Fedya lives in a large village house with his wife. His wife’s name is Elena, but for some reason he always calls him Egorovna. Although Yegorovna is only forty years old, and she doesn’t even think about retirement - she works as a milkmaid. Fedya carries the mail. They have no children.
Every morning he takes the saddle and mail bag out onto the porch, then goes to get the horse and saddles it. Then he drinks tea for a long time. Only after all this does he go to the center, as he calls the village, where there is a post office.
Fedya loves animals very much. Who is not in the house! Two cats live in rooms, and both are very clean. A large barn usually accommodates a Polyana cow and a calf. Two geese and a goose spend the night in the fence between the barns, five hens and one rooster live in the barn in winter, and in the upper barn in summer. Fedya and Elena still keep a piglet, though not every year, and they always call him the same: Kuzey. But the smartest among all these numerous living creatures is, of course, the dog Valdai.
So, Fedya travels seven kilometers through the forest every day to bring letters, newspapers and translations to these parts. For this purpose, the collective farm gave him a horse named Verny. Fedya takes care of him himself. Why not bet because of one faithful special groom?
The village once had a stable for one hundred and twenty horses. Now half the stables have collapsed. The second, not yet destroyed half was occupied by Faithful alone. It’s boring to live alone in the whole stable, especially in winter, when it’s so cold and there’s almost no food! Due to poor haymaking, Verny, like the other horses that stand on the central estate, is now given little hay. The winter diet includes only five kilos per day. There is no trace of oats, so adored by all horses. But what does five kilos of hay mean for such a big horse?
I found out about all this when I came here by accident. We met Fedya, as he says, “at the fishing base”; This base was the main one, but, of course, not the only one. I spent the night with Fedya and settled in for a few days. And then he came to these parts quite often.
One day in the spring
Courier
Fedya has been delivering mail for three years. In winter in a sleigh, in summer in the saddle. On the left side of the saddle he strapped a mail bag with letters and newspapers; on the right side there was usually some kind of parcel sticking out. What can I say, the postman was not very reliable! Sometimes he gave a letter to a neighbor, and the neighbor gave it to another neighbor. And the letter passed from hand to hand for a long time, ending up where it was needed within two months. It was not for nothing that Grandfather Ostakhov, who lived on the outskirts at the end of the village, called Fedya a “carrier.”
But Fedya delivered newspapers and translations very carefully. Faithful himself knew when to turn to which house. Fedya, without getting off the saddle, stuck the newspaper into the gate bracket and rode on. He was often afraid to get off, because sometimes he simply could not get back into the saddle. On such days he sat very firmly in the saddle. Fedya said: “Once I was driving and dropped my cap from my head. Oh, I think, I won’t get off, I’ll go back tomorrow anyway. The next day I look, the cap is there. It didn’t go anywhere.”
Yet one day Verny came home without a postman. The bag, strapped to the saddle, held tightly, and Faithful never made a mistake all the way in all the villages. He took turns approaching all the houses where newspapers were being subscribed to. People who were at home came out and took the newspaper they needed from their bags. Verny even went to see Grandfather Ostakhov, who was ordering “Rural Life.” The horse stood at the porch and stood exactly as long as he always stood. However, Dedko Ostakhov did not dare take a newspaper from his bag without asking. Faithful stood by the porch and walked on, and Grandfather looked and shook his head, looked and shook:
- What has science come to?
Fedya came home only two days later. They immediately removed him from the postmen and put him in the storeroom. On Verny they began to carry manure from the farm, but for a long time they still called him a courier.
Fyodor Abramov, Victor Astafiev, Valentin Rasputin, Vladimir Soloukhin, Vasily Shukshin... In this row is the name of the wonderful Russian writer Vasily Ivanovich Belov.
Belov was born in the Vologda region, in the village of Timonikha, on October 23, 1932. There, in his native village, he lives now. He writes a lot, greets guests and loved ones with love.
Once V. Belov was asked: “How is your Timonikha doing?” The writer answered honestly: “She is no longer there. This is saddening... The fate of Timonikha is typical for many thousands of Russian villages. Where, since the time of Daniel the Sharper, songs sounded and children ran, chimneys smoked, cows mooed, now there is only grass and bushes...”
And in fact, there are very few residents left in Timonikha. But this is our native land, our beloved land. It was Vasily Belov who rebuilt the village church and did all the carpentry work himself. For the restoration of the temple in his native village, Patriarch of Moscow and All Rus' Alexy II awarded him the Order of St. Daniel.
Today Vasily Belov is a major writer and public figure. Recognition of his merits was the award of the State Prize in 1981 and the Order of the Red Banner of Labor in 1983, the Order of Lenin in 1984. He was also awarded the literary prize of the Union of Writers named after L.N. Tolstoy in 1992 and the All-Russian Aksakov Literary Prize in 1996.
But is this the main thing in a writer’s work? And do we really remember this when reading the books of Vasily Belov?
The writer’s work reflected the whole variety of genres of Russian literature: stories (among them psychological sketches, poetic miniatures, short stories), social-analytical story, story-meditation, family, everyday story, epic novel, essays on folk aesthetics, plays, journalism... In they merged the funny and the tragic, the big and the small.
Vasily Belov’s first book was a collection of poems “My Forest Village” (1961). At the same time, his story “Berdyayka” was published. Vasily Belov, a little-known master, became the author of an absolutely wonderful story, “A Business as Usual,” published in the magazine “North” (1966). The magazine was published in Petrozavodsk, and the story immediately became widely known, and people immediately started talking about it as a significant literary (and social!) phenomenon.
Time will pass, and Vasily Belov will write many more wonderful works. Among them are “Carpenter’s Stories”, published in the then most popular Moscow magazine “New World” (1968), “Lad. Essays on folk aesthetics" (1979), "Eves" (1972), the novel "Everything is Ahead" (1985).
Vasily Belov’s favorite theme is peasant. And here he acts as a continuer of the traditions of Russian classics. Colorful pictures of village life, bright and whimsical speech; wonderful images of Russian people - amazing portraits, strong characters; and such a familiar world of native nature: “Everything was flooded by the bright spring sun, the river twinkled with sharp golden stars, transparent wavy streams trembled over the warm, half-plowed field...” (story “Singing Stones”, 1973).
Nowadays, Vasily Belov’s prose is like a sip of spring water. It renews, gives strength and strengthens the spirit. It brings purification to a person, helps to restore love and hope, faith in himself and in people in general. It allows you to touch all living things, feel closeness to them, awakens your conscience and allows you to learn folk wisdom and purity.
Read the stories and stories included in this collection. The author contrasts the difficult and confusing adult world with childish spontaneity, sincerity and gullibility. The heroes of his works are distinguished by caring, openness and purity. And love. Love for everything living and close, big and small. And it turns out that this is love for one’s native land, one’s father’s home.
Holidays
Little children's story
(Dreams. Where is Khomutov? Grandma Klyuvikha.
In ambush. The escape.)
If only I could buy a plane or ask some pilot to fly higher and jump onto that cloud over there! That would be soft! You can’t knock your leg off here: you’d fall down like on a pillow. And then let’s tumble down, and climb up again, and down again, but away from the edge. The village and forest would be on a silver platter. You could put small stones in your pockets and throw them at the cows. Just make sure it doesn't get in your eye. Not one would whistle across the river!
Or dig an underground passage. Through the entire mountain under the village itself. And then, when there is just a little bit left, I would poke a small round hole and look through it. Nobody would have seen you, but the whole field was at your fingertips. Stasik is just grazing cows today. And then he would accidentally jump out right under his nose! Or we could gather all the animals in one place, feed them to the fullest, and then...
There was a loud knock. It was the mother pounding the wall with a birch rocker:
- Minka! Minka, the devil, whoever they say, go home. The samovar has been on the table for a long time.
It's easy to say, go! Minka was sitting astride the roof, and in order to go down, he had to crawl through a hole into the attic. Then walk along a long beam at a great height, then make your way to a corner and then descend along it to a safe place, clinging to cracks and ledges. It’s good if you don’t tear your pants or open your belly on some nail.
I didn't feel like drinking tea at all. But still I had to climb through all the holes and go down. In the hut, Minka took a piece of pie baked with onions and went outside again. Today, neither weed the cabbage nor get water for it from the well. I'm tired of this cabbage, worse than bitter radish! You water it every day, but what’s the point? Not growing.
Minka decided to look into the well. A reflection could be seen far below; the entire head was no more than a snout. Teacher Sergei Mikhailovich once said that if you look from a deep well, you can see stars even at noon. Minka looked at the sky. But what kind of stars are there in this heat? He wanted to climb onto the roof again, but he didn’t like doing the same thing twice.
To tell the truth, it's boring. The village is so small that there are only ten houses in it. The distance to the neighboring village is two kilometers, and the club and boarding school are five kilometers away. The school has a summer camp today. Minka, Stasik and Khomutov entered the sixth grade. True, Khomutov stayed for the fall in Russian, what a goat! He received a D for his presentation because he did not use three commas. And he doesn’t know how to do transfers at all. Where is he now?
And Minka went to look for Khomutov.
The fluff of dandelions flew through the village. The roosters were crowing, the swallows were chirping. Yes, a very small village. Before you know it, it’s the cows’ turn to graze again. The collective farms are grazed by a permanent shepherd. And so Stasik, poor fellow, is grazing these personal cows today, but whether the Khomutovs are at home is still unknown. But if he’s at home, then who knows whether his grandmother will let him go.
Two unpleasant things have happened to Minka this summer with Grandma Klyuvikha. One because of their cat, the other because of Kluvikha herself. Of course, the first time he and Khomutov were to blame, although not very much either. They wanted to reconcile the cat with Stasik’s Tuzik, for which they released the chickens from the cage and put Tuzik there first, then the cat. There were no results. Even worse. The cat grabbed Tuzik’s nose. Tuzik bit the cat's ear. There was such a commotion that the chicken coop started shaking and turned over. The door opened. The cat flew out of there like the plague. He hissed at people until the evening, not like Tuzik. The grandmother lubricated the cat with cow butter so that the sore spots would heal faster. He licked his oily muzzle and calmed down, but the grandmother lied to Minka’s mother. The second time Klyuvikha attacked Minka completely out of the blue, just because he simply came to see Khomutov. I don’t even feel like remembering this time, how disgusting it is.
Current page: 1 (book has 10 pages total) [available reading passage: 7 pages]
Vasily Ivanovich Belov
Stories about all kinds of living creatures
© Belov V., 1989
© Voronov Yu., illustrations, 1989
© Design of the series. OJSC Publishing House "Children's Literature", 2007
About the author of this book
Fyodor Abramov, Victor Astafiev, Valentin Rasputin, Vladimir Soloukhin, Vasily Shukshin... In this row is the name of the wonderful Russian writer Vasily Ivanovich Belov.
Belov was born in the Vologda region, in the village of Timonikha, on October 23, 1932. There, in his native village, he lives now. He writes a lot, greets guests and loved ones with love.
Once V. Belov was asked: “How is your Timonikha doing?” The writer answered honestly: “She is no longer there. This is saddening... The fate of Timonikha is typical for many thousands of Russian villages. Where since the time of Daniel the Sharper 1
Daniil Sharpener- Old Russian scribe of the 12th century, author of the famous “Prayer”.
Songs sounded and children ran, chimneys smoked, cows mooed, now there is only grass and bushes...”
And in fact, there are very few residents left in Timonikha. But this is our native land, our beloved land. It was Vasily Belov who rebuilt the village church and did all the carpentry work himself. For the restoration of the temple in his native village, Patriarch of Moscow and All Rus' Alexy II awarded him the Order of St. Daniel.
Today Vasily Belov is a major writer and public figure. Recognition of his merits was the award of the State Prize in 1981 and the Order of the Red Banner of Labor in 1983, the Order of Lenin in 1984. He was also awarded the literary prize of the Union of Writers named after L.N. Tolstoy in 1992 and the All-Russian Aksakov Literary Prize in 1996.
But is this the main thing in a writer’s work? And do we really remember this when reading the books of Vasily Belov?
The writer’s work reflected the whole variety of genres of Russian literature: stories (among them psychological sketches, poetic miniatures, short stories), social-analytical story, story-meditation, family, everyday story, epic novel, essays on folk aesthetics, plays, journalism... In they merged the funny and the tragic, the big and the small.
Vasily Belov’s first book was a collection of poems “My Forest Village” (1961). At the same time, his story “Berdyayka” was published. Vasily Belov, a little-known master, became the author of an absolutely wonderful story, “A Business as Usual,” published in the magazine “North” (1966). The magazine was published in Petrozavodsk, and the story immediately became widely known, and people immediately started talking about it as a significant literary (and social!) phenomenon.
Time will pass, and Vasily Belov will write many more wonderful works. Among them are “Carpenter’s Stories”, published in the then most popular Moscow magazine “New World” (1968), “Lad. Essays on folk aesthetics" (1979), "Eves" (1972), the novel "Everything is Ahead" (1985).
Vasily Belov’s favorite theme is peasant. And here he acts as a continuer of the traditions of Russian classics. Colorful pictures of village life, bright and whimsical speech; wonderful images of Russian people - amazing portraits, strong characters; and such a familiar world of native nature: “Everything was flooded by the bright spring sun, the river twinkled with sharp golden stars, transparent wavy streams trembled over the warm, half-plowed field...” (story “Singing Stones”, 1973).
Nowadays, Vasily Belov’s prose is like a sip of spring water. It renews, gives strength and strengthens the spirit. It brings purification to a person, helps to restore love and hope, faith in himself and in people in general. It allows you to touch all living things, feel closeness to them, awakens your conscience and allows you to learn folk wisdom and purity.
Read the stories and stories included in this collection. The author contrasts the difficult and confusing adult world with childish spontaneity, sincerity and gullibility. The heroes of his works are distinguished by caring, openness and purity. And love. Love for everything living and close, big and small. And it turns out that this is love for one’s native land, one’s father’s home.
Holidays
Little children's story
1
(Dreams. Where is Khomutov? Grandma Klyuvikha.
In ambush. The escape.)
If only I could buy a plane or ask some pilot to fly higher and jump onto that cloud over there! That would be soft! You can’t knock your leg off here: you’d fall down like on a pillow. And then let’s tumble down, and climb up again, and down again, but away from the edge. The village and forest would be on a silver platter. You could put small stones in your pockets and throw them at the cows. Just make sure it doesn't get in your eye. Not one would whistle across the river!
Or dig an underground passage. Through the entire mountain under the village itself. And then, when there is just a little bit left, I would poke a small round hole and look through it. Nobody would have seen you, but the whole field was at your fingertips. Stasik is just grazing cows today. And then he would accidentally jump out right under his nose! Or we could gather all the animals in one place, feed them to the fullest, and then...
There was a loud knock. It was the mother pounding the wall with a birch rocker:
- Minka! Minka, the devil, whoever they say, go home. The samovar has been on the table for a long time.
It's easy to say, go! Minka was sitting astride the roof, and in order to go down, he had to crawl through a hole into the attic. Then walk along a long beam at a great height, then make your way to a corner and then descend along it to a safe place, clinging to cracks and ledges. It’s good if you don’t tear your pants or open your belly on some nail.
I didn't feel like drinking tea at all. But still I had to climb through all the holes and go down. In the hut, Minka took a piece of pie baked with onions and went outside again. Today, neither weed the cabbage nor get water for it from the well. I'm tired of this cabbage, worse than bitter radish! You water it every day, but what’s the point? Not growing.
Minka decided to look into the well. A reflection could be seen far below; the entire head was no more than a snout. Teacher Sergei Mikhailovich once said that if you look from a deep well, you can see stars even at noon. Minka looked at the sky. But what kind of stars are there in this heat? He wanted to climb onto the roof again, but he didn’t like doing the same thing twice.
To tell the truth, it's boring. The village is so small that there are only ten houses in it. The distance to the neighboring village is two kilometers, and the club and boarding school are five kilometers away. The school has a summer camp today. Minka, Stasik and Khomutov entered the sixth grade. True, Khomutov stayed for the fall in Russian, what a goat! He received a D for his presentation because he did not use three commas. And he doesn’t know how to do transfers at all. Where is he now?
And Minka went to look for Khomutov.
The fluff of dandelions flew through the village. The roosters were crowing, the swallows were chirping. Yes, a very small village. Before you know it, it’s the cows’ turn to graze again. The collective farms are grazed by a permanent shepherd. And so Stasik, poor fellow, is grazing these personal cows today, but whether the Khomutovs are at home is still unknown. But if he’s at home, then who knows whether his grandmother will let him go.
Two unpleasant things have happened to Minka this summer with Grandma Klyuvikha. One because of their cat, the other because of Kluvikha herself. Of course, the first time he and Khomutov were to blame, although not very much either. They wanted to reconcile the cat with Stasik’s Tuzik, for which they released the chickens from the cage and put Tuzik there first, then the cat. There were no results. Even worse. The cat grabbed Tuzik’s nose. Tuzik bit the cat's ear. There was such a commotion that the chicken coop started shaking and turned over. The door opened. The cat flew out of there like the plague. He hissed at people until the evening, not like Tuzik. The grandmother lubricated the cat with cow butter so that the sore spots would heal faster. He licked his oily muzzle and calmed down, but the grandmother lied to Minka’s mother. The second time Klyuvikha attacked Minka completely out of the blue, just because he simply came to see Khomutov. I don’t even feel like remembering this time, how disgusting it is.
Minka approached the Khomutovsky garden. There was a gap in the fence between the poles. He crawled into the garden and lay down in the grass like a partisan. The smell of grass was dizzying, grasshoppers were chirping left and right. Bugs and mosquitoes bit, tickled and crawled on my bare feet. Minka sat up in the grass and looked around the house. The window was open, which meant that Khomutov and the grandmother were there. Minka crawled closer. To call Khomutov onto the street, you need to whistle or quietly throw a burdock cone into the frame. Why is he sitting there like a black grouse?
Minka stretched his neck out of the grass. Suddenly he was even thrown: someone hit him painfully in the back, between the shoulder blades, with a rake.
- Unclean spirit! - The beak, which stood above him, was already getting ready to hit again. - Rogue, he crushed all the grass!
Minka jumped up. He rushed straight through the nettles to the hedge, jumped over it, so high, and did not remember how he ended up on the outskirts of the village.
“It’s good that it didn’t go to your head,” Minka thought about his grandmother’s rake.
It became completely impossible to call Khomutov. Stasik is tending cows, and Khomutov is doing who knows what. And Minka decided to dig up worms in order to go with the fish into the forest to Grishin’s pool.
Grandma Klyuvikha was still cursing in the village, and Minka felt sorry for Khomutov. Where is he now? He was probably sent for bread, or he was sitting on a bench, and his grandmother was scolding him or using a needle to take a splinter out of his leg.
2
(Thoughts on gadflies. Mermaid. How the tar was driven away. New plans and new troubles.)
As you were, so you remain,
Steppe eagle, dashing Cossack!
Minka walked and screamed at the top of his lungs. He was also waving the rod. If you wave once, the air will whistle.
If you swing twice, the fishing rod even bends. Why would that be so?
The lapwing has risen from the meadow and let's squeak, let's fly overhead, as if it were being robbed! White clouds hung high, Evlakhin’s tractor rustled behind the bushes. This blue Belarus is used to transport milk to the factory from a neighboring farm. Oh, and this beetle Yevlakha! Last winter I drank away the collective farm sheepskin coat, and Stasik’s father, the foreman, couldn’t even do anything. He scolded and scolded Yevlakha, but what was the point? There is no sheepskin coat.
Why, why did you meet again?
But you are so dear to me.
Minka felt that he had missed some words, but decided not to remember and sing it all over again so that the words would come to mind on their own. But then he had no time for songs. The road went through alder bushes and a small swamp began. Large yellow gadflies immediately attacked Minka. This one pierces the skin like an awl until it bleeds. And where will so many of them come from? After all, if they feed on blood, how much blood do they need? There is nowhere to take it. Maybe they bite moose? Or hares?
Minka picked a dry blade of grass and caught the fattest gadfly. He pierced a blade of grass through his striped belly and let go. The gadfly hummed like a helicopter and flew heavily away along with its cargo. He was visible in the air for a long time.
Here is the forest. It became stuffy, and flies and mosquitoes joined the gadflies. The road forked, but Minka knew where to go. How many times have I gone with my mother to mow all the way to the river! That's how it is with my mother...
He walked more quietly and more carefully, the forest is the forest. Tall pines rustled overhead. The sun disappeared behind a cloud, the wind rustled around stronger. Minka felt sad and began to remember funny incidents from his life. As luck would have it, they all flew out of my head!
Minka put down the oud. He touched the matchbox of worms in his pocket and pulled up his pants. I looked around. Somewhere near that shaggy tree over there lies the second turnoff to the river. Then there should be a moss depression. Further, on the hill, there will be a large birch tree with a rotten hollow. What's behind the pea?
The road was overgrown with raspberries, nettles and buckthorn bushes. In order not to get lost on the way back, Minka occasionally broke branches. He came out to a coastal clearing, just in time for an old, long-defunct tar factory. Well, what kind of factory is this? Not a factory, but an ordinary barn with a rotten plank roof.
Minka, being careful of the nettles, walked around him, touched the unlocked lock on the gate and did not go inside. He hurried to the river: what if the largest fish bites?
The river turned blue nearby, behind the bushes. Minka, without hesitation, unwound the fishing rod. I found a dry place near the pool, pulled out the worm and hastily began to attach it. The worm turned out to be so thick and cunning that Minka could barely cope with it. There is nothing more disgusting than putting a worm on a hook! Minka set the launch, spat on the worm and abandoned it. But the float did not stand up. Is the launch great? Or he threw it on a snag. Minka made a smaller launch, threw it in and waited.
On the other bank, very close, a cuckoo crowed. Mosquitoes rarely bit now, but their skin itched painfully. And the float seemed to fall asleep. The current carried him away every now and then, Minka threw the fishing rod and, having nothing to do, began to doze off.
They said that in this place, the owner of the tar factory, the mute Gregory, had long ago drowned. It was as if he was fishing here at night, and he was pulled to the bottom by a blue mermaid. It was as if they had been looking for him for three days, and when they pulled him out of the water, they found a small golden comb in his hair. The mute Gregory was buried near this pool. “Everyone is probably lying!” – Minka thought and shrank.
There seemed to be a rustling sound behind me. Someone was moving closer and closer. Minka froze, goosebumps running down his spine. Suddenly, someone behind me took a deep and strong breath. “Ugh, infection,” Minka swore. “That’s the face!” The red-colored Klyuvikhina cow stood five steps away and looked at Minka with big round eyes.
- Shoo! What do you want?
His heart was relieved. It became calm again, as if you were not in the forest, but in the village. The cow noisily began to scratch the grass. She shook her head and tail, defending herself from mosquitoes, flies, and gadflies. Other cows also wandered through the forest.
- Stasik! - Minka shouted, pointing his palms like a megaphone. - Sta-a-sik!
Minka listened. Only the forest was noisy and the cow bells were ringing dully. “Oh, now he’s going to get a beating! – Minka thought. - I missed the cows. What if it’s a bear?”
Thinking about the bear, Minka began to reel in his fishing rod. Where to run if a bear jumps out? Minka read in one story that you need to lie on the ground and pretend to be dead, he will sniff and leave. Minka imagined the bear sniffing him and ran to the tar factory. He didn’t even notice how he ran, even leaving his fishing rod by the pool. I woke up at the gate and took a breath.
The castle is completely rusty. Minka barely pulled him out of the holes. I pushed the door open and forgot about the bear; the smell of cold and the smell of mold hit my face.
The barn where tar had once been driven was black with soot, and the corners were covered with cobwebs. A large stove with three fireboxes sat on its side. Along each firebox there was also a round clay pipe. Minka knew that these large long pipes were called cubes. Birch bark was tightly packed into them, then the end of the pipe was closed with a round lid, and the cracks were tightly sealed with clay. Below, in the fireboxes, a fire was made. The birch bark in the cubes heated up and tar flowed from it. Minka crawled into the darkness behind this large furnace and discovered iron tubes that came out of the cubes. All three tubes were inserted into one large, already wooden one. It was along it that the tar flowed into a black barrel dug into the ground. There was nothing in the barrel except all rubbish.
The small window made in the wall gave no light at all. Minka went outside, picked grass and wiped the glass. The barn immediately became lighter. Minka saw large rope scales tied to a beam, two iron weights and round stones. For a long time he could not understand what these stones were for. I guessed: there weren’t enough iron weights, so they used stones instead of weights. He touched one weight - it didn’t even move. "Wow! – Minka came up from the other side. “How much weight does it contain?”
But in the corner there was a large pile of birch bark. Heavy thick sheets were folded into a tight pile. Grandfather Selya, who was the last tar worker, apparently did not have time to drive the tar out of them, the plant was closed, and he himself became blind in one eye. Minka also squinted one eye and looked around the rest of the place. At the other end were wooden bunks, something like a bed. And a little closer there was a table and a tripod. There was some kind of robe hanging on a wooden pin, there was a lot of firewood lying on the floor, and on the shelves Minka found a smokehouse, an empty pot, four bent iron nails and a torn sieve.
The plant was completely abandoned.
“I wish I could spend the night here...” thought Minka and went to check the door hook. “But I don’t have any bread with me...” And Minka remembered that he had been hungry for a long time.
3
(Meeting. Forest house. Cleaning. Got fined again!)
Stasik looked for his cows throughout the forest, and tears flowed down his cheeks. He ran along the path in desperation, stopping every now and then to listen. But no bells could be heard anywhere.
The forest became quiet in the evening.
Stasik, not remembering himself, ran again. He stumbled, fell and hurt himself painfully on a rhizome. He was about to roar when he suddenly saw Minka on the path.
- Minka!
- Stasik!
- Run here, I’ll tell you something! - Minka yelled.
Stasik ran to his friend.
- Why did you let your cows go? – Minka asked sternly. - They wander anywhere.
“They themselves,” Stasik said guiltily. - And you, Minya, went fishing?
- Nobody bites. – Minka smacked three mosquitoes on his cheek at once. - Let's go and have a look at the plant.
- Let's go to! – Stasik was delighted. “And I’ll show you the nest later.” I found a nest in a field. Only the old... They don’t live.
Minka opened the gates of the tar factory again. He decided to weigh Stasik on the old scales, but nothing came of it. Together they laboriously rolled a large iron weight onto the scales. She turned out to be heavier than Stasik.
“Let’s at least light the stove,” Minka suggested, but nothing came of that either. There were no matches.
“We should take a magnifying glass,” said Stasik.
The guys broke a large birch broom, stacked the firewood and began sweeping the earthen floor. They raised so much dust that Minka sneezed. Stasik also wanted to sneeze, but for some reason he couldn’t sneeze. Minka ran to the pool with a pot and brought water to wash the furniture. At the same time, he grabbed the fishing rod that was left there. The boards of the table and the tripod were all cut up and covered with letters. “EVM,” Stasik read and guessed:
- Yevlakha! He cut this out.
- Look, look, and on the doors!
The tractor driver's name was also on the doors.
- Open the doors! – Minka ordered. - To make it brighter and to make the hut dry. Let's take off our shirts. There's so much soot here!
Minka and Stasik took off their shirts and T-shirts and went back to work. Cleaned the cobwebs from the walls, washed the table and tripod. We took turns running several times to get water from the pool.
- All! - Minka finally said and sat down on the tripod.
He crossed his legs. Stasik sat down at the table on the bench, also cross-legged. Both were very pleased and sat at home.
Indeed, the barn became cleaner and even somehow more comfortable.
“I just really want to eat,” Stasik said sadly.
Minka stood up. He climbed behind the stove, into the darkness, and puffed there for a long time, thinking about something.
“You know what...” Minka crawled out into the light. – You won’t tell anyone?
- Worry!
Stasik took a deep breath, widened his eyes and said quickly:
- In a clearing, on a high mound, the fire is burning, no one hears, the word is tin, honest pioneer, shields, feathers, packs, meat kolachiks, it burns to the sky, no one will recognize!
- Let's make our home here! – Minka said quietly and looked around.
“We’ll bring the ax,” Stasik said in a whisper.
- Salt and matches.
- Salt lick in the field.
- Shall we take Khomutov?
- Let's take it. Just let him swear that he won’t tell anyone.
The guys fell silent.
“Ming…” said Stasik. - How about spending the night? Here too?
Minka didn’t answer. He thought, carefully wrinkling his forehead. The sun was setting. It was now hitting directly at the open doors, illuminating the black back wall.
“Ming...” Stasik suddenly turned white. - And the cows...
- So what? - said Minka, but thought to himself: “Now both of us are in trouble. It will hit. They’ve probably already ordered a beating.”
- You should start crying right away.
“Yes...” whined Stasik. - What do you mean, you’re not a cow... I’m a shepherd...
- Let's run! Just lock the gate.
They closed the gate, stuck a lock in the hole and ran through the forest as best they could.
- Stop, Stasik, not there. – Minka stopped. Both took a breath.
- There, Minya, there.
They both listened, but the cows were nowhere to be found.
– This way home?
- And this one goes home.
- So, both are there.
The sun had set and it became cool. The mosquitoes bit even harder. The boys could no longer run when a field and roofs of houses appeared ahead. Near the vegetable gardens, both crouched down and began to quietly approach the village. The last meters we crawled on our bellies: Minka in front, Stasik behind. Finally they became silent in the grass behind the old well.
In the middle of the village the Khomutovskaya grandmother was making noise. The cows were nowhere to be found; they had probably already been driven into the yards.
Oh, and this Beak swore! She stood in the middle of the street and waved her arms like a crow. Because the cows were left hungry. According to the grandmother, it turned out that they, raising their tails, whistled into the village almost until lunchtime. Then they hid in an abandoned stable and every one of them stood until the evening, without eating. And so Klyuvikha dishonored Stasik in vain, and at the same time the foreman. Because Stasik was the son of a foreman.
– After all, I graduated from five classes! Five! - the grandmother shouted about Stasik. - Enrolled in the pioneers. The cows stood there all day. Will there be much milk after such grazing?
- Stop, don’t get out! - Minka whispered, tugging Stasik by the sleeve.
They lay in the grass, listening. Soon Stasik’s mother, neighbor Lilya and Minka’s mother arrived. They also began to discuss the incident.
- Where is he?
“And mine is gone,” said Minka’s mother.
Minka and Stasik suddenly felt sorry for themselves to the point of tears. Both of them were so hungry that even their heads were spinning.
“Min, let’s run out,” Stasik whispered, but Minka again pulled him by the shirt.
I drove up in Yevlakh’s “Belarus”, got out of the cab and let’s also talk about cows. Only because of the noise of the tractor, no one could be heard, not even Klyuvikha. And when Stasik’s father, that is, the foreman, also came up, Stasik could not stand it. He jumped up and, in front of everyone, ran home as fast as he could. After that, Minka also had nothing left to do. Not listening to Kluvikha’s screams, he also ran towards his house...
He grabbed a slice of pie from the kitchen, climbed onto the stove and hid. I ground this pie in passing and began to wait. I waited and waited for what would happen next and fell asleep. It happened completely by accident, I didn’t even expect it myself.
The book by the wonderful Russian writer Vasily Ivanovich Belov includes the story “Vacation” and “Stories about all living creatures”.
Vasily Ivanovich Belov
Stories about all kinds of living creatures
About the author of this book
Fyodor Abramov, Victor Astafiev, Valentin Rasputin, Vladimir Soloukhin, Vasily Shukshin... In this row is the name of the wonderful Russian writer Vasily Ivanovich Belov.
Belov was born in the Vologda region, in the village of Timonikha, on October 23, 1932. There, in his native village, he lives now. He writes a lot, greets guests and loved ones with love.
Once V. Belov was asked: “How is your Timonikha doing?” The writer honestly answered: “She is no longer there. This is what saddens me... The fate of Timonikha is typical of many thousands of Russian villages. Where since the time of Daniil the Prisoner songs were heard and children ran, chimneys smoked, cows mooed, now there is only grass and bushes...”
And in fact, there are very few residents left in Timonikha. But this is our native land, our beloved land. It was Vasily Belov who rebuilt the village church and did all the carpentry work himself. For the restoration of the temple in his native village, Patriarch of Moscow and All Rus' Alexy II awarded him the Order of St. Daniel.
Today Vasily Belov is a major writer and public figure. Recognition of his merits was the award of the State Prize in 1981 and the Order of the Red Banner of Labor in 1983, the Order of Lenin in 1984. He was also awarded the literary prize of the Union of Writers named after L.N. Tolstoy in 1992 and the All-Russian Aksakov Literary Prize in 1996.
But is this the main thing in a writer’s work? And do we really remember this when reading the books of Vasily Belov?
The writer’s work reflected the whole variety of genres of Russian literature: stories (among them psychological sketches, poetic miniatures, short stories), social-analytical story, story-meditation, family, everyday story, epic novel, essays on folk aesthetics, plays, journalism... In they merged the funny and the tragic, the big and the small.
Vasily Belov’s first book was a collection of poems, “My Forest Village” (1961). At the same time, his story “Berdyayka” was published. Vasily Belov, a little-known master, became the author of an absolutely wonderful story, “A Business as Usual,” published in the magazine “North” (1966). The magazine was published in Petrozavodsk, and the story immediately became widely known, and people immediately started talking about it as a significant literary (and social!) phenomenon.
Time will pass, and Vasily Belov will write many more wonderful works. Among them are “Carpenter’s Stories”, published in the then most popular Moscow magazine “New World” (1968), “Lad. Essays on folk aesthetics” (1979), “Eves” (1972), the novel “Everything is Ahead” (1985) .
Vasily Belov’s favorite theme is peasant. And here he acts as a continuer of the traditions of Russian classics. Colorful pictures of village life, bright and whimsical speech; wonderful images of Russian people - amazing portraits, strong characters; and such a familiar world of native nature: “Everything was flooded by the bright spring sun, the river shimmered with sharp golden stars, transparent wavy streams trembled over the warm, half-plowed field...” (story “Singing Stones”, 1973).
Nowadays, Vasily Belov’s prose is like a sip of spring water. It renews, gives strength and strengthens the spirit. It brings purification to a person, helps to restore love and hope, faith in himself and in people in general. It allows you to touch all living things, feel closeness to them, awakens your conscience and allows you to learn folk wisdom and purity.
Read the stories and stories included in this collection. The author contrasts the difficult and confusing adult world with childish spontaneity, sincerity and gullibility. The heroes of his works are distinguished by caring, openness and purity. And love. Love for everything living and close, big and small. And it turns out that this is love for one’s native land, one’s father’s home.
Holidays
Little children's story
1
(Dreams. Where is Khomutov? Grandma Klyuvikha.
In ambush. The escape.)
If only I could buy a plane or ask some pilot to fly higher and jump onto that cloud over there! That would be soft! You can’t knock your leg off here: you’d fall down like on a pillow. And then let’s tumble down, and climb up again, and down again, but away from the edge. The village and forest would be on a silver platter. You could put small stones in your pockets and throw them at the cows. Just make sure it doesn't get in your eye. Not one would whistle across the river!
Or dig an underground passage. Through the entire mountain under the village itself. And then, when there is just a little bit left, I would poke a small round hole and look through it. Nobody would have seen you, but the whole field was at your fingertips. Stasik is just grazing cows today. And then he would accidentally jump out right under his nose! Or we could gather all the animals in one place, feed them to the fullest, and then...
There was a loud knock. It was the mother pounding the wall with a birch rocker:
- Minka! Minka, the devil, whoever they say, go home. The samovar has been on the table for a long time.
It's easy to say, go! Minka was sitting astride the roof, and in order to go down, he had to crawl through a hole into the attic. Then walk along a long beam at a great height, then make your way to a corner and then descend along it to a safe place, clinging to cracks and ledges. It’s good if you don’t tear your pants or open your belly on some nail.
I didn't feel like drinking tea at all. But still I had to climb through all the holes and go down. In the hut, Minka took a piece of pie baked with onions and went outside again. Today, neither weed the cabbage nor get water for it from the well. I'm tired of this cabbage, worse than bitter radish! You water it every day, but what’s the point? Not growing.
Minka decided to look into the well. A reflection could be seen far below; the entire head was no more than a snout. Teacher Sergei Mikhailovich once said that if you look from a deep well, you can see stars even at noon. Minka looked at the sky. But what kind of stars are there in this heat? He wanted to climb onto the roof again, but he didn’t like doing the same thing twice.
To tell the truth, it's boring. The village is so small that there are only ten houses in it. The distance to the neighboring village is two kilometers, and the club and boarding school are five kilometers away. The school has a summer camp today. Minka, Stasik and Khomutov entered the sixth grade. True, Khomutov stayed for the fall in Russian, what a goat! He received a D for his presentation because he did not use three commas. And he doesn’t know how to do transfers at all. Where is he now?
And Minka went to look for Khomutov.
The fluff of dandelions flew through the village. The roosters were crowing, the swallows were chirping. Yes, a very small village. Before you know it, it’s the cows’ turn to graze again. The collective farms are grazed by a permanent shepherd. And so Stasik, poor fellow, is grazing these personal cows today, but whether the Khomutovs are at home is still unknown. But if he’s at home, then who knows whether his grandmother will let him go.
Two unpleasant things have happened to Minka this summer with Grandma Klyuvikha. One because of their cat, the other because of Kluvikha herself. Of course, the first time he and Khomutov were to blame, although not very much either. They wanted to reconcile the cat with Stasik’s Tuzik, for which they released the chickens from the cage and put Tuzik there first, then the cat. There were no results. Even worse. The cat grabbed Tuzik’s nose. Tuzik bit the cat's ear. There was such a commotion that the chicken coop started shaking and turned over. The door opened. The cat flew out of there like the plague. He hissed at people until the evening, not like Tuzik. The grandmother lubricated the cat with cow butter so that the sore spots would heal faster. He licked his oily muzzle and calmed down, but the grandmother lied to Minka’s mother. The second time Klyuvikha attacked Minka completely out of the blue, just because he simply came to see Khomutov. I don’t even feel like remembering this time, how disgusting it is.
Minka approached the Khomutovsky garden. There was a gap in the fence between the poles. He crawled into the garden and lay down in the grass like a partisan. The smell of grass was dizzying, grasshoppers were chirping left and right. Bugs and mosquitoes bit, tickled and crawled on my bare feet. Minka sat up in the grass and looked around the house. The window was open, which meant that Khomutov and the grandmother were there. Minka crawled closer. To call Khomutov onto the street, you need to whistle or quietly throw a burdock cone into the frame. Why is he sitting there like a black grouse?
Minka stretched his neck out of the grass. Suddenly he was even thrown: someone hit him painfully in the back, between the shoulder blades, with a rake.
Current page: 1 (book has 4 pages in total) [available reading passage: 1 pages]
Stories about all kinds of living creatures
Fedya lives in a large village house with his wife. His wife’s name is Elena, but for some reason he always calls him Egorovna. Although Yegorovna is only forty years old, and she doesn’t even think about retirement - she works as a milkmaid. Fedya carries the mail. They have no children.
Every morning he takes the saddle and mail bag out onto the porch, then goes to get the horse and saddles it. Then he drinks tea for a long time. Only after all this does he go to the center, as he calls the village, where there is a post office.
Fedya loves animals very much. Who is not in the house! Two cats live in rooms, and both are very clean. A large barn usually accommodates a Polyana cow and a calf. Two geese and a goose spend the night in the fence between the barns, five hens and one rooster live in the barn in winter, and in the upper barn in summer. Fedya and Elena still keep a piglet, though not every year, and they always call him the same: Kuzey. But the smartest among all these numerous living creatures is, of course, the dog Valdai.
So, Fedya travels seven kilometers through the forest every day to bring letters, newspapers and translations to these parts. For this purpose, the collective farm gave him a horse named Verny. Fedya takes care of him himself. Why not bet because of one faithful special groom?
The village once had a stable for one hundred and twenty horses. Now half the stables have collapsed. The second, not yet destroyed half was occupied by Faithful alone. It’s boring to live alone in the whole stable, especially in winter, when it’s so cold and there’s almost no food! Due to poor haymaking, Verny, like the other horses that stand on the central estate, is now given little hay. The winter diet includes only five kilos per day. There is no trace of oats, so adored by all horses. But what does five kilos of hay mean for such a big horse?
I found out about all this when I came here by accident. We met Fedya, as he says, “at the fishing base”; This base was the main one, but, of course, not the only one. I spent the night with Fedya and settled in for a few days. And then he came to these parts quite often.
One day in the spring
Verny had a day off on Monday. The post office was not open that day. There is no hay in the feeder. Faithful chewed on the board in the stall and went to the window. He even staggered from hunger. The window in the stable is long and narrow. Yesterday Fedya put out the frame, saying:
“There’s no hay, so at least in the fresh air...” Faithful turned his head and stuck it out into the street.
And it’s spring outside, the snow has disappeared. But there’s no grass either! Faithful sighed noisily and looked along the village. The kids were running to school and suddenly they saw a large horse’s head sticking out of the stable window. "Loyal! Faithful!” they shouted. The horse pricked up his ears. The guys came closer and took turns reaching out to stroke it. Faithful neighed quietly and began to spank with his big soft lip.
- He probably wants to eat! - said one of the boys, taking out a piece of Volozhny from his briefcase 1
Volozhny oily
Pirogue. He offered the pie to the horse. Faithful slowly but greedily chewed this piece. Then he ate the second piece, the third, the fourth... The guys fed him all their school lunches that they had stored at home.
- Lenka, what are you doing? Come on, there's no need to be greedy.
The very little boy frowned and almost cried.
- So what?
Lenka opened his field bag, apparently still his father’s. The hard-boiled egg was quickly peeled. Faithful also ate the egg. True, I crumbled half of it. Of course, it was a pity for the sweets. But they printed it anyway. Faithful also ate some sweets. No one else had anything to eat. The guys ran. The school was far away, in another village. They were afraid that they would be late. Faithful looked after them for a long time.
This is how he learned to eat candy and eggs. Verny was especially lucky a week later, on the First of May, when the children received gifts at school.
And then soon the grass began to grow, fresh and so green. No match for straw! And Verny gradually began to get better again.
Courier
Fedya has been delivering mail for three years. In winter in a sleigh, in summer in the saddle. On the left side of the saddle he strapped a mail bag with letters and newspapers; on the right side there was usually some kind of parcel sticking out. What can I say, the postman was not very reliable! Sometimes he gave a letter to a neighbor, and the neighbor gave it to another neighbor. And the letter passed from hand to hand for a long time, ending up where it was needed within two months. It was not for nothing that Grandfather Ostakhov, who lived on the outskirts at the end of the village, called Fedya a “carrier.”
But Fedya delivered newspapers and translations very carefully. Faithful himself knew when to turn to which house. Fedya, without getting off the saddle, stuck the newspaper into the gate bracket and rode on. He was often afraid to get off, because sometimes he simply could not get back into the saddle. On such days he sat very firmly in the saddle. Fedya said: “Once I was driving and dropped my cap from my head. Oh, I think, I won’t get down, I’ll go back tomorrow anyway. The next day I look, the cap is there. It didn’t go anywhere.”
Yet one day Verny came home without a postman. The bag, strapped to the saddle, held tightly, and Faithful never made a mistake all the way in all the villages. He took turns approaching all the houses where newspapers were being subscribed to. People who were at home came out and took the newspaper they needed from their bags. Verny even went to see Grandfather Ostakhov, who was ordering “Rural Life.” The horse stood at the porch and stood exactly as long as he always stood. However, Dedko Ostakhov did not dare take a newspaper from his bag without asking. Faithful stood by the porch and walked on, and Grandfather looked and shook his head, looked and shook:
– What has science come to?
Fedya came home only two days later. They immediately removed him from the postmen and put him in the storeroom. On Verny they began to carry manure from the farm, but for a long time they still called him a courier.
Faithful and Malka
Malka is such a feisty little dog that it couldn’t get any worse. She is small, her legs are like matchsticks and very crooked, and she has more anger than a tiger. She lived with a lonely pensioner, Lydia. It used to be that no one came to see Lydia, even on holidays. The dog will always bark at the guest, or even nip at the guest’s leg. Straight to the blood. Lydia is already talking to the visitor, it seems clear that she shouldn’t be angry, and Malka keeps growling and growling from under the bench. Where did so much anger come from?
One day I was watching Verny. He diligently plucked the grass and did not bother anyone. Then he lay down and began to roll on the ground, kicking his big legs. The hooves flashed in the air. Apparently, he was shedding and his back was very itchy - the gelding was rolling on the grass with such pleasure. And suddenly, out of the blue, Malka. With a furious bark that turned into a squeal, she rushed at Verny. Faithful jumped up on all four hooves. He spread his front legs wide apart, tilted his head and froze in bewilderment. What do you mean? Why so much noise? And Malka became more and more impudent. She jumped up to the horse's muzzle and was ready to grab it.
Faithful endured, endured, and how he snorted! The fry even flew to the side. Faithful rushed after her, she ran away from him.
From that day on, Malka left him dead. Verny used to go and drink water whenever he wanted. Now it's completely different. The road to the river went past Lydia’s house. The fry rushed and barked at him every time, but always kept at a safe distance. Faithful was probably not afraid of her, but who enjoys listening to loud barking and half-crazed squealing? And the gelding ran downhill to the water, out of harm’s way. The fry took this as proof of her strength, and she angrily pursued him until the middle of the descent. Then it returned to its original line and calmed down. Faithful, it seemed to me, drank the water without any appetite and returned upstairs to the village. And Malka again furiously flew at the gelding.
It is unknown how all this disgrace would have ended if the road had not dried out and cars had not begun to pass through the village. The fry suddenly retreated from Verny and began to pursue the cars with even greater fury. She especially disliked bicycles and gas cars.
The fry has done something wrong
One winter, in the snow, I went to Lydia for milk and heard the hostess swearing in the house. "What's happened? – I thought. “Who is Lydia honoring so much?”
- Bowlegged! Rogue! – Lydia’s voice was heard behind the door. - Why did you stick out your ears? Oh, whore! Wait for it! Aren’t you ashamed to look you in the eyes, my dear? Not ashamed?
I entered the room. Lydia greeted me and continued to swear:
- I should take the belt and whip it! Or completely expose her to the wild, unscrupulous!
It turns out that Lydia scolded Malka. Because she brought two puppies. The fry looked into the owner's eyes with bewilderment, guiltily shook her tail and did not understand why she was being scolded so much. I looked under the bench: there, in an old hat with earflaps, two tiny kittens were floundering helplessly. The fry almost grabbed my nose.
- Sit! – Lydia besieged her. - Sit down, no one will take your ballers! Someone needs...
Lydia scolded Malka for two days, and on the third she said:
- Okay, let them live.
Then I heard that one puppy was taken by a tractor driver who often drove through the village. Lydia took the second one across the river to a neighboring village, and in return brought a young red cat. I don’t know how Malka reacted to all this; she probably wasn’t very pleased. Lydia, in any case, was pleased.
The village where I lived was located on a hill, and on the other side, covered with snow, of the river, also on a hill, there is another, neighboring village. In the summer we walked across the river on lava. Lava is two hewn logs thrown from one bank to the other. The path to the other side remained the same; people walked on the lava even in winter, although it was also possible to walk straight on the ice. I skied here every day. One day I saw Malka running along the path from a neighboring village across the river. Alone, alone. He runs home busily, without looking back at anything. Crooked legs just flicker on the white snow. The next day - again. I was surprised: where is she running? Yes, every day and always at the same time. I asked Lydia:
– Where does Malka run every day?
- Yes, feed! – Lydia explained cheerfully. – Day after day he runs like this, nothing can stop him. I already locked her in the hut, all in vain. As soon as you turn away, the job is done. Yes, no, she ran to feed her baby.
That's it, I think, Malka! How faithful my mother turned out to be. Every day he runs two kilometers to a strange village, despite any dangers, to feed his son. Not everyone can do this.
More about Malka
So Malka ran every day to that village. She never forgot her duty. Meanwhile, spring was coming from all sides. The snow melted, and the river first darkened, then overflowed. The fry kept running across the lava to the other side. Now, even if you don’t want to walk on the lava, you won’t be able to get to the other side.
One morning I went to get water, and I saw that during the night the river overflowed and the water came up to the baths. A wide stretch of water filled the entire depression. Fedya was already driving the boat, looking for places where he could put the tops. The lanky waders that arrived at night whistled merrily. Wait, where's the lava? I looked at the place where the path ended and was stunned. There were no logs. At night they were lifted up by water and carried away. All. The connection with that shore was severed, I thought, the only way to get there was on Fedya’s boat. What about Malka?
The fry was easy to find. I saw her run up to the water and poke her head back and forth. There was only water everywhere and there were no lavas. The fry stepped into the water and suddenly swam. Such a small helpless dog was not afraid of the wide fast river and cold water! I was excited to see what would happen next. What's next? The fry apparently swam with all its might against the currents, but it was carried faster and faster. She had little strength, but the current was strong, and so she was carried along the river. When Malka rushed past me, I threw her some kind of tablet. But it's all in vain. The fry rushed to the other side. I saw how, exhausted, she plunged headlong into the water. And he shouted to Fedya to catch Malka. Fedya himself saw where things were going. He put the boat across the current and adjusted it with an oar to catch the little dog.
“Oh, you fool, where did you go,” he said. - Well, mother, come on, come here!
He threw the oar into the boat and grabbed Malka from the icy water with his hand. Probably, a little more, and she would choke, because she was barely alive.
- Mother! - Fedya persuaded her. - Is that really the case? You have to feed him, the fool! After all, he’s a big idiot, and you’re still running around.
Fedya moored to the shore and released Malka, who was shivering from the cold and had become very tiny.
- Run, run home! – he said and turned to me. -What does animal mean?
And we both marveled at Malka’s maternal fidelity.
Parasite
I started grouse hunting and didn’t see Malka for a long time. Imagine my surprise when one day I went to Lydia and saw a very strange and unexpected picture! The tiny frail fry was lying on the floor on a rag bedding and feeding a large red cat. She even growled at me, saying, there are all sorts of people walking around here. But the cat didn’t even move. He sucked and squinted with pleasure. She was about one and a half times smaller than the cat. And so she fed this big red-haired hulk with her milk. I came in from the other side - that's for sure! There was no mistake. The redhead even smacked his lips. The fry fed him and jumped on her thin crooked legs. But he didn’t even turn over and fell asleep.
“Well, couch potato! – I was mentally indignant. “You wretched parasite!” I even hated this cat, I wanted to wake up the lazy man with my foot, but then Lydia entered the hut.
- Has he been like this for a long time? – I asked.
- Yes right away. He was thin and dry, but now he looks so polished. I scolded him and beat him. I'm used to it, apparently.
- Wow, I’m used to it! Malka barely has a soul in his body, but he’s used to it. So even a fool can...
I didn’t say anything else and walked away, angry at the cat. And not in vain, because this cat, as it later turned out, really turned out to be completely unlucky. No amount of upbringing had any effect on him, as they say, what is not instilled in him from a young age cannot be made up for in old age. But I will return to him later, but for now I’ll tell you about other dogs living in the village.
Valdai
Fedin Valdai is a huge dog, no match for Lidina Malka. Dark gray, with patchy gray hair on the thighs. Valdai barks very rarely, only in the most extreme cases. Surprisingly, Fedya, with all his love for animals, very rarely feeds the dog. Valdai is almost always hungry. This circumstance does not in the least interfere with the greatest canine devotion to its owner, as well as their mutual love. Such relations had developed between them a long time ago, firmly, and it was not for me to change them. But it just so happened that one day I became the culprit of a quarrel that arose between Valdai and Fedya.
Usually, a hungry Valdai would lie for hours on a hillock near the road opposite Fedya’s house. He proudly and independently looked at the cars and tractors passing along the road, yawned, then laid his head on his outstretched front paws and slept.
I often watched him from the window. So he stood up, stretched sweetly, looked to one side of the street, to the other. There is no one anywhere, only the roosters crow. Valdai approached the house opposite. There was a washbasin hanging by the porch. Valdai came up and, sniffing, poked his nose into the lump of the washbasin. It started pouring. Valdai got splashed on his nose, he snorted and walked away embarrassed. I felt funny. In gratitude for this, I threw half a gingerbread out the window. Valdai ate and looked at me, waiting for something else. I threw him a crust of black bread, he sniffed it and walked away dissatisfied: they say, why are you treating me to such nonsense?
So I taught him to sit under the window and wait for a treat. Fedya, having gone to get the mail, often came to my owners to talk, leaving the dog outside the door. Valdai whined and asked to come to us.
One day I let the dog into the room and gave him a circle of sausage. Valdai swallowed the sausage in one gulp and wagged his tail, asking for more.
- Come on, get out of the room! - Fedya shouted. - Tiny Bor.
And suddenly the dog flashed the whites of his eyes and growled, with such anger that even Fedya was taken aback.
- Oh, I didn’t like it. Pshel! Who are they talking to?
The dog, perhaps for the first time, did not listen, and a cruel kick threw Valdai to the door. It is unknown what would have happened next if I had not stopped Fedya...
Valdai was angry with him for a week and didn’t even want to spend the night in the house. But then they made up again.
Sometimes Fedya went to the forest, to the lake. He was carrying an oar and a fish basket out of the hallway, and then Valdai jumped up from his hillock and began to squeal joyfully and jump around Fedya.
- Valdai? In the forest! In the forest!
The dog jumped even higher, trying to lick Fedya on the cheek. I was so glad. He rushed into the field, returned, squealed and jumped, ran again. He loved going into the forest so much that he changed all over, all his sleepy laziness fled from him in one fell swoop. On such days he immediately became cheerful, impetuous and noisy.
Valdai and Valetko
The third canine character in the village was the little cheerful Valetko. This dog, of unknown breed and color, was kept by Grandfather Ostakhov. It must be said right away that Fedya and his grandfather lived in “contras,” as he himself put it. Although they greeted each other, they constantly branded each other behind their backs. It started a long time ago, because of some trifle, later the enmity grew and became stronger. And it has been going on for several years. They themselves were probably tired of all this for a long time; everyone secretly wanted to make peace. But something got in the way.
When Valetko showed up at Grandfather Ostakhov’s, Fedya said:
- Wolfhound! You can't feed this. It will gnaw the whole village.
And on the same day he began to set Valdai against the Ostakhov dog. But, to everyone’s surprise, Valdai did not scold little Valetok that day. And then, unlike their owners, these two dogs even became friends, and Fedya did not interfere with this.
It used to be that Valdai would lie on the meadow, and Valetko would pester him so much that it seemed that even a man’s patience would have run out. Valdai will only look condescendingly at the naughty man, and at least that’s all. The hooligan Valetko will become so angry and emboldened that he will even pull Valdai’s ear. If it didn’t hurt, then Valdai will shake off the naughty guy, and that’s it. If Valetko grabbed painfully, then Valdai will bare his large yellow fangs:
- R-rr-r-r!
He will grab Valetka by the scruff of the neck and shake him two or three times harder. Valetko immediately came to his senses and stopped acting up. But after some time he began to behave hooliganly again, and again Valdai patiently endured the impudence.
One day, a huge unfamiliar dog, bigger than Valdai, was running through the village. Valetko, in his stupidity, barked and began to attack him. Valdai lay silently on his hillock. The alien dog barked menacingly, grabbed Valetka and began to tear him apart. There was snoring and a terrible squeal. Probably, the dog would have torn Valetka to pieces in one minute if not for help. Valdai quickly jumped up from the hill and rushed at the stranger. Freed from the mouth, Valetko, badly bitten, rolled to the side, and the dog and Valdai grappled with each other. The fight was wild and terrible. The alien dog was stronger than Valdai. But it’s not without reason that they say that walls help at home. Valdai gained the upper hand and pursued the stranger for a long time. After that, the strange dog never showed up on the street; he avoided our village. After this incident, Dedko Ostakhov went to Fedya’s house to watch TV. Once I brought a half-liter jar of honey from my hives. Fedya did not let the grandfather go home until he handed him half a sieve of fresh sorog.
Valdai and Kuzya
I have already said that almost every year Fedya bought a pig from the collective farm pig farm and every time he called him the same: Kuzya. The animal was kept in a barn for a long time, but at some point it has to go outside, even if you are Kuzya! And this moment was always very interesting.
This time the next Kuzya was already quite big. Fedya carried him out into the street in his arms. Clean and washed, Kuzya looked at the white light and ran along the village in delight. Fedya turned him back. Kuzya dug up the turf with his snout and ran it in the other direction. Fedya had the patience to once again season Kuzya with the house. Valdai lay on a hillock and calmly watched all this.
Under the hill, not far from Fedya’s house, there was a cattle yard. Liquid cow manure was transported all winter and spring directly to the meadow not far from the yard. By spring, the result was a large and liquid dung cake. From above, it was covered with a crust from the wind and sun. And this is where Fedya got into conflict with Kuzya. As soon as Fedya turned the corner, Kuzya again rushed into the open space with all his might. The piglet galloped to the limits of the manure... and as he walked, gently, one side fell against the thick manure. Then he ran on.
You should have seen what rose here!
Fedya, using obscene language, rushed after the pig. Kuzya ran even further.
- Wait for it! - Fedya shouted. - Just let me live until Oktyabrskaya, I’ll burn the bastard alive!
Seeing that he still couldn’t catch up, Fedya decided to influence the animal with affection:
- Kuzya, Kuzya, Kuzya! Run here, father, Kuzya, Kuzya!
The pig stopped and turned back home with the same delight. One side of him was clean, snow-white, the other, black with manure, shiny like a raven’s wing. Such a color contrast plunged Fedya into angry despair; he had already brought a stick to whip Kuzya, but the pig, as if guessing, ran along the village.
Feda managed to catch the animal with difficulty. He grabbed Kuzya by the leg and dragged him to the river. Wash. Kuzya squealed. Fedya washed him, carried him home in his arms and locked him in the barn.
This is how Cousin’s first walk ended unsuccessfully.
Fedya kept him in the room for several days and did not let him go anywhere. Finally he released it again, and again Kuzya arranged everything exactly the same as before! Again, clean and snow-white, he rushed to the thicket of dung and climbed into it, now all up to his ears.
I won’t describe what Fedya did after that. Several times he pulled Kuzya out of the dung, beat him with a stick and washed him in the river. But after half an hour the washed pig looked like a blackamoor again.
Fedya was in complete despair. He was tired of washing the pig. A few days later he gave up on Kuzya:
- If only I could live to see Oktyabrskaya!
That same day, Fedya let Kuzya out into the street and immediately disappeared so as not to upset his nerves any more. Valdai lay, as always, on a hill. I saw from my window how the piglet was about to run along the village, but suddenly Valdai, barking, rushed after Kuzya. Kuzya turned towards the house, Valdai again lay down on his hillock. But Kuza, apparently, was impatient to try the manure bath again, he dug up the turf with a snout and ran in the other direction, straight to the barnyard. What's happened? I couldn't believe my eyes. Hey Valdai! The dog quickly overtook the piglet and stood in the way, barking. And Kuza, willy-nilly, had to turn around.
From then on, Fedya could safely let Kuzya out into the street. Valdai mastered what was required of him well; he carefully monitored Kuzya’s behavior.
Fedya took all this for granted and did nothing to encourage the smart dog. However, Valdai probably did not expect gratitude. For everyone it all turned out to be in the order of things