is this a good life?

Of course, - says Svetlana, - life is very bad.

Come on, Svetlana, put on your pink dress. We will take my hiking bag from behind the stove, put your apple, my tobacco, matches, a knife, a bun there, and leave this house wherever our eyes look.

Svetlana thought and asked:

Where are your eyes looking?

And they look, Svetlana, through the window, at that yellow glade where the owner's cow is grazing. And behind the glade, I know, there is a goose pond, and behind the pond there is a water mill, and behind the mill on the mountain there is a birch grove. And what is beyond the mountain, I myself do not know.

Okay, - Svetlana agreed, - let's take bread, and an apple, and tobacco, but just take another thick stick with you, because somewhere in that direction lives the terrible dog Polkan. And the boys told me about her that she almost ate one to death.

So we did. They put everything they needed in the bag, closed all five windows, locked both doors, and slipped the key under the porch.

Farewell, Marusya! And we didn't break your cup anyway.

We went out the gate, and the thrush woman met us.

Do you need milk?

No, grandma! We don't need anything else.

I have fresh, good milk, from my own cow, - the milkmaid was offended. - If you return, you will regret it.

She rumbled with her cold cans and went on. And how can she guess that we are going far and maybe we will not return?

Yes, and no one thought about it. A tanned boy rode a bicycle. He walked, probably, into the forest for mushrooms, a fat uncle in shorts and with a pipe. A fair-haired girl with wet hair after bathing passed by. We didn't meet anyone we knew.

We got out through the vegetable gardens to a clearing yellow from night blindness, took off our sandals and walked barefoot along the warm path through the meadow straight to the mill.

We go, we go, and now we see that a man is rushing towards us at full speed from the mill. He ducked down, and from behind the willow bushes clods of earth flew at his back. It seemed strange to us. What? Svetlana has sharp eyes, she stopped and said:

And I know who is running. This is a boy, Sanka Karyakin, who lives near the house where someone's pigs climbed into the garden on the tomato beds. Yesterday he rode a stranger's goat in front of our dacha. Do you remember?

Sanka ran up to us, stopped, and wipes his tears with a cotton bag. And we ask him:

Why, Sanka, were you rushing at full speed and why were clods flying behind you from behind the bushes?

Sanka turned away and said:

My grandmother sent me to the collective farm shop for salt. And the pioneer Pashka Bukamashkin is sitting at the mill, and he wants to fight me.

Svetlana looked at him. That's the way it is!

Is there such a law in the Soviet country that a person would run to a collective-farm shop for salt, would not touch anyone, would not bully anyone, and suddenly they would start to fight him for no reason at all?

Come with us, Sanka, - says Svetlana. - Do not be afraid. We are on the road, and we will intercede for you.

The three of us went through the thick broom.

Here he is, Pashka Bukamashkin, - said Sanka and backed away.

We see - there is a mill. Near the mill cart. Under the cart lies a curly-haired little dog covered in burdocks, and, opening one eye, looks at how nimble sparrows peck at the grains scattered on the sand. And on a pile of sand, Pashka Bukamashkin sits without a shirt and nibbles on a fresh cucumber.

Pashka saw us, but was not frightened, but threw the stub into the dog and said, without looking at anyone:

Chu! .. Ball ... Chu! .. Here comes the famous fascist, the White Guard Sanka. Wait, you unfortunate fascist! You and I will still share.

Here Pashka spat far into the sand. The curly-haired dog growled. Frightened sparrows flew up the tree noisily. And Svetlana and I, having heard such words, approached Pashka closer.

Wait, Pashka, - I said. - Maybe you made a mistake? What kind of fascist is this, a White Guard? After all, this is simply Sanka Karyakin, who lives near the house where someone's pigs climbed into someone else's garden on tomato beds.

All the same, he is a White Guard, - Pashka repeated stubbornly. - And if you don’t believe me, then you want me to tell you his whole story?

Here Svetlana and I really wanted to know the whole story of Sanka. We sat on the logs, Pashka opposite. Curly little dog at our feet, on the grass. Only Sanka did not sit down, but, going behind the cart, he shouted angrily from there:

Then you already tell everything! And how it hit me on the back of the head, also tell me. Do you think the back of the head doesn't hurt? Take it and hit it.

There is a city of Dresden in Germany, - Pashka said calmly, - and from this city one worker, a Jew, escaped from the Nazis. He ran away and came to us. And with him came the girl, Berta. He himself now works at this mill, and Berta plays with us. Only now she ran to the village for milk. So, the day before yesterday we were playing siskin: me, Berta, this man, Sanka, and another one from the village. Berta hits the siskin with a stick and accidentally hits this same Sanka on the back of the head, or something ...

It hit me right on the top of the head, - said Sanka from behind the cart. - My head was buzzing, and she was still laughing.

Well, - Pashka continued, - she hit this Sanka on the top of the head with a siskin. He first at her with his fists, and then nothing. He put a burdock to his head - and again he plays with us. Only after that he became impossible to cheat. He takes an extra step, and marks with a siskin right at the stake.

You’re lying, you’re lying!” Sanka jumped out from behind the cart.

And you're not playing with the dog, but with us. I would take it and put the siskin in its place. Here you go. He threw a siskin, and as soon as Berta had enough with a stick, this siskin flew right to the other end of the field, into the nettles. It's funny to us, but Sanka is angry. It is clear that he is reluctant to run after the siskin into the nettles ... He climbed over the fence and yells from there: “Fool, Jew! So that you fall back into your Germany! And Berta already understands the fool in Russian well, but she still does not understand the Jewess in any way. She comes up to me and asks: “What is a Jewess?” And I'm ashamed to say. I shout: "Shut up, Sanka!" And he screams louder and louder on purpose. I follow him over the fence. He is in the bushes. And so he hid. I returned - I look: the stick is lying on the grass, and Bertha is sitting in the corner on logs. I call: "Bertha!" She is not responding. I approached - I see: there are tears in her eyes. So, she figured it out. Then I picked up a stone from the ground, put it in my pocket and thought: “Well, wait a minute, damned Sanka! This is not Germany for you. With your fascism, we can handle it ourselves!”

We looked at Sanka and thought: “Well, brother, you have a bad story. It's disgusting to even listen to. And we were going to stand up for you.”

And just as I was about to say this, the mill suddenly trembled and rustled, the rested wheel spun on the water. Jumped out of the mill window sprinkled with flour, frightened cat. Waking up, she missed and fell right on the back of the dozing Sharik. The ball yelped and jumped. The cat rushed to the tree, the sparrows from the tree to the roof. The horse lifted its muzzle and jerked the cart. And some shaggy, gray from flour uncle looked out of the barn and, without understanding, shook Sanka, who had bounced off the cart, with a long whip:

But, but ... look, do not indulge, otherwise I’ll tear it out alive!

Svetlana laughed, and somehow she felt sorry for this unfortunate Sanka, whom everyone wants to tear out.

Dad, she said to me. Maybe he's not such a fascist at all? Maybe he's just stupid? Isn't it true, Sanka, that you're just a fool? - Svetlana asked and affectionately looked into his face.

In response, Sanka only snorted angrily, shook his head, sniffed and wanted to say something. And what can you say when you yourself are to blame and, in truth, there is nothing to say.

But here Pashka's little dog suddenly stopped barking at the cat and, turning to the field, raised her ears.

Somewhere behind the grove, a shot rang out. Another. And it's gone, and it's gone!

Fight nearby! - cried Pashka.

The fight is nearby, - I said too. - This is firing from rifles. But do you hear? It fired a machine gun.

Pashka jumped up first. The dog ran after him. I picked up Svetlana in my arms and also ran to the grove.

Before we had run halfway, we heard a scream behind us. We turned around and saw Sanka.

Raising his arms high so that we could notice him sooner, he rushed straight towards us through ditches and bumps.

Look at you, how a goat jumps! - Pashka muttered. - And what is this fool waving over his head with?

It's not a fool. He is dragging my sandals! - Svetlana shouted joyfully. - I forgot them on the logs, but he found them and brings them to me. You would make peace with him, Pashka!

Pashka frowned and did not answer. We waited for Sanka, took Svetlana's yellow sandals from him. And now the four of us, with the dog, went through the grove to the edge.

Before us stretched a hilly field overgrown with bushes. By the stream, jingling a tin bell, a goat tied to a peg nibbled at the grass. And a lone kite flew smoothly in the sky. That's all. And there was no one else and nothing on this field.

So where is the war here? - Svetlana asked impatiently.

And now I'll look, - said Pashka and climbed onto a stump.

He stood for a long time, squinting from the sun and covering his eyes with his hand. And who knows what he saw there, but only Svetlana got tired of waiting, and she, tangled in the grass, went to look for war herself.

The grass is tall for me, and I'm low, - Svetlana complained, rising on tiptoe. - And I can't see at all.

Look under your feet, do not touch the wire, - a loud voice came from above.

Instantly Pashka flew off the stump. Clumsily bounced towards Sanka. And Svetlana rushed to me and firmly grabbed my hand.

We backed away and then saw that right above us, in the dense branches of a lonely tree, a Red Army soldier was hiding.

The rifle hung beside him on a bough. In one hand he held a telephone receiver and, without moving, looked through a shiny black binoculars somewhere at the edge of a deserted field.

We had not yet had time to utter a word, when from afar, like thunder with rifts and booms, a terrible gun salvo struck. The ground trembled underfoot. Far from us, a whole cloud of black dust and smoke rose above the field. Like crazy, the goat jumped up and fell off the wash rope. And the kite wagged in the sky and, quickly, quickly flapping its wings, sped away.

It's bad for the Nazis! - Pashka said loudly and looked at Sanka. - That's how our batteries beat.

It's bad business for the fascists, - a hoarse voice repeated like an echo.

And then we saw that a gray-haired bearded old man was standing under the bushes.

The old man had powerful shoulders. In his hands he held a heavy knotted club. And at his feet stood a tall, shaggy dog, baring its teeth at Pashkin's Sharik, who had his tail between his legs.

The old man lifted his wide straw hat, bowed gravely, first to Svetlana, then to all of us. Then he laid the club on the grass, took out a crooked pipe, stuffed it with tobacco and began to smoke.

He smoked for a long time, now crushing the tobacco with his finger, now turning it with a nail, as with a poker in the stove.

Finally he lit a cigarette, and then he puffed and smoked so much that the Red Army soldier sitting on the tree sneezed and coughed.

Here the battery thundered again, and we saw that the empty and quiet field suddenly came to life, rustled and stirred. From behind the bushes, from the hillocks, from the ditches, from the bumps, Red Army men jumped out from everywhere with rifles at the ready.

They ran, they jumped, they fell, they got up again. They moved, closed, they became more and more; finally, with loud cries, they rushed in full force with bayonets to the top of a gentle hill, where a cloud of dust and smoke was still smoking.

Then everything went quiet. From the top waved flags barely noticeable to us and like a toy signalman. A military trumpet sounded sharply.

Breaking off branches with heavy boots, the Red Army observer-observer got down from the tree. He quickly stroked Svetlana, thrust three shiny acorns into her hand and hurriedly ran away, winding a thin telephone wire around the coil.

The military exercise is over.

Well, have you seen it? - pushing Sanka with his elbow, Pashka said reproachfully. - This is not a siskin on the back of your head. Here you will quickly help the tops.

I hear strange conversations, - moving forward, said the bearded old man. Nothing is clear to me. Here, under the mountain, is our Rassvet collective farm. All around these are our fields: oats, buckwheat, millet, wheat. This is our new mill on the river. And there, in the grove, is our large apiary. And over all this I am the chief watchman. I saw swindlers, I also caught horse thieves, but for at least one fascist to appear on my site - this has never happened under Soviet rule. Come to me, Sanka is a formidable person. Let me take a look at you. Yes, wait, wait, you just pick up the drool and wipe your nose. And I'm scared to even look at you.

All this was said unhurriedly by the mocking old man and peered with curiosity from under his shaggy eyebrows ... at the astonished Sanka, who was staring wide-eyed.

It's not true! - Sniffing his nose, the offended Sanka yelled. - I'm not a fascist, but all Soviet. And the girl Berta has not been angry for a long time and yesterday she bit off more than half of my apple. And this Pashka is setting all the boys on me. He swears himself, but he cheated my spring. Since I am a fascist, it means that the spring is fascist. And he made some rocking chair out of it for his dog. I tell him: “Come on, Pashka, let’s make peace,” and he says: “First I’ll pull it off, and then we’ll make up.”

We must put up without fights, - Svetlana said with conviction. - We must grapple with our little fingers, spit on the ground and say: “Quarrels, never quarrels, but peace, peace forever.” Well, grab on! And you, chief watchman, shout at your terrible dog, and let it not frighten our little Sharik.

Back, Polkan! - the watchman shouted. - Lie down on the ground and don’t touch your own!

Ah, that's who! Here he is, Polkan the giant, shaggy and toothy.

Svetlana stood still, turned around, came closer and shook her finger:

And I'm mine, but don't touch yours!

Polkan looked: Svetlana's eyes are clear, her hands smell of grass and flowers. He smiled and wagged his tail.

Then Sanka and Pashka became envious, they moved in and also asked:

And we are ours, but don’t touch yours!

Suspiciously pulled Polkan with his nose: doesn't the cunning boys smell of carrots from the collective farm gardens? But then, as if on purpose, kicking up dust, a crazy colt rushed along the path. Polkan sneezed without understanding. Touch - did not touch, but did not wag his tail and did not allow to stroke.

It's time for us, - I thought to myself. - The sun is high, soon noon. Wow, how hot!

Goodbye! - Svetlana said goodbye to everyone loudly. - We are going far away again.

Goodbye! - the already reconciled children answered in unison. - Come to us again from afar.

Goodbye, - the watchman smiled with his eyes. - I don’t know where you are going and what you are looking for, but just know: the worst thing for me is far away - this is to the left by the river, where our old rural cemetery stands. And the best thing is far away - it's to the right, through the meadow, through the ravines where they dig a stone. Then go through the woods, go around the swamp. There, above the lake, there is a huge pine forest. There are mushrooms, flowers, and raspberries in it. There is a house on the beach. My daughter Valentina and her son Fedor live there. And if you get there, then bow to them from me.

Here the wonderful old man raised his hat, whistled to his dog, puffed on his pipe, leaving behind him a wide band of thick smoke, and strode off towards the yellow pea field.

We exchanged glances with Svetlana - what a sad cemetery for us! We joined hands and turned to the right, in the best way.

We crossed meadows and descended into ravines.

We saw how people were dragging white, like sugar, a stone from deep black pits. And not just one pebble that falls. They already piled up a whole mountain. And the wheels keep spinning, the cars creak. And they're still being transported. And they're still pouring.

It can be seen that a lot of all sorts of stones are hidden underground.

Svetlana also wanted to look underground. For a long time, lying on her stomach, she looked into the black hole. And when I pulled her by the legs, she said that at first she saw only one darkness. And then I saw some kind of black sea under the ground, and someone there in the sea was making noise and tossing and turning. It must be a shark fish with two tails, one in front and one in the back. And she also fancied a Scarecrow at three hundred and twenty-five feet. And with one golden eye. The Scarecrow sits and buzzes.

I looked slyly at Svetlana and asked if she had seen a steamer with two chimneys, a gray monkey on a tree, and a polar bear on an ice floe.

Svetlana thought, remembered. And it turns out that she saw it too.

I shook my finger at her: oh, isn't he lying? But she laughed in response and ran as fast as she could.

We walked for a long time, often stopping, resting and picking flowers. Then, when they got tired of dragging, they left bouquets on the road.

I threw one bouquet to an old grandmother in a cart. At first the grandmother was frightened, not understanding what it was, and shook her fist at us. But then she saw, smiled and threw three large green cucumbers from the cart.

We picked up the cucumbers, wiped them off, put them in the bag and merrily went on our way.

On the way we met a village where those who plow the land live, sow bread in the field, plant potatoes, cabbage, beets, or work in gardens and orchards.

We met outside the village and low green graves, where those that have already been weeded out and worked out lie.

We came across a tree broken by lightning.

We stumbled upon a herd of horses, each of which - at least to Budyonny himself.

We also saw a priest in a long black robe. They looked after him and marveled at the fact that there were still eccentric people left in the world.

Then we got worried when the sky darkened. Clouds have fled from everywhere. They surrounded, caught and covered the sun. But it stubbornly burst out first into one hole, then into another. Finally, it burst out and sparkled over the vast earth, even hotter and brighter.

Far behind was our gray house with a wooden roof.

And Marusya must have returned a long time ago. I looked - no. Searched - did not find. Sit and wait, stupid!

Dad! - Finally tired Svetlana said. - Let's sit somewhere with you and eat something.

We began to search and we found such a clearing, which not everyone will come across in the world.

With a noise, the lush branches of a wild hazel tree swung open before us. A young silver fir-tree rose with its tip to the sky. And thousands, brighter than the flags on the First of May - blue, red, light blue, purple - fragrant flowers surrounded the Christmas tree and stood motionless.

Even the birds did not sing over that clearing - it was so quiet.

Only a gray fool-crow plummeted into a branch, looked around, that she had hit the wrong place, croaked in surprise: “Carr ... carr ...” - and immediately flew away to her filthy garbage pits.

Sit down, Svetlana, guard the bag, and I'll go and fill a flask of water. Don't be afraid: only one animal lives here - a long-eared hare.

I'm not even afraid of a thousand hares, - Svetlana boldly answered, - but you come as soon as possible.

The water was not close, and, returning, I was already worried about Svetlana.

But she was not afraid and did not cry, but sang.

I hid behind a bush and saw that the red-haired fat Svetlana was standing in front of the flowers, which rose to her shoulders, and enthusiastically sang this song she had just composed:

Hey!.. Hey!..

We didn't break the blue cup.

No no!..

A field watchman walks in the field.

But we did not climb for carrots in the garden.

And I did not climb, and he did not climb.

And Sanka once climbed into the garden.

Hey!.. Hey!..

The Red Army is walking in the field.

(She came from the city.)

The Red Army is the reddest,

And the white army is the whitest.

Tru-ru-ru! Tra-ta-ta!

These are the drummers

These are the pilots

These are drummers flying on planes.

And I, the drummer... standing here.

Silently and solemnly, the tall flowers listened to this song and quietly nodded to Svetlana with their magnificent heads.

Come to me, drummer! - I shouted, pushing the bushes aside. - There is cold water, red apples, white bread and yellow gingerbread. For a good song nothing is a pity.

Svetlana was a little embarrassed. She shook her head reproachfully and, just like Marusya, screwing up her eyes, she said:

Hiding and eavesdropping. Shame on you, dear friend!

Suddenly Svetlana quieted down and thought.

And then, while we were eating, a gray siskin suddenly descended onto a branch and chirped something like that.

It was a bold siskin. He was sitting right in front of us, jumping up and down, chirping and not flying away.

This is a familiar siskin, - Svetlana decided firmly. - I saw him when my mother and I were swinging in the garden on a swing. She rocked me high. Fut! .. Fut! .. And why did he fly to us so far?

Not! No! - I answered decisively. - This is a completely different siskin. You are wrong, Svetlana. That siskin does not have enough feathers on his tail, which his owner, a one-eyed cat, tore out for him. That siskin is fatter, and he chirps in a completely different voice.

No, the same one! - Svetlana repeated stubbornly. - I know. He flew so far for us.

Hey, hey! - I sang in a sad bass. - But we did not break the blue cup. And we decided to go away for good.

The gray siskin chirped angrily. Not one flower out of a million swayed or nodded its head. And Svetlana, frowning, said sternly:

Silently we gathered. They came out of the grove. And here, for my happiness, a cool blue river sparkled under the mountain.

And then I raised Svetlana. And when she saw the sandy shore, the green islands, she forgot everything in the world and, clapping her hands joyfully, she shouted:

Bathe! Bathe! Bathe!

To shorten the path, we went straight to the river through damp meadows.

Soon we found ourselves in front of dense thickets of marsh bushes. We did not want to return, and we decided to somehow get through. But the farther we moved, the tighter the swamp tightened around us.

We circled around the swamp, turned right, left, climbed over flimsy perches, jumped from bump to bump. Wet, smeared, but could not get out.

And somewhere not far away, behind the bushes, a flock tossed and mooed, a shepherd cracked his whip, and angrily barked a little dog that sensed us. But we saw nothing but rusty swamp water, rotten bushes and sedge.

Already alarm appeared on the freckled face of the subdued Svetlanka. More and more often she turned around, looking into my face with a silent reproach: “What is this, folder? You are big, strong, and we are really bad!”

Stay here and don't move! - I ordered, placing Svetlana on a patch of dry land.

I turned into a thicket, but in that direction there was only a green sludge intertwined with fat swamp flowers.

I returned and saw that Svetlana was not standing at all, but carefully, holding on to the bushes, was making her way towards me.

Stop where they put it! - I said sharply.

Svetlana stopped. Her eyes blinked and her lips twitched.

And I felt very sorry for Svetlanka, who got into trouble because of me.

Here, take a stick, - I shouted, - and beat them, useless frogs, for anything! Just stay where you are! Let's move on now.

I turned back into the thicket and got angry. What's this? Is it possible to compare this filthy swamp with the endless reeds of the wide Dnieper region or with the gloomy floodplains of Akhtyrka, where we once smashed and strangled the white Wrangel landing!

From bump to bump, from bush to bush. Once - and waist-deep in water. Two - and dry aspen crunched. Following the aspen, a rotten log flew into the mud. A rotten stump flopped heavily into the same place. Here is the support. Here is another puddle. And here is the dry shore.

And, parting the reeds, I found myself near a frightened goat.

Hey gay! Svetlana! - I shouted. - Are you standing?

Hey-gey! - a plaintive thin voice quietly came from the thicket. - I'm a hundred-oh!

We got out to the river. We cleaned off all the dirt and mud that stuck around us from all sides. We rinsed our clothes, and while they were drying on the hot sand, we bathed.

And all the fish rushed away in horror into their deep depths, when we churned sparkling foamy waterfalls with laughter.

And the black mustachioed crayfish, which I pulled out of its underwater country, shifting its round eyes, thrashed and jumped in fear: it must have been the first time I saw such an unbearably bright sun and such an unbearably red-haired girl.

And then, contriving, he angrily grabbed Svetlana by the finger. With a cry, Svetlana threw him into the very middle of the goose herd. Stupid fat goslings shied away.

But an old gray goose approached from the side. He saw a lot and more terrible in the world. He mowed his head, looked with one eye, pecked - then he, cancer, and death came.

... But here we bathed, dried off, dressed and went on.

And again, we came across a lot of everyone along the way: people, and horses, and carts, and cars, and even a gray beast - a hedgehog, which we took with us. Yes, but he soon pricked our hands, and we pushed him into a cold stream.

The hedgehog snorted and swam to the other side. “Here,” he thinks, “outrageous! Look for your hole from here now.

And finally we went to the lake.

It was here that the farthest field of the Rassvet collective farm ended, and on the other side the lands of the Red Dawn were already spreading.

Here we saw a log house on the edge of the forest and immediately guessed that the watchman's daughter Valentina and her son Fyodor lived here.

We approached the fence from the side where the estate was guarded by tall, like soldiers, flowers - sunflowers.

On the porch, in the garden, stood Valentina herself. She was tall, broad-shouldered, like her father, the watchman. The collar of the blue jacket was open. She held a floor brush in one hand and a wet rag in the other.

Fyodor!” she shouted sternly.

And where, shameless, hid the sieve?

Vo-na! - Fyodor answered all the same importantly and pointed to a sieve pressed down by a stone, under which something was tossing and turning.

Just wait, ataman! .. When you come home, I’ll smooth you with a wet rag, ”Valentina threatened and, seeing us, pulled up her tucked-up skirt.

Hello! - I said. - Your father sends a bow.

Thank you! - Valentina answered. - Come into the garden, have a rest.

We went through the gate and lay down under a ripe apple tree.

The fat son Fyodor was wearing only one shirt, and his wet trousers, soiled with clay, lay in the grass.

I eat raspberries, - Fedor told us seriously. - I ate two bushes. And I will.

Eat to your health, - I wished. - Just look, friend, don't burst.

Fyodor stopped, poked himself in the stomach with his fist, looked angrily at me, and, grabbing his pants, waddled to the house.

For a long time we lay in silence. It seemed to me that Svetlana fell asleep. I turned to her and saw that she was not sleeping at all, but, holding her breath, was looking at a silvery butterfly that was quietly creeping up the sleeve of her pink dress.

And suddenly there was a powerful roaring rumble, the air trembled, and a brilliant plane, like a storm, rushed over the tops of quiet apple trees.

Svetlana shuddered, a butterfly fluttered, a yellow rooster flew off the fence, a frightened jackdaw flashed across the sky with a cry - and everything was quiet.

This is the same pilot who flew by, - Svetlana said with annoyance, - this is the one who came to us yesterday.

Why that one?” I asked, raising my head. “Maybe it's completely different.

No, the same one. Yesterday I myself heard him tell my mother that he was flying away tomorrow for good. I ate a red tomato, and my mother answered him: “Well, goodbye. Happy path...

Folder, - sitting down on my stomach, Svetlana asked, - tell me something about my mother. Well, for example, how it was when I was not there yet.

As it was? Yes, it was the same. First day, then night, then day again, and then night...

And a thousand more days!” Svetlana interrupted impatiently. “Well, tell me what happened these days. You know, but you pretend...

Okay, I’ll tell you, just get off me onto the grass, otherwise it will be hard for me to tell. Well, listen!

Our Marusa was then seventeen years old. Whites attacked their town, they grabbed Marusya's father and put him in prison. But her mother was gone for a long time, and our Marusya was left completely alone ...

Something feels sorry for her, - moving closer, put in Svetlana.

Marusya threw on a scarf and ran out into the street. And on the street, white soldiers are leading both workers and working women to prison. And the bourgeois, of course, are happy with the whites, and everywhere in their houses lights are on, music is playing. And there is nowhere for our Marusa to go, and there is no one to tell her about her grief ...

Something is already quite pitiful, - Svetlana interrupted impatiently.

Then Marusya went out of town. The moon was shining. The wind roared. And a wide steppe stretched out before Marusya ...

With wolves?

No, no wolves. The wolves then hid in the forests from the shooting. And Marusya thought: “I will run away across the steppe to the city of Belgorod. Comrade Voroshilov's Red Army stands there. He is said to be very brave. And if you ask, then maybe it will help.

And stupid Marusya did not know that the Red Army never waits to be asked. And she herself rushes to help where the whites attacked. And already close to Marusya, our Red Army detachments are advancing across the steppe. And each rifle is loaded with five rounds, and each machine gun with two hundred and fifty.

I then rode across the steppe with a military patrol. Suddenly, someone's shadow flashed and immediately - over the hillock. “Aha!” I think. “Stop: a white scout. You won't go anywhere else."

I hit the horse with my spurs. Jumped over the hill. I look - what a miracle: there is no white scout, but some girl is standing under the moon. The face is not visible, and only the hair flutters in the wind.

I jumped off my horse, and just in case, I keep a revolver in my hand. I approached and asked: “Who are you and why are you running around the steppe at midnight?”

And the moon came out bigger, bigger! A girl saw a Red Army star on my hat, hugged me and cried.

It was then that we met with her, with Marusya.

And in the morning we drove the whites out of the city. The prisons were opened and the workers released.

Here I lie during the day in the infirmary. My chest is a little pierced. And my shoulder hurts: when I fell from a horse, I hit a stone.

My squadron commander comes to me and says:

So the day has passed. Hello evening! And the chest hurts, and the shoulder aches. And my heart is boring. It's boring, friend Svetlana, to be alone without comrades!

Suddenly the door opened, and Marusya quickly, noiselessly entered on her toes! And then I was so happy that I even screamed.

And Marusya came up, sat down beside me and put her hand on my completely hot head and said:

“I was looking for you all day after the fight. Does it hurt you, honey?"

And I say:

“I don’t care that it hurts, Marusya. Why are you so pale?"

“Sleep,” answered Marusya. “Sleep tight. I'll be by your side all the days."

It was then that Marusya and I met for the second time and since then we have always lived together.

Folder, - then Svetlana asked excitedly. - We didn’t really leave the house, did we? Because she loves us. We just walk, walk, and we'll come again.

How do you know what you love? Maybe he still loves you, but I'm no longer there.

Oh, you’re lying! - Svetlana shook her head. - I woke up last night, I look, my mother put down the book, turned to you and looks at you for a long time.

Eco thing that looks! She looks out the window, she looks at all the people! There are eyes, that's what it looks like.

Oh, no! - Svetlana objected with conviction. - When you look through the window, it looks completely different, but this is how ...

Here Svetlana lifted her thin eyebrows, tilted her head to one side, pursed her lips and looked indifferently at the rooster passing by.

And when they love, they look wrong.

It was as if a radiance lit up Svetlanka's blue eyes, her lowered eyelashes fluttered, and Marusin's dear, thoughtful look fell on my face.

Robber! - Picking up Svetlana, I shouted. - And how did you look at me yesterday when you spilled the ink?

Well, then you kicked me out the door, and the kicked out always look angrily.

We didn't break the blue cup. Maybe Marusya herself broke it somehow. But we forgave her. Who knows who in vain thinks bad things? Once Svetlana thought of me. Yes, I myself thought badly about Marusya too. And I went to the hostess Valentina to ask if there was a closer way to the house for us.

Now my husband will go to the station, - said Valentina. - He will take you to the very mill, and there it is already not far.

Returning to the garden, I met an embarrassed Svetlana at the porch.

Dad, - she said in a mysterious whisper, - this son Fyodor got out of the raspberry tree and pulls gingerbread from your bag.

We went to the apple tree, but the cunning son Fyodor, seeing us, hastily disappeared into the thick of the burdocks under the fence.

Fedor! - I called. - Come here, don't be afraid.

The tops of the burdocks swayed, and it was clear that Fyodor was resolutely moving away.

Fedor! - I repeated. - Come here. I'll give you all the cakes.

The burdocks stopped swaying, and soon a heavy sniffing came from the thicket.

Then, like a giant above the forest, I walked through the mugs, took out the stern Fyodor and poured out all the remains from the bag in front of him.

He unhurriedly picked up everything in the hem of his shirt and, without even saying "thank you", went to the other end of the garden.

Look, how important, - Svetlana remarked disapprovingly, - he took off his pants and walks like a gentleman!

A cart pulled by a couple pulled up to the house. Valentina came out on the porch:

Get ready, good horses - they will quickly domchat.

Fyodor showed up again. He was now in trousers and, walking quickly, was dragging a pretty smoky kitten by the scruff of the neck. The kitten must have gotten used to such tricks, because it did not break out, did not meow, but only twirled its fluffy tail impatiently.

On! - said Fedor and thrust the kitten to Svetlana.

For good? - Svetlana was delighted and looked at me hesitantly.

Take it, take it, if necessary, - suggested Valentina. - We have a lot of this stuff. Fedor! And why did you hide the gingerbread in cabbage beds? I saw everything through the window.

All in the grandfather, - Valentine smiled. - A sort of healthy. And only four years.

We were driving on a wide flat road. Evening came. Tired but cheerful people came to meet us from work.

A collective farm truck rumbled into the garage.

A military trumpet sang in the field.

The alarm bell rang in the village.

A heavy-heavy locomotive buzzed behind the forest. Tuu! .. Tu! .. Turn around, wheels, hurry up, wagons, the railway is long, far away!

And, holding the fluffy kitten tightly, happy Svetlana sang this song to the sound of the cart:

Chiki-chiki!

Mice are walking.

They walk with tails

Very evil.

They fly everywhere.

They're on the shelf.

Fuck it!

And the cup flies.

And who is to blame?

Well, no one is to blame.

Only mice

From black holes.

Hello mice!

We have returned.

And what is

Do we carry with us?

It meows

It jumps

And he drinks milk from a saucer.

Now get out

Into black holes

Or it will tear you apart

In pieces,

For ten pieces

For twenty pieces

For a hundred million

Shaggy pieces.

Near the mill, we jumped off the cart.

They could hear Pashka Bukamashkin, Sanka, Berta and someone else playing siskin behind the fence.

Don't cheat! - Sanka shouted indignantly to Bertha.

Someone is stepping up there again, - Svetlana explained, - they must be fighting again now. - And, sighing, she added: - Such a game!

With excitement we approached the house. All that remained was to turn the corner and climb up.

Suddenly, we looked at each other in bewilderment and stopped.

Neither the leaky fence nor the high porch could yet be seen, but the wooden roof of our gray house already appeared, and our luxurious sparkling turntable was spinning above it with a cheerful buzz.

This mother climbed the roof herself! - Svetlana squealed and pulled me forward.

We went up the hill.

The orange rays of the evening sun illuminated the porch. And on it, in a red dress, without a scarf and in sandals on her bare feet, our Marusya stood and smiled.

Laugh, laugh! - Svetlana, who ran up to her, allowed her. - We already forgave you anyway.

I approached and looked Marusya in the face.

Marusya's eyes were brown, and they looked kindly. It was evident that she had been waiting for us for a long time, finally she waited and now she is very glad.

“No,” I firmly decided, throwing away the scattered shards of a blue cup with the toe of my boot. “It’s all just gray angry mice. And we didn't crash. And Marusya didn’t break anything either.”

... And then there was the evening. And the moon and the stars.

For a long time the three of us sat in the garden, under ripe cherries, and Marusya told us where she had been, what she had done and what she had seen.

And Svetlanka's story would probably have dragged on until midnight if Marusya hadn't realized it and sent her to bed.

Well, what? - taking the sleepy kitten with her, the cunning Svetlana asked me. - Is life really bad for us now?

We got up too.

The golden moon shone over our garden.

A distant train thundered north.

The midnight pilot hooted and disappeared into the clouds.

And life, comrades... was quite good!

Placenta Hydarnost

If we ignore the real relationships in the family of Arkady Petrovich (traces of which, as E.T. points out, are in the Blue Cup), then we get the Oedipal structure of Gaidar's soul in its pure (albeit in the most general) form. Namely: the child obediently, albeit jealously, observes the relationship between mother and father and timidly tries to play the role of a father, which he seems to be in relation to Sveta (however, according to the meaning of the text, rather than a daughter, but a little girlfriend). But all this is not reality, but the dreams of the writer. In these dreams, the Pilot eventually flew away forever, and Marusya relented - she herself put the turntable on the coveted place: on the roof, from which she had recently driven the playing boy away.

Here it is important to emphasize (and keep in mind all the time, reading further) that we are not talking about a real-biographical mother, father and child, but about the projection into the literary text of the structure of the soul of its author. And about the interaction between the elements of this structure. This interaction, in fact, determines the character of a person - certain psychophysiological reactions to specific challenges of the surrounding world. And also his fate - a scheme of movement in the space-time continuum of this world.

In the soul of every person there is a structure of this kind: more or less clearly defined internal subjects Mother and Father, as well as the Child. The characters of the inner Mother and Father in the soul of a person are determined by how the real mother and father (or those who replace them) behaved in the presence of the child, what behavior they programmed him for in the future. And the nature of the inner Child is determined by what kind of reactions the real mother and father expected from their child.

At the same time, we must keep in mind: what we consciously want from our children does not always coincide with what we really want have from them. What we want translates into rational attempts to educate them in such and such. But there is still something unconscious in us, and it, regardless of our conscious desires, emerges through our most rational behavior and is sensitively registered by the child. For example, a parent wants to instill “courage” in a child, but, without noticing it, instills in him irresponsibility. Because at this moment the behavior of the parent is only outwardly adult, but in fact his inner Parent woke up in him (Grandfather in relation to the kid in whom “courage” is brought up), and he, perhaps, wants to bring up something in the child quite another is what is inherent in the Parental destructive nature. It is in this way that an indigenous family tradition is passed down from generation to generation, whether it be a penchant for writing or an urge to destroy.

Flying father

Paternal inclinations (we are talking about the mother ahead) are usually transferred to the boy in the game. The child is allowed to play with real weapons. This is a sign that you can act like a father. And how to behave like a father, the child understands by watching his father. And then he tries to reproduce his behavior as much as he can. He reproduces, of course, not so much the details as the most general principles of paternal behavior. The details that a specific life situation brings are adjusted to general principles.

In the same way, these general principles form the text, which can be filled with any details. In "School" the father deserts, comes to the house, disturbing the calm course of life, as he has to hide from the authorities. But soon he disappears - he is shot. At the same time, the Oedipal collision is expressed here in the fact that in the story it is the son who leads the “tail” to the cemetery where the father is hiding. The son, as it were, accidentally removes his father (the disturber of family peace) and remains with his mother. And with a Mauser, which opens the way to the father's world of death.

And here is a description of the father's actions in the Blue Cup. Exposition: peace, silence, calm… “And suddenly there was a powerful roaring rumble, the air trembled, and a brilliant plane, like a storm, rushed over the tops of quiet apple trees.

Svetlana shuddered, a butterfly fluttered, a yellow rooster flew off the fence, a frightened jackdaw flashed across the sky with a cry - and everything was quiet.

“This is the same pilot who flew by,” Svetlana said with annoyance, “this is the one who came to us yesterday.”

And the same one that the Narrator imitates in Gaidar's writer's fantasies. The pilot flies, frightening peaceful animals, and the Narrator, deprived of the opportunity to perform such manly deeds, plays like a child with a paper spinner and, at the same time, is punished - only for being playful could break a blue cup of Marusya. Who actually broke it is not explained in the story. Only the Narrator's generally reconciling thought is conveyed: “These are all just gray evil mice. And we didn't crash. And Marusya didn’t break anything either.”

That is, there are no guilty people for the fact that the cup is broken and peace in the family is destroyed. Except for mice, which in the song (sung by the girl of Light) are described as follows: “They walk with tails, very angry. They fly everywhere. They're on the shelf. Fuck it! And flies(emphasis mine. - O.D.) a cup. And who is to blame? It's nobody's fault. Only mice from black holes.

It definitely smells like underground. In the sense - dostovschinkoy, unconscious depths, from which God knows what can jump out. Through "black holes"... That is, of course, Gaidar's "mice" can also mean some external circumstances that are generally uncontrollable by a person. (This, as we shall soon see, will be emphasized by E.T. in his justification notes about his life in the reform.) But for now, we are looking at a specific situation that reflects the structure of Gaidar's psyche. We look through the childish self of Arkady Petrovich, from the point of view of his Narrator. He, of course, is naive, like a pure baby, he explains the discord in the family by the fact that the mouse ran, waved its tail, the cup fell and broke. The grandfather is crying, the woman is crying. And the hen Ryaba promises to take down a new cup - not a blue one, but a simple one.

The problem, however, is that the discord described in "The Cup" first of all lies inside the author's soul, and as a result, it also goes outside - creating discord in a real family. Her head is tormented by something indefinite, she drinks it, slashes herself with a razor. His wife has a "hard character". In such a family, discord is ensured, which means that all new torments are also provided ... But if, with respect to the real Arkady Petrovich, it can still be assumed that initially these were torments of conscience because of the people he innocently ruined, then this cannot be said about the narrator in any case. In the "Blue Cup" the torment is associated, firstly, with the presence of the polar (i.e., also the opposite - antipode, rival) Pilot (paternal self), and secondly, with the clearly "difficult character" of Marusya (maternal self) .

Evil mother

Continuing to consider the connections of the elements of the soul of Arkady Petrovich, in addition to the torments described above, one can notice another feature of the relationship of the three isolated I: while the Father and Mother are absorbed by each other, the childish I, playing and dreaming, does something that is why it receives a thrashing from the Mother. This thrashing is what produces unpleasant sensations and feelings of guilt in the soul of the writer, regardless of whether he has done something wrong or not. That is, internal anxiety and guilt (due to which the writer, in particular, slashed himself with a razor) are what he took out of childhood, from contacts with his real mother (or who replaced her there) and constantly reproduced when he grew up (and then, in order to always have an external stimulus for anxiety at hand, he chose a wife with an appropriate “difficult character”).

The Inner Mother of a children's writer is initially set up to prevent the Child from playing and dreaming carelessly, she already has a premise to suspect the Child that it was he who broke her favorite cup. But after all, such an attitude in the relationship between mother and child (both in inner life and in outer life) means that the mother will provoke him. maternal suspicion “You must have broken my cup” easily transformed into an imperative "Must be: you broke it." Because there is no one else. “Cups,” says Marusya, “are not alive: they have no legs. On the floor they can't jump." I've highlighted the word "sex" here to emphasize once again the Oedipal side of these cold "blue" interactions. Bearing in mind Fromm's idea that the "necrophilic character" is only a hypertrophied form of the "anal character", here one can say a lot of interesting things about the Gaidars. But this will take us far astray. Not worth it.

So, with the mother's attitude that the cup should be broken, the child cannot help but break it. For - if the maternal nit-picking dictated by the "difficult character" is repeated, the boy begins to understand that his mother wants him to do something like this ... He broke something. And he cannot disappoint her. For he feels that his mother will take pleasure in punishing him, and he sets himself up, although he knows that he will be punished, even if only by the stern look of the parent. It will still be painful for him. The story literally says this: when my mother went for a walk with the Pilot, “we got flour in the closet” (we put the emphasis on the first syllable of the last word).

"Gaidar" as a symptom

Of course, the Narrator (Gaidar's childhood self), as it should be for a Child (from whose point of view the story is written), is not aware of any of this. He thinks that he is going to the closet for torment about th for a paste, with the help of which it will glue (albeit indirectly, through an airplane surrogate) to its mother, but it turns out - what kind of m at who the mother wants to force to test it. And although, of course, the root cause of breaking the cup is a distant father, nevertheless, in fact, it is the child, egged on by the mother, who breaks it. But he himself does not even notice how he breaks it, and knows nothing about it. After all, he only plays (as, by the way, Golikov played when he shot the hostages). It was not he who did it himself, but the very evil mice that came out of the black holes of his subconscious, the very destructive potentialities that the Father planted in this black underground, giving the Child a Mauser. But the trick is that the mice that exist there only in potency (destructive inclinations) were called into the light by the Mother - a feminine subject, urging the Child to use the instrument of destruction and death inherited from the Father.

Now we can clearly define the mechanism of operation of the guiding device in the soul of Arkady Petrovich Golikov. The main character there is the Child. The function of the Father (in essence, also the Child, but the Child in the Father) is to put a dangerous toy into the hands of the Child: something that can destroy something. The next is the function of the Mother.

The father passed on his destructive inclinations and flew away (“The Blue Cup”) or was shot (“School”). And the Mother provokes the Child to apply the Father's destructive inclinations - to destroy something. In "School" a compassionate mother steals a Mauser from her son's pocket, hides it and leaves. But he hides it so that his son immediately finds it. And then, in order not to explain himself to his mother, the child runs away from home. Judging by the text of The Cup, the Mother provokes the Child by forgetting about him, as it were. Closes on the Father, thus forcing the Child to imitate the Father, to play the Father, to set in motion his destructive legacy, to break something like a father. And as a result - to attract the attention of the Mother and thus put into action her punishing apparatus.

To an external observer, this internal conflict can be seen as a scandal between a man and his wife because of some insignificant trifle (such people choose a wife accordingly with a “difficult character”). Or - like an unmotivated striping of your body with a razor. And inside it is - terrible dreams, guilt, constant anxiety, the desire to hurt yourself ... Everything that Arkady Gaidar called "disease of character" in his diaries.