A short but very informative story about a responsive teacher and a grateful student can be useful to every student, because you can find a lot of excellent arguments for an essay in it. Therefore, our team will present "French Lessons" in abbreviated form.
(428 words) Main character story - an eleven-year-old village boy. In 1948 he goes to the 5th grade. In the village, everyone considers him a literate, the school curriculum is given to him easily. People advise his mother to send her son to school in the regional center, although it is located 50 kilometers from home. “The village is already hungry, it won’t get any worse,” the mother thinks and places our hero in an apartment with a friend in the district center.
In the new class, the boy quickly got used to it, studied well. Only French was not given to him in any way: although he mastered grammar, he did not get along with pronunciation. A young French teacher, Lidia Mikhailovna, frowned every time she heard her student's inept speech.
Soon the main character gets into a company where they play "chika" for money. The rules are simple: coins are stacked tails up, then beaten with a cue ball so that as many coins as possible turn heads, then all of them are considered a win. The mother sent the boy 50 kopecks for milk, he played them and often won. Then Vadik, who started the company, began to cheat. Our hero caught a high school student in a lie, for which he was beaten.
Seeing the bruises on her student's face, Lidia Mikhailovna asked him to stay after school. She asked him about his family, the village, found out that he was gambling because he was starving. The boy was afraid that he would be taken to the director and expelled, but Lidia Mikhailovna did not give out the secret to anyone, but only announced to him that now they would study extra after school, and then at her house in the evenings.
A little later, the main character receives a parcel with pasta, sugar and hematogen. He immediately understands that this is not from his mother, because in the village there would not have been pasta. He gives the parcel back to Lidia Mikhailovna and says that he cannot accept the products. French lessons at home continue. The teacher tries her best to protect the boy, feed him and teach him. She even came up with the idea of playing with him "zameryashki": they throw coins at the wall, and then they try to get their fingers from their coin to someone else's. If you get it, the win is yours. Our hero considered this a fair competition and often played with Lidia Mikhailovna. But one day she began to cheat not in her favor, so that the boy got more. They began to argue, and the principal of the school, who was a neighbor of the young teacher, came to loud voices. He realized that she was playing with a student for money, but did not listen or find out why she did this, although, of course, she did not need funds.
One of the best works of V. Rasputin is the book "French Lessons", summary which is proposed in the article. It is dedicated to A.P. Kopylova - the teacher of the writer, who for the first time made a teenager think about what kindness, humanity, readiness to sacrifice oneself for the well-being of another.
The beginning of an independent life
The story is told in the first person and represents the memories of an adult about the most significant days of his difficult childhood.
The action takes place in 1948 in a Siberian village. The protagonist is an eight-year-old boy who was the eldest of three children in the family. The mother had to bring them up alone, but, seeing her son's excellent learning abilities, she decides to send him to the 5th grade of the district school. It was fifty kilometers from home, and therefore the boy, who had never parted with his family before, felt very lonely there. He lived with a familiar mother, who also raised children without a husband.
Studying was easy, only the French lesson caused problems. Rasputin (a brief summary conveys only the main points of the story) noted that his village accent in every possible way opposed foreign words. And every time the teacher, Lidia Mikhailovna, began to frown and close her eyes in despair.
Chica game
Another problem was constant hunger. The mother handed over few products, and they ended very quickly: either the hostess helped, or her children. Therefore, the hero immediately began to eat all the products, and then for several days he “planted his teeth on the shelf”. A couple of times my mother handed over money: not much, but I bought a jar of milk for five days. More often he went to bed after drinking boiling water.
The summary of the work "French Lessons" continues with a story about how the hero began to play for money. One day Fedka, the landlady's son, took him to the gardens. The boys played chica there. While the boy had no money, he carefully observed and delved into the rules. And when the village driver brought money from his mother, he decided to try his luck at the game instead of buying milk. At first he lost, and therefore in the evenings he ran to the clearing, took out a hidden puck and trained. Finally, for the first time, the hero won. Now he had money for milk every evening. I didn’t want much - I won the ruble and immediately ran away. This was the cause of an unpleasant story that soon occurred in the clearing. Here is its summary.
"French Lessons" contains a story about boys gathering outside the gardens. The main was Vadik - the oldest. He directed the game and did not touch the boy for some time. But one day he stopped him when he was about to leave. Vadik, who stepped on the coin, said that it did not turn over from the blow, which means that there was no winning. As a result, the hero tried to prove something, and he was beaten.
difficult conversation
In the morning, Lidia Mikhailovna, who was also the class teacher, immediately noticed the bruises on the boy's face. After class, she left the student to talk. Here is a summary of it.
"French Lessons" emphasizes the contrast between the characters. Lidia Mikhailovna was neat, beautiful, a pleasant smell of perfume always emanated from her, which made her seem unearthly to the boy. He walked around in altered father's clothes, old teals, which no one else had at school. And now he was answering her questions about where he spends the money he won. The author emphasizes that the news about milk came as a complete surprise to the teacher.
This incident did not reach the director, which the hero was very happy about.
Painful classes with Lydia Mikhailovna
In the fall, the hero's affairs became very bad: the driver no longer came, and the bag of potatoes he had brought literally evaporated. The boy had to go to the gardens again. However, on the fourth day he was beaten again, and Lidia Mikhailovna, seeing bruises on his face, went to the trick. She decided to give him a private French lesson at her home.
Rasputin (the summary does not fully tell how hard these visits to the teacher were for the hero) notes that the boy was lost in fear and every time he could not wait for the lesson to end. And Lidia Mikhailovna at first tried to invite him to the table, and when she realized that it was useless, she sent a parcel. Opening the box, the boy was delighted, but immediately realized: where did his mother get pasta? They never existed in the village. And hematogen! He immediately understood everything and went with the package to the teacher. She was sincerely surprised that she could eat only potatoes, peas, radishes… Such was the first attempt to help a capable but starving student. We have described its summary. French lessons with Lydia Mikhailovna continued, but now they were real classes.
The game of freeze
A couple of weeks after the story with the package, the teacher started talking about the chick, as if in order to compare it with the “stunners”. In fact, it was the only way to help the boy. At first, she simply told him about how she loved to play in the "wall" as a girl. Then she showed what the essence of the game is, and finally, she offered to try her hand "for fun". And when the rules were mastered, she noted that it was not interesting to play just like that: money adds excitement. This is how the short story continues.
The French lesson now went by quickly, and then they began to play "walls", or "measured". The main thing is that the boy could buy milk every day with “honestly earned money”.
But one day, Lidia Mikhailovna began to “swing”. This happened after the hero realized that she was playing along with him. As a result, a verbal skirmish arose, the consequences of which turned out to be tragic.
Conversation with the director: summary
"French Lessons" ends not very fun for the characters. They were so carried away by the argument that they did not notice how the director entered the room - it was at the school. Stunned by what he saw (the class teacher plays with his student for money), he called what was happening a crime and did not even try to understand the situation. Lidia Mikhailovna said goodbye and left three days later. They never saw each other again.
In the middle of winter, a parcel arrived at the school in the name of the boy, in which there were pasta and three apples from the Kuban.
This is the summary of the story, in which the French lesson became, perhaps, the main thing. moral lesson in the life of a hero.
Strange: why do we, just like before our parents, every time feel guilty before our teachers? And not for what happened at school - no, but for what happened to us after.
I went to the fifth grade in forty-eight. It would be more correct to say, I went: in our village there was only an elementary school, therefore, in order to study further, I had to equip myself from a house fifty kilometers away to the regional center. A week earlier, my mother had gone there, agreed with her friend that I would lodge with her, and on the last day of August, Uncle Vanya, the driver of the only lorry on the collective farm, unloaded me on Podkamennaya Street, where I was to live, helped bring a bundle of bed, patted him on the shoulder reassuringly and drove off. So, at the age of eleven, my independent life began.
Hunger that year had not yet let go, and my mother had three of us, I am the oldest. In the spring, when it was especially hard, I swallowed myself and forced my sister to swallow the eyes of sprouted potatoes and grains of oats and rye in order to dilute the plantings in the stomach - then you won’t have to think about food all the time. All summer we diligently watered our seeds with pure Angarsk water, but for some reason we did not wait for the harvest, or it was so small that we did not feel it. However, I think that this idea is not entirely useless and someday it will come in handy for a person, and due to inexperience, we did something wrong there.
It is hard to say how my mother decided to let me go to the district (the district center was called the district). We lived without a father, lived very badly, and she, apparently, reasoned that it would not be worse - there was nowhere. I studied well, I went to school with pleasure, and in the village I was recognized as a literate person: I wrote for old women and read letters, went through all the books that ended up in our unprepossessing library, and in the evenings told all sorts of stories from them to the children, adding more from myself. But they especially believed in me when it came to bonds. People accumulated a lot of them during the war, the tables of winnings came often, and then the bonds were carried to me. I thought I had a lucky eye. Winnings really did happen, most often small ones, but the collective farmer in those years was happy with any penny, and here completely unexpected luck fell out of my hands. The joy from her involuntarily fell to me. I was singled out from the village children, they even fed me; Once Uncle Ilya, in general, a stingy, stingy old man, having won four hundred rubles, hastily heated a bucket of potatoes for me - in the spring it was considerable wealth.
And all because I understood bond numbers, mothers said:
Your brainy guy is growing. You are ... let's teach him. Gratitude will not go to waste.
And my mother, in spite of all the misfortunes, gathered me together, although before that no one from our village in the region had studied. I was first. Yes, I did not understand properly what was ahead of me, what trials awaited me, my dear, in a new place.
I studied here and it's good. What was left for me? - then I came here, I had no other business here, and then I did not know how to treat carelessly what was assigned to me. I would hardly have dared to go to school if I had not learned at least one lesson, so in all subjects except French, I kept fives.
I didn't get along well with French because of the pronunciation. I easily memorized words and phrases, translated quickly, coped well with the difficulties of spelling, but pronunciation with a head betrayed all my Angaran origin right up to the last generation, where no one ever pronounces foreign words, if at all suspected of their existence. I sputtered in French in the manner of our village tongue twisters, swallowing half of the sounds as unnecessary, and blurting out the other half in short barking bursts. Lidia Mikhailovna, the French teacher, listened to me, wincing helplessly and closing her eyes. She had never heard of anything like it, of course. Again and again she showed how to pronounce nasals, vowel combinations, asked me to repeat - I was lost, my tongue in my mouth became stiff and did not move. Everything was wasted. But the worst thing happened when I came home from school. There I was involuntarily distracted, all the time I had to do something, there the guys bothered me, along with them - like it or not, I had to move, play, and in the classroom - work. But as soon as I was left alone, longing immediately piled up - longing for home, for the village. Never before, even for a day, had I been absent from my family and, of course, I was not ready to live among strangers. I felt so bad, so bitter and disgusted! - worse than any disease. I wanted only one thing, I dreamed of one thing - home and home. I lost a lot of weight; my mother, who arrived at the end of September, was afraid for me. With her, I strengthened myself, did not complain and did not cry, but when she began to leave, I could not stand it and chased the car with a roar. Mother waved her hand to me from the back so that I would be behind, not to disgrace myself and her, I did not understand anything. Then she made up her mind and stopped the car.
Get ready,” she demanded as I approached. Enough, weaned, let's go home.
I came to my senses and ran away.
But I lost weight not only because of homesickness. In addition, I was constantly malnourished. In the autumn, while Uncle Vanya was carrying bread on his lorry to Zagotzerno, which was not far from the district center, food was sent to me quite often, about once a week. But the problem is that I missed her. There was nothing there but bread and potatoes, and occasionally her mother stuffed cottage cheese into a jar, which she took from someone for something: she did not keep a cow. It seems that they will bring a lot, you will miss it in two days - it's empty. I very soon began to notice that a good half of my bread was disappearing somewhere in the most mysterious way. Checked - it is: there was no. The same thing happened with potatoes. Whether it was Aunt Nadya, a noisy, overwrought woman who was running around alone with three children, one of her older girls or her younger one, Fedka, I didn’t know, I was afraid to even think about it, let alone follow. It was only a shame that my mother, for my sake, tears the last thing from her own, from her sister and brother, but it still goes by. But I forced myself to come to terms with it. It will not be easier for the mother if she hears the truth.
The famine here was not at all like the famine in the countryside. There, always, and especially in autumn, it was possible to intercept, pluck, dig, lift something, fish walked in the Angara, a bird flew in the forest. Here everything around me was empty: strange people, strange vegetable gardens, strange land. A small river for ten rows was filtered with nonsense. I once sat with a fishing rod all day on Sunday and caught three small, about a teaspoon, minnows - you won’t get good from such fishing either. I didn’t go anymore - what a waste of time to translate! In the evenings, he hung around at the teahouse, in the bazaar, remembering what they sell for how much, choked on saliva and walked back with nothing. Aunt Nadia had a hot kettle on the stove; throwing boiled water over the naked man and warming his stomach, he went to bed. Back to school in the morning. And so he lived up to that happy hour, when a lorry and a half drove up to the gate and Uncle Vanya knocked on the door. Hungry and knowing that my grub would still not last long, no matter how much I saved it, I ate to satiety, to pain and stomach, and then, after a day or two, again planted my teeth on the shelf.
* * *
Once, back in September, Fedka asked me:
Are you afraid to play "chika"?
In what "chika"? - I did not understand.
The game is like that. For money. If we have money, let's go and play.
And I don't have. Let's go, let's take a look. You'll see how great it is.
Fedka took me to the gardens. We walked along the edge of an oblong, ridged hill, completely overgrown with nettles, already black, tangled, with drooping poisonous clusters of seeds, we climbed, jumping in heaps, through an old dump and in a lowland, on a clean and even small clearing, we saw the guys. We approached. The guys were worried. All of them were about the same age as me, except for one - tall and strong, noticeable for his strength and power, a guy with a long red bang. I remembered: he went to the seventh grade.
Why else did you bring this? he said discontentedly to Fedka.
He is his own, Vadik, his own, - Fedka began to justify himself. - He lives with us.
Will you play? - Vadik asked me.
There is no money.
Look, don't yell to anyone that we're here.
Here's another! - I was offended.
No one paid any more attention to me, I stepped aside and began to observe. Not all six, then seven played, the rest just stared, rooting mainly for Vadik. He was in charge here, I understood it at once.
It didn't cost anything to figure out the game. Each staked ten kopecks on the bet, a stack of coins was lowered tails up onto a platform bounded by a thick line about two meters from the cash register, and on the other side, from a boulder that had grown into the ground and served as an emphasis for the front foot, they threw a round stone puck. You had to throw it in such a way that it rolled as close as possible to the line, but did not go beyond it - then you got the right to be the first to break the cash register. They beat him with the same puck, trying to turn it over. eagle coins. Turned over - yours, beat further, no - give this right to the next one. But it was considered most important of all when throwing the puck to cover the coins, and if at least one of them turned out to be on the eagle, the entire cash register went into your pocket without talking, and the game began again.
Vadik was cunning. He walked to the boulder after everyone else, when the full picture of the turn was before his eyes and he saw where to throw to get ahead. The money went first, it rarely reached the last. Probably, everyone understood that Vadik was cunning, but no one dared to tell him about it. True, he played well. Approaching the stone, he squatted a little, squinted, pointed the puck at the target and slowly, smoothly straightened up - the puck slipped out of his hand and flew where he was aiming. With a quick movement of his head, he threw the bangs that had gone down, casually spat to the side, showing that the deed was done, and with a lazy, deliberately slow step stepped towards the money. If they were in a heap, he hit sharply, with a ringing sound, but he touched single coins with a washer carefully, with a knurling, so that the coin would not beat and spin in the air, but, not rising high, would just roll over to the other side. Nobody else could do that. The guys hit at random and took out new coins, and those who had nothing to get, turned into spectators.
It seemed to me that if I had money, I could play. In the countryside, we fiddled with grandmothers, but even there you need an accurate eye. And besides, I liked to invent for myself amusements for accuracy: I'll pick up a handful of stones, find a harder target and throw it at it until I get the full result - ten out of ten. He threw both from above, from behind his shoulder, and from below, hanging a stone over the target. So I had some flair. There was no money.
Mother sent me bread because we had no money, otherwise I would have bought it here too. Where can they get on the collective farm? Nevertheless, twice she put me five in a letter - for milk. At the present time it is fifty kopecks, you can’t get hold of it, but all the same, money, you could buy five half-liter cans of milk at the market, at a ruble per jar. I was ordered to drink milk from anemia, I often suddenly felt dizzy for no reason at all.
But, having received a five for the third time, I did not go for milk, but exchanged it for a trifle and went to the dump. The place here was chosen sensibly, you can’t say anything: the clearing, closed by hills, was not visible from anywhere. In the village, in full view of adults, such games were chased, threatened by the director and the police. Nobody bothered us here. And not far, in ten minutes you will reach.
The first time I lost ninety kopecks, the second sixty. Of course, it was a pity for the money, but I felt that I was adjusting to the game, my hand gradually got used to the puck, I learned to release exactly as much force for a throw as it was required for the puck to go right, my eyes also learned to know in advance where it would fall and how much more roll across the ground. In the evenings, when everyone dispersed, I returned here again, took out the puck hidden by Vadik from under the stone, raked out my change from my pocket and threw it until it got dark. I made sure that out of ten throws, three or four guessed exactly for the money.
And finally the day came when I won.
Autumn was warm and dry. Even in October it was so warm that one could walk in a shirt, the rains fell rarely and seemed random, inadvertently brought from somewhere out of bad weather by a weak tail breeze. The sky was turning blue quite like summer, but it seemed to have become narrower, and the sun was setting early. In clear hours the air smoked over the hills, carrying the bitter, intoxicating smell of dry wormwood, distant voices sounded clearly, flying birds screamed. The grass in our clearing, yellowed and smoky, nevertheless remained alive and soft, free from the game, or rather, lost guys, were busy on it.
Now I come here every day after school. The guys changed, newcomers appeared, and only Vadik did not miss a single game. She didn't start without him. Behind Vadik, like a shadow, followed a big-headed, short-haired, stocky guy, nicknamed Ptah. At school, I had never met Ptah before, but, looking ahead, I’ll say that in the third quarter, he suddenly, like snow on his head, fell on our class. It turns out that he stayed in the fifth for the second year and, under some pretext, gave himself a vacation until January. Ptakha also usually won, although not in the same way as Vadik, less, but did not remain at a loss. Yes, because, probably, he did not stay, because he was at the same time with Vadik and he slowly helped him.
From our class, Tishkin sometimes ran into the clearing, a fussy boy with blinking eyes who loved to raise his hand in class. Knows, does not know - still pulls. Called - silent.
Why did you raise your hand? - ask Tishkin.
He slapped his little eyes:
I remembered, but by the time I got up, I forgot.
I didn't make friends with him. From timidity, taciturnity, excessive rural isolation, and most importantly - from wild homesickness, which did not leave any desires in me, I had not yet made friends with any of the guys. They were not attracted to me either, I remained alone, not understanding and not singling out loneliness from my bitter situation: alone - because here, and not at home, not in the village, I have many comrades there.
Tishkin didn't even seem to notice me in the clearing. Having quickly lost, he disappeared and did not appear again soon.
And I won. I began to win constantly, every day. I had my own calculation: no need to roll the puck around the court, seeking the right to the first shot; when there are many players, it is not easy: the closer you reach for the line, the greater the danger of going over it and remaining last. It is necessary to cover the cash register when throwing. So I did. Of course, I took a risk, but with my skill it was a justified risk. I could lose three, four times in a row, but on the fifth, having taken the cashier, I returned my loss three times. Lost again and returned again. I rarely had to hit the puck on the coins, but even here I used my own trick: if Vadik rolled over myself, on the contrary, I baled away from myself - it was so unusual, but the puck held the coin in this way, did not let it spin and, moving away, turned over after itself.
Now I have money. I did not allow myself to get too carried away with the game and hang around in the clearing until the evening, I needed only a ruble, every day for a ruble. Having received it, I ran away, bought a jar of milk at the market (the aunts grumbled, looking at my bent, beaten, torn coins, but they poured milk), dined and sat down for lessons. All the same, I didn’t eat my fill, but the mere thought that I was drinking milk added strength to me and subdued my hunger. It seemed to me that my head was now spinning much less.
At first, Vadik was calm about my winnings. He himself was not at a loss, and from his pockets it is unlikely that I got anything. Sometimes he even praised me: here, they say, how to quit, study, muffins. However, soon Vadik noticed that I was leaving the game too quickly, and one day he stopped me:
What are you - raked in the cash register and fight? Look what a smart one! Play.
I need to do my homework, Vadik, - I began to excuse myself.
Who needs to do homework, he does not go here.
And Bird sang:
Who told you that this is how they play for money? For this, you want to know, they beat a little. Understood?
Vadik didn't give me the puck before him anymore and let me get to the stone only last. He shot well, and often I reached into my pocket for a new coin without touching the puck. But I threw better, and if I got the opportunity to throw, the puck, like a magnet, flew like a money. I myself was surprised at my accuracy, I should have guessed to hold it back, play more inconspicuously, but I guilelessly and ruthlessly continued to bomb the box office. How was I to know that no one has ever been forgiven if he breaks ahead in his work? Then do not expect mercy, do not seek intercession, for others he is an upstart, and the one who follows him hates him most of all. I had to comprehend this science in my own skin that autumn.
I had just hit the money again and was going to collect it when I noticed that Vadik had stepped on one of the scattered coins. All the rest were upside down. In such cases, when throwing, they usually shout “to the warehouse!” In order - if there is no eagle - to collect the money in one pile for the strike, but, as always, I hoped for luck and did not shout.
Not in the warehouse! Vadik announced.
I approached him and tried to move his foot off the coin, but he pushed me away, quickly grabbed it from the ground and showed me tails. I managed to notice that the coin was on the eagle - otherwise he would not have closed it.
You flipped it, I said. - She was on an eagle, I saw.
He thrust his fist under my nose.
Didn't you see this? Smell what it smells like.
I had to reconcile. It was pointless to insist on one's own; if a fight starts, no one, not a single soul will intercede for me, not even Tishkin, who was spinning right there.
Vadik's evil, narrowed eyes looked at me point-blank. I bent down, tapped the nearest coin softly, turned it over and moved the second one. “Hluzda will lead you to the truth,” I decided. “I’m going to take them all now anyway.” Again he pointed the puck for a strike, but he didn’t have time to lower it: someone suddenly gave me a strong knee from behind, and I awkwardly, bowed my head down, poked into the ground. Laughed around.
Behind me, smiling expectantly, stood Bird. I was taken aback:
What are you?!
Who told you it was me? he answered. - Dreamed, or what?
Come here! - Vadik extended his hand for the puck, but I did not give it away. Resentment overwhelmed me with fear of nothing in the world, I was no longer afraid. For what? Why are they doing this to me? What did I do to them?
Come here! - demanded Vadik.
You flipped that coin! I called out to him. - I saw it turned over. Saw.
Come on, repeat," he asked, advancing on me.
You turned it over,” I said more quietly, knowing full well what would follow.
First, again from behind, I was hit by Ptah. I flew at Vadik, he quickly and deftly, without trying on, poked me with his head in the face, and I fell, blood spurted from my nose. As soon as I jumped up, Ptah attacked me again. I could still break free and run away, but for some reason I did not think about it. I twirled between Vadik and Ptah, almost not defending myself, holding my hand to my nose, from which blood was gushing, and in despair, adding to their rage, stubbornly shouting the same thing:
Flipped over! Flipped over! Flipped over!
They beat me in turn, one and a second, one and a second. Someone third, small and vicious, kicked my legs, then they were almost completely covered with bruises. I tried only not to fall, not to fall again for anything, even in those moments it seemed to me a shame. But in the end they knocked me to the ground and stopped.
Get out of here while you're alive! - ordered Vadik. - Fast!
I got up and, sobbing, tossing my dead nose, trudged up the mountain.
Just blather to someone - we'll kill! - Vadik promised me after.
I didn't answer. Everything in me somehow hardened and closed in resentment, I did not have the strength to get a word out of myself. And, only having climbed the mountain, I could not resist and, as if foolish, I shouted at the top of my lungs - so that the whole village probably heard:
Flip-u-st!
Ptakha was about to rush after me, but he immediately returned - apparently, Vadik decided that enough was enough for me, and stopped him. For about five minutes I stood and, sobbing, looked at the clearing where the game began again, then went down the other side of the hill to a hollow covered with black nettles around, fell on the hard dry grass and, not holding back any longer, wept bitterly, sobbing.
There was not and could not be in the whole wide world a person more unfortunate than me.
* * *
In the morning I looked at myself in the mirror with fear: my nose was swollen and swollen, there was a bruise under my left eye, and below it, on my cheek, there was a fat bloody abrasion. I had no idea how to go to school in this form, but somehow I had to go, skipping classes for whatever reason, I did not dare. Suppose that people’s noses and by nature happen to be cleaner than mine, and if it weren’t for the usual place, you would never guess that this is a nose, but nothing can justify an abrasion and a bruise: it’s immediately obvious that they show off here not of my good will.
Shielding my eye with my hand, I darted into the classroom, sat down at my desk and lowered my head. The first lesson, unfortunately, was French. Lidia Mikhailovna, by right of a class teacher, was more interested in us than other teachers, and it was difficult to hide anything from her. She came in and greeted us, but before seating the class, she had a habit of carefully examining almost every one of us, making supposedly playful, but obligatory remarks. And, of course, she immediately saw the marks on my face, even though I hid them as best I could; I realized this because the guys began to turn around on me.
Well, - said Lidia Mikhailovna, opening the magazine. There are wounded among us today.
The class laughed, and Lidia Mikhailovna looked up at me again. They mowed at her and looked as if past, but by that time we had already learned to recognize where they were looking.
What happened? she asked.
Fell, - I blurted out, for some reason not having guessed in advance to come up with even the slightest degree of decent explanation.
Oh, how unfortunate. Did it crash yesterday or today?
Today. No, last night when it was dark.
Hee fell! Tishkin shouted, choking with joy. - Vadik from the seventh grade brought it to him. They played for money, and he began to argue and earned. I saw. He says he fell.
I was dumbfounded by such betrayal. Does he not understand anything at all or is it on purpose? For playing for money, we could be expelled from school in no time. Finished it. In my head everything was alarmed and buzzed with fear: it was gone, now it was gone. Well, Tishkin. Here is Tishkin so Tishkin. Pleased. Brought clarity - nothing to say.
I wanted to ask you, Tishkin, something completely different, - without being surprised and without changing her calm, slightly indifferent tone, Lidia Mikhailovna stopped him. - Go to the blackboard, since you're talking, and get ready to answer. She waited until the bewildered, who immediately became unhappy Tishkin came out to the blackboard, and briefly said to me: - You will stay after the lessons.
Most of all, I was afraid that Lidia Mikhailovna would drag me to the director. This means that, in addition to today's conversation, tomorrow I will be taken out in front of the school line and forced to tell what prompted me to do this dirty business. The director, Vasily Andreevich, asked the offender, no matter what he did, broke a window, got into a fight or smoked in the restroom: “What prompted you to do this dirty business?” He paced in front of the ruler, throwing his hands behind his back, moving his shoulders forward in time with his broad steps, so that it seemed as if the tightly buttoned, protruding dark jacket was moving independently a little ahead of the director, and urged: “Answer, answer. We are waiting. look, the whole school is waiting for you to tell us.” The student began to mutter something in his defense, but the director interrupted him: “You answer my question, answer my question. How was the question asked? - "What prompted me?" - That's it: what prompted? We listen to you." The case usually ended in tears, only after that the director calmed down, and we went to classes. It was more difficult with high school students who did not want to cry, but could not answer Vasily Andreevich's question either.
Once our first lesson started ten minutes late, and all this time the director interrogated one ninth-grader, but, having not achieved anything intelligible from him, took him to his office.
And what, interestingly, I will say? It would have been better to get kicked out right away. I briefly touched on this thought and thought that then I would be able to return home, and then, as if burned, I was frightened: no, you can’t go home with such a shame. Another thing is if I myself had left school ... But even then you can say about me that I am an unreliable person, since I could not stand what I wanted, and then everyone would shun me altogether. No, just not like that. I would still be patient here, I would get used to it, but you can’t go home like that.
After the lessons, trembling with fear, I waited for Lidia Mikhailovna in the corridor. She left the staff room and nodded as she led me into the classroom. As always, she sat down at the table, I wanted to sit at the third desk, away from her, but Lidia Mikhailovna pointed to the first one, right in front of her.
Is it true that you play for money? she started right away. She asked too loudly, it seemed to me that at school it was only necessary to talk about it in a whisper, and I was even more scared. But there was no point in locking myself up, Tishkin managed to sell me with giblets. I mumbled:
So how do you win or lose? I hesitated, not knowing which was better.
Let's tell it like it is. Are you losing, perhaps?
You… win.
Okay, anyway. You win, that is. And what do you do with money?
At first, at school, for a long time I could not get used to Lidia Mikhailovna's voice, it confused me. In our village they spoke, wrapping their voice deep in their guts, and therefore it sounded to their heart's content, but with Lidia Mikhailovna it was somehow small and light, so that you had to listen to it, and not from impotence at all - she sometimes could say to her heart's content , but as if from secrecy and unnecessary savings. I was ready to blame everything on French: of course, while I was studying, while I was adjusting to someone else's speech, my voice sat without freedom, weakened, like a bird in a cage, now wait for it to disperse again and get stronger. And now Lidia Mikhailovna asked as if she was at that time busy with something else, more important, but she still couldn’t get away from her questions.
Well, so what do you do with the money you win? Do you buy candy? Or books? Or are you saving up for something? After all, you probably have a lot of them now?
No, not much. I only win a ruble.
And you don't play anymore?
And the ruble? Why ruble? What are you doing with it?
I buy milk.
She sat in front of me neat, all smart and beautiful, beautiful in clothes, and in her feminine young pore, which I vaguely felt, the smell of perfume from her reached me, which I took for my very breath; besides, she was not a teacher of some kind of arithmetic, not of history, but of the mysterious French language, from which something special, fabulous, beyond the control of anyone, everyone, like me, for example, came. Not daring to raise my eyes to her, I did not dare to deceive her. And why, after all, should I lie?
She paused, examining me, and I felt with my skin how, at the glance of her squinting, attentive eyes, all my troubles and absurdities really swell and fill with their evil strength. There was, of course, something to look at: in front of her, a scrawny, wild boy with a broken face, untidy without a mother and alone, in an old, washed-out jacket on sagging shoulders, which was just right on his chest, but from which his arms protruded far, was crouched on the desk; in light green trousers made from his father's breeches and tucked into teal, with traces of yesterday's fight. Even earlier I had noticed with what curiosity Lidia Mikhailovna was looking at my shoes. Of the entire class, I was the only one wearing teals. Only the following autumn, when I flatly refused to go to school with them, did my mother sell the sewing machine, our only valuable asset, and buy me tarpaulin boots.
And yet, you don’t need to play for money, ”said Lidia Mikhailovna thoughtfully. - How would you manage without it. Can you get by?
Not daring to believe in my salvation, I easily promised:
I spoke sincerely, but what can you do if our sincerity cannot be tied with ropes.
In fairness, I must say that in those days I had a very bad time. In the dry autumn, our collective farm settled early with the delivery of grain, and Uncle Vanya did not come again. I knew that at home my mother couldn’t find a place for herself, worrying about me, but that didn’t make it any easier for me. The sack of potatoes brought for the last time by Uncle Vanya evaporated so quickly, as if they were fed, at least, to livestock. It’s good that, having remembered, I guessed to hide a little in an abandoned shed standing in the yard, and now I lived only with this hiding place. After school, slinking like a thief, I darted into the shed, put a few potatoes in my pocket, and ran out into the hills to start a fire somewhere in a comfortable and hidden lowland. I was hungry all the time, even in my sleep I felt convulsive waves rolling through my stomach.
Hoping to stumble upon new company players, I began to slowly explore the neighboring streets, wandered through the wastelands, followed the guys who were drifting into the hills. It was all in vain, the season was over, the cold October winds were blowing. And only in our clearing the guys continued to gather. I was circling nearby, I saw how the puck flashed in the sun, how, waving his arms, Vadik was in command and familiar figures were leaning over the cash register.
In the end, I could not stand it and went down to them. I knew that I was going to be humiliated, but it was no less humiliating to accept once and for all the fact that I was beaten and kicked out. I was itching to see how Vadik and Ptah would react to my appearance and how I could behave. But most of all, it was hunger. I needed a ruble - no longer for milk, but for bread. I didn't know of any other way to get it.
I approached, and the game paused by itself, everyone stared at me. The bird was wearing a cap with turned-up ears, sitting, like everyone else on him, carefree and bold, in a checkered, loose-fitting shirt with short sleeves; Vadik forsil in a beautiful thick jacket with a lock. Nearby, piled in one heap, lay sweatshirts and coats, on them, huddled in the wind, sat a small boy, five or six years old.
Bird met me first:
What came? Haven't beaten in a while?
I came to play, - I answered as calmly as possible, looking at Vadik.
Who told you that with you, - Bird cursed, - they will play here?
What, Vadik, will we hit right away or will we wait a little?
Why are you sticking to a man, Bird? - squinting at me, Vadik said. - Understood, a man came to play. Maybe he wants to win ten rubles from you and me?
You don't have ten rubles each, - just so as not to seem like a coward to myself, I said.
We have more than you dreamed of. Set, don't talk until Bird gets angry. And he is a hot man.
Give it to him, Vadik?
No, let him play. - Vadik winked at the guys. - He plays great, we are no match for him.
Now I was a scientist and understood what it was - Vadik's kindness. Apparently, he was tired of a boring, uninteresting game, therefore, in order to tickle his nerves and feel the taste of a real game, he decided to let me into it. But as soon as I touch his vanity, I'll be in trouble again. He will find something to complain about, next to him is Ptah.
I decided to play carefully and not to covet the cashier. Like everyone else, in order not to stand out, I rolled the puck, afraid of inadvertently hitting the money, then quietly poked the coins and looked around to see if Ptah had come in behind. In the early days I did not allow myself to dream of a ruble; twenty or thirty kopecks for a piece of bread, and that's good, and then give it here.
But what was supposed to happen sooner or later, of course, happened. On the fourth day, when, having won a ruble, I was about to leave, they beat me again. True, this time it was easier, but one trace remained: my lip was very swollen. At school, I had to bite her constantly. But no matter how I hid it, no matter how I bit it, Lidia Mikhailovna saw it. She deliberately called me to the blackboard and made me read the French text. I wouldn't be able to pronounce it correctly with ten healthy lips, and there's nothing to say about one.
Enough, oh, enough! - Lidia Mikhailovna was frightened and waved her hands at me, as if at an evil spirit. - Yes, what is it? No, you will have to work separately. There is no other way out.
* * *
Thus began a painful and awkward day for me. Since the very morning, I have been waiting with fear for the hour when I will have to be alone with Lidia Mikhailovna, and, breaking my tongue, repeat after her words that are inconvenient for pronunciation, invented only for punishment. Well, why else, if not for mockery, merge three vowels into one thick viscous sound, the same “o”, for example, in the word “beaucoup” (a lot), which you can choke on? Why, with some kind of priston, let sounds through the nose, when from time immemorial it has served a person for a completely different need? For what? There must be limits to reason. I was covered with sweat, blushed and choked, and Lidia Mikhailovna, without respite and without pity, made me callous my poor tongue. And why me alone? There were all sorts of guys at school who spoke no better French than I did, but they walked free, did what they wanted, and I, like a damned one, took the rap for everyone.
It turned out that this is not the worst thing. Lidia Mikhailovna suddenly decided that we were running out of time at school until the second shift, and told me to come to her apartment in the evenings. She lived near the school, in teachers' houses. On the other, larger half of Lidia Mikhailovna's house, the director himself lived. I went there like torture. Already by nature timid and shy, lost at any trifle, in this clean, tidy apartment of the teacher, at first I literally turned to stone and was afraid to breathe. I had to speak so that I undressed, went into the room, sat down - I had to be moved like a thing, and almost by force to extract words from me. It didn't help my French at all. But, strange to say, we did less here than at school, where the second shift supposedly interfered with us. Moreover, Lidia Mikhailovna, bustling about the apartment, asked me questions or told me about herself. I suspect that she deliberately invented for me that she went to the French faculty only because she was not given this language at school either, and she decided to prove to herself that she could master it no worse than others.
Hiding in a corner, I listened, not waiting for tea when they let me go home. There were a lot of books in the room, a large beautiful radio set on the bedside table by the window; with a player - rare for those times, but for me it was an unprecedented miracle. Lidia Mikhailovna put on records, and the dexterous male voice again taught French. One way or another, there was nowhere for him to go. Lidia Mikhailovna, in a simple house dress, in soft felt shoes, walked around the room, making me shudder and freeze when she approached me. I couldn’t believe that I was sitting in her house, everything here was too unexpected and unusual for me, even the air, saturated with light and unfamiliar smells of a different life than I knew. Involuntarily, a feeling was created, as if I were peeping into this life from the outside, and out of shame and embarrassment for myself, I wrapped myself even deeper into my short jacket.
Lidia Mikhailovna was then probably twenty-five or so; I remember well her regular and therefore not too lively face, with her eyes screwed up to hide the pigtail in them; tight, rarely revealed to the end of a smile and completely black, short-cropped hair. But with all this, one could not see the rigidity in her face, which, as I later noticed, becomes over the years almost a professional sign of teachers, even the most kind and gentle by nature, but there was some kind of cautious, cunningly, bewilderment related to to herself and seemed to say: I wonder how I ended up here and what I'm doing here? Now I think that by that time she had managed to be married; in her voice, in her walk - soft, but confident, free, in her whole behavior, courage and experience were felt in her. And besides, I have always been of the opinion that girls who study French or Spanish, become women earlier than their peers who study, say, Russian or German.
I am ashamed now to remember how frightened and lost I was when Lidia Mikhailovna, having finished our lesson, called me to supper. If I were a thousand times hungry, every appetite immediately jumped out of me like a bullet. Sit down at the same table with Lydia Mikhailovna! No no! I'd better learn all French by heart by tomorrow so that I never come here again. A piece of bread would probably really get stuck in my throat. It seems that before that I did not suspect that Lidia Mikhailovna, like all of us, eats the most ordinary food, and not some kind of manna from heaven, so she seemed to me an extraordinary person, unlike everyone else.
I jumped up and, mumbling that I was full, that I didn’t want to, backed up along the wall to the exit. Lidia Mikhailovna looked at me with surprise and resentment, but it was impossible to stop me by any means. I ran. This was repeated several times, then Lidia Mikhailovna, in despair, stopped inviting me to the table. I breathed more freely.
Once I was told that downstairs, in the locker room, there was a package for me that some guy brought to school. Uncle Vanya, of course, is our driver - what a man! Probably, our house was closed, and Uncle Vanya could not wait for me from the lessons - so he left me in the locker room.
I hardly endured until the end of classes and rushed downstairs. Aunt Vera, the school cleaning lady, showed me a white plywood box standing in the corner, in which parcels are packed by mail. I was surprised: why in a drawer? - Mother used to send food in an ordinary bag. Maybe it's not for me at all? No, my class and my last name were printed on the lid. Apparently, Uncle Vanya already wrote here - so as not to be confused for whom. What is this mother thought up to nail food in a box ?! Look how intelligent she has become!
I could not carry the parcel home without knowing what was in it: not that kind of patience. It is clear that there are no potatoes. For bread, the container is also, perhaps, too small, and inconvenient. In addition, bread was sent to me recently, I still had it. Then what is there? Immediately, at school, I climbed under the stairs, where, I remembered, there was an ax, and, having found it, I tore off the lid. It was dark under the stairs, I climbed back out and, furtively looking around, put the box on the nearest windowsill.
Looking into the parcel, I was stunned: on top, neatly covered with a large white sheet of paper, lay pasta. Wow! Long yellow tubes, laid one to the other in even rows, flashed in the light with such wealth, which nothing more expensive for me existed. Now it’s clear why my mother packed the box: so that the pasta wouldn’t break, crumble, and come to me safe and sound. I carefully took out one tube, looked, blew into it, and, unable to restrain myself any longer, began to grunt greedily. Then, in the same way, I took up the second, the third, thinking about where I could hide the box so that the pasta would not get to the overly voracious mice in my mistress's pantry. Not for that mother bought them, spent the last money. No, I won't go for pasta that easily. This is not some potato for you.
And suddenly I choked. Pasta… Really, where did mother get pasta? We never had them in our village, you can't buy them there for any money. What is it then? Hastily, in desperation and hope, I sorted through the pasta and found several large lumps of sugar and two hematogen tiles at the bottom of the box. Hematogen confirmed that the parcel was not sent by the mother. Who, in this case, who? I looked at the lid again: my class, my last name - me. Interesting, very interesting.
I pressed the nails of the lid into place and, leaving the box on the windowsill, went up to the second floor and knocked on the staff room. Lidia Mikhailovna has already left. Nothing, we will run into, we know where he lives, there have been. So, here's how: if you don't want to sit down at the table, get food at home. So yes. Will not work. No one else. This is not a mother: she would not forget to put a note, she would tell where, from what mines such wealth came from.
When I sideways climbed in with the parcel through the door, Lidia Mikhailovna pretended not to understand anything. She looked at the box, which I placed on the floor in front of her, and asked in surprise:
What is this? What is it you brought? For what?
You did it,” I said in a trembling, breaking voice.
What have I done? What are you talking about?
You sent this package to the school. I know you.
I noticed that Lidia Mikhailovna blushed and became embarrassed. This was the only, apparently, case when I was not afraid to look her straight in the eye. I didn't care if she was a teacher or my second cousin. Then I asked, not she, and asked not in French, but in Russian, without any articles. Let him answer.
Why did you think it was me?
Because we don't have any pasta there. And there is no hematogenous.
How! Doesn't happen at all? She was so sincerely surprised that she betrayed herself completely.
It doesn't happen at all. It was necessary to know.
Lidia Mikhailovna suddenly laughed and tried to hug me, but I pulled away. from her.
Indeed, you should have known. How am I like this?! She thought for a moment. - But here it was hard to guess - honestly! I'm a city person. Are you saying it doesn't happen at all? What happens to you then?
Peas happen. Radish happens.
Peas ... radish ... And we have apples in the Kuban. Oh, how many apples are there now. Today I wanted to go to the Kuban, but for some reason I came here. Lidia Mikhailovna sighed and glanced at me. - Do not get mad. I wanted the best. Who knew you could get caught eating pasta? Nothing, now I'll be smarter. Take this pasta...
I won’t take it,” I interrupted her.
Well, why are you like this? I know that you are hungry. And I live alone, I have a lot of money. I can buy whatever I want, but I'm the only one ... I eat a little, I'm afraid to get fat.
I'm not hungry at all.
Please don't argue with me, I know. I spoke to your mistress. What's wrong if you take this pasta now and cook yourself a good dinner today. Why can't I help you for the only time in my life? I promise not to send any more packages. But please take this one. You have to eat enough to study. There are so many well-fed loafers in our school who don’t understand anything and probably never will, and you are a capable boy, you can’t leave school.
Her voice began to have a soporific effect on me; I was afraid that she would persuade me, and, angry with myself for understanding Lidia Mikhailovna's rightness, and for the fact that I was going to not understand her after all, shaking my head and muttering something, I ran out the door.
* * *
Our lessons did not stop there, I continued to go to Lidia Mikhailovna. But now she took me for real. She apparently decided: well, French is French. True, the sense of this came out, gradually I began to pronounce French words quite tolerably, they no longer broke off at my feet with heavy cobblestones, but, ringing, tried to fly somewhere.
Good, - Lydia Mikhailovna encouraged me. - In this quarter, the five will not work yet, but in the next - for sure.
We did not remember the parcel, but just in case, I kept my guard. You never know what Lidia Mikhailovna will undertake to come up with? I knew from my own experience: when something doesn’t work out, you will do everything to make it work out, you just won’t give up. It seemed to me that Lidia Mikhailovna was looking at me expectantly all the time, and looking closely, chuckles at my wildness - I was angry, but this anger, oddly enough, helped me to be more confident. I was no longer that meek and helpless boy who was afraid to take a step here, little by little I got used to Lidia Mikhailovna and her apartment. Still, of course, I was shy, hiding in a corner, hiding my teals under a chair, but the former stiffness and oppression receded, now I myself dared to ask Lidia Mikhailovna questions and even enter into disputes with her.
She made another attempt to put me at the table - in vain. Here I was adamant, stubbornness in me was enough for ten.
Probably, it was already possible to stop these classes at home, I learned the most important thing, my tongue softened and moved, the rest would eventually be added at school lessons. Years and years ahead. What will I do then if I learn everything in one go from beginning to end? But I did not dare to tell Lidia Mikhailovna about this, and she, apparently, did not at all consider our program completed, and I continued to pull my French strap. However, a webbing? Somehow involuntarily and imperceptibly, without expecting it myself, I felt a taste for the language and in my free moments, without any prodding, I climbed into the dictionary, looked into the texts farther in the textbook. Punishment turned into pleasure. Ego also spurred me on: it didn’t work out - it will work out, and it will work out - no worse than the best. From another test, or what? If I didn’t have to go to Lidia Mikhailovna yet ... I myself, myself ...
Once, about two weeks after the story with the parcel, Lidia Mikhailovna, smiling, asked:
Well, don't you play for money anymore? Or are you going somewhere on the sidelines and playing?
How to play now?! I wondered, looking out the window where the snow lay.
And what was that game? What is it?
Why do you need? I got worried.
Interesting. We used to play as children, so I want to know if this is a game or not. Tell me, tell me, don't be afraid.
I told him, omitting, of course, about Vadik, about Ptah and about my little tricks that I used in the game.
No, - Lidia Mikhailovna shook her head. - We played in the "wall". Do you know what it is?
Here look. - She easily jumped out from behind the table at which she was sitting, found coins in her purse and pushed the chair away from the wall. Come here, look. I bang the coin against the wall. - Lidia Mikhailovna lightly hit, and the coin, clinking, flew off to the floor in an arc. Now, - Lidia Mikhailovna thrust a second coin into my hand, you beat. But keep in mind: you need to beat so that your coin is as close as possible to mine. So that they can be measured, get them with the fingers of one hand. In another way, the game is called: freezing. If you get it, then you win. Bay.
I hit - my coin, hitting the edge, rolled into a corner.
Oh, - Lidia Mikhailovna waved her hand. - Far. Now you are starting. Keep in mind: if my coin touches yours, even a little, by the edge, I win doubly. Understand?
What is not clear here?
Let's play?
I didn't believe my ears:
How can I play with you?
What is it?
You are a teacher!
So what? The teacher is a different person, isn't it? Sometimes you get tired of being only a teacher, teaching and teaching endlessly. Constantly pulling yourself up: this is impossible, this is impossible, - Lidia Mikhailovna screwed up her eyes more than usual and looked out the window thoughtfully, aloof. “Sometimes it’s useful to forget that you’re a teacher, otherwise you’ll become such a badass and beech that living people will get bored with you. Perhaps the most important thing for a teacher is not to take himself seriously, to understand that he can teach very little. - She shook herself and immediately cheered up. - And I was a desperate girl in childhood, my parents suffered with me. Even now I still often want to jump, jump, rush somewhere, do something not according to the program, not according to the schedule, but at will. I'm here, it happens, I jump, I jump. A person ages not when he lives to old age, but when he ceases to be a child. I would love to jump every day, but Vasily Andreevich lives behind the wall. He is a very serious person. In no case should he find out that we are playing "freeze".
But we don't play any "freezes". You just showed me.
We can play as easy as they say, make-believe. But you still don't betray me to Vasily Andreevich.
Lord, what is going on in the world! How long have I been scared to death that Lidia Mikhailovna would drag me to the director for playing for money, and now she asks me not to betray her. Doomsday - not otherwise. I looked around, frightened for some reason, and blinked my eyes in confusion.
Well, shall we try? If you don't like it - leave it.
Come on, I agreed hesitantly.
Get started.
We took the coins. It was evident that Lidia Mikhailovna had really played at one time, and I was only just trying on the game, I had not yet figured out for myself how to beat a coin against the wall with an edge or flat, at what height and with what force when it was better to throw. My blows went blind; if they had kept the score, I would have lost quite a lot in the first minutes, although there was nothing tricky in these “meanings”. Most of all, of course, what embarrassed and oppressed me, did not allow me to get used to the fact that I was playing with Lidia Mikhailovna. Not a single dream could dream of such a thing, not a single bad thought to think about it. I did not come to my senses immediately and not easily, but when I came to my senses and began to look at the game little by little, Lidia Mikhailovna took it and stopped it.
No, that's not interesting, - she said, straightening up and brushing her hair that had fallen over her eyes. - Playing is so real, but the fact that we are like three-year-old kids.
But then it will be a game for money, - I timidly reminded.
Certainly. What are we holding in our hands? There is no other way to replace gambling with money. This is good and bad at the same time. We can agree on a very small rate, but there will still be interest.
I was silent, not knowing what to do and how to be.
Are you afraid? Lidia Mikhailovna encouraged me.
Here's another! I'm not afraid of anything.
I had some small things with me. I gave the coin to Lidia Mikhailovna and took mine out of my pocket. Well, let's play for real, Lidia Mikhailovna, if you like. Something to me - I was not the first to start. Vadik had zero attention to me either, and then he came to his senses, climbed with his fists. Learned there, learn here. It's not French, and I'll get French to my teeth soon.
I had to accept one condition: since Lydia Mikhailovna’s hand is larger and her fingers are longer, she will measure with her thumb and middle finger, and I, as expected, with my thumb and little finger. It was fair and I agreed.
The game restarted. We moved from the room to the hallway, where it was freer, and beat on a smooth wooden fence. They beat, knelt down, crawled, but the floor, touching each other, stretched their fingers, measuring the coins, then again rising to their feet, and Lidia Mikhailovna announced the score. She played noisily: she screamed, clapped her hands, teased me - in a word, she behaved like an ordinary girl, not a teacher, I even wanted to shout at times. But nevertheless she won, and I lost. Before I had time to come to my senses, eighty kopecks ran into me, with great difficulty I managed to knock off this debt to thirty, but Lidia Mikhailovna from a distance hit mine with her coin, and the account immediately jumped to fifty. I started to worry. We agreed to pay at the end of the game, but if things continue like this, my money will not be enough very soon, I have a little more than a ruble. So, you can’t go over the ruble - otherwise it’s a shame, shame and shame for life.
And then I suddenly noticed that Lidia Mikhailovna was not even trying to beat me at all. When measuring, her fingers hunched over, not stretching out to their full length - where she allegedly could not reach the coin, I reached out without any effort. This offended me, and I got up.
No, I said, I don't play like that. Why are you playing along with me? This is unfair.
But I really can’t get them,” she began to refuse. - I have wooden fingers.
Okay, okay, I'll try.
I don't know how it is in mathematics, but in life the best proof is by contradiction. When the next day I saw that Lidia Mikhailovna, in order to touch the coin, surreptitiously pushes it to her finger, I was stunned. Looking at me and for some reason not noticing that I perfectly see her pure fraud, she continued to move the coin as if nothing had happened.
What are you doing? - I was indignant.
I? And what am I doing?
Why did you move her?
No, she was lying there, - in the most shameless way, with some kind of even joy, Lidia Mikhailovna opened the door no worse than Vadik or Ptakha.
Wow! The teacher is called! I saw with my own eyes at a distance of twenty centimeters that she was touching a coin, and she assures me that she did not touch it, and even laughs at me. Does she take me for a blind man? For a little one? French language teaches, is called. I immediately completely forgot that just yesterday Lidia Mikhailovna tried to play along with me, and I only made sure that she did not deceive me. Well well! Lidia Mikhailovna, is called.
On this day we studied French for fifteen or twenty minutes, and then even less. We have another interest. Lidia Mikhailovna made me read the passage, made comments, listened to the comments again, and without delay we moved on to the game. After two small losses, I began to win. I quickly got used to the "freezes", figured out all the secrets, knew how and where to hit, what to do as a point guard, so as not to substitute my coin under the freeze.
And again I have money. Again I ran to the market and bought milk - now in ice cream mugs. I carefully cut off the influx of cream from the mug, put the crumbling ice slices into my mouth and, feeling their full sweetness all over my body, closed my eyes in pleasure. Then he turned the circle upside down and hollowed out the sweetish milk sludge with a knife. He allowed the leftovers to melt and drank them, eating them with a piece of black bread.
Nothing, it was possible to live, and in the near future, as soon as we heal the wounds of the war, they promised everyone a happy time.
Of course, accepting money from Lidia Mikhailovna, I felt embarrassed, but each time I was reassured by the fact that this was an honest win. I never asked for a game, Lidia Mikhailovna suggested it herself. I didn't dare refuse. It seemed to me that the game gives her pleasure, she was cheerful, laughed, disturbed me.
We would like to know how it all ends ...
... Kneeling against each other, we argued about the score. Before that, too, it seems, they were arguing about something.
Understand you, garden head, - crawling on me and Waving her arms, argued Lidia Mikhailovna, - why should I deceive you? I keep score, not you, I know better. I lost three times in a row, and before that I was “chika”.
- "Chika" is not a reading word.
Why is it not readable?
We were shouting, interrupting each other, when a surprised, if not startled, but firm, ringing voice reached us:
Lydia Mikhailovna!
We froze. Vasily Andreevich stood at the door.
Lidia Mikhailovna, what's the matter with you? What's going on here?
Lidia Mikhailovna slowly, very slowly got up from her knees, flushed and disheveled, and smoothing her hair, she said:
I, Vasily Andreevich, was hoping that you would knock before entering here.
I knocked. Nobody answered me. What's going on here? Explain, please. I have the right to know as a director.
We are playing in the "wall", - Lydia Mikhailovna calmly answered.
Do you play for money with this? .. - Vasily Andreevich pointed his finger at me, and with fear I crawled behind the partition to hide in the room. - Are you playing with a student? Did I understand you correctly?
Right.
Well, you know... - The director was suffocating, he did not have enough air. - I'm at a loss to immediately name your act. It is a crime. Corruption. Seduction. And more, more ... I have been working at school for twenty years, I have seen everything, but this ...
And he raised his hands above his head.
* * *
Three days later, Lidia Mikhailovna left. The day before, she met me after school and walked me home.
I'll go to my place in the Kuban, - she said, saying goodbye. - And you study calmly, no one will touch you for this stupid case. It's my fault here. Learn, - she patted me on the head and left.
And I never saw her again.
In the middle of winter, after the January holidays, a package arrived at school by mail. When I opened it, taking out the ax again from under the stairs, there were tubes of pasta in neat, dense rows. And below, in a thick cotton wrapper, I found three red apples.
I used to see apples only in pictures, but I guessed that they were.
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The story is told in the first person. The action takes place in 1948.
The main character is a boy who studies in the fifth grade in the district center, located 50 kilometers from his native village. There was only a primary school in the village, and all the teachers noted the boy's abilities and advised his mother to send him to secondary school. At home, they lived very poorly, there was not enough food, and the mother decided to send the boy to the regional center, settling him with her friend. From time to time she sent parcels with potatoes and bread from home, but these products quickly disappeared - apparently, either the mistress of the apartment where the hero lived, or one of her children, stole them. So even in the city the hero was starving, often having only a cup of boiling water for dinner.
At school, the boy studied well, but he was not given French. He easily memorized words and phrases, but he couldn’t catch the pronunciation, which worried his young teacher Lidia Mikhailovna very much.
In order to find money for food and milk, the hero began to play "chika" for money. In the company of players, older guys gathered, and of the hero's classmates there was only one - Tishkin. The hero himself played very carefully, using for this the money that his mother sent him for milk, and his dexterity helped him to win, but he never won more than a ruble a day, immediately leaving. This didn't sit well with the other players, who beat him up when he caught one of the guys cheating.
The next day, he came to school with a bruised face, which drew the attention of the French teacher and class teacher Lidia Mikhailovna. She began to ask him what happened, he did not want to answer, but Trishkin told her everything. Then she, leaving him after school, asked him why he needed money, and when she heard that he was buying milk with it, she was very surprised. After promising her never to play again, the boy broke his word and was beaten again.
Seeing him, the teacher said that she needed to study French with him additionally. And since there was little time left at school, she ordered him to come to her apartment in the evenings. The hero was very embarrassed, and even the teacher tried to constantly feed him, which he constantly refused. Once, a package arrived at the address of the school and addressed to him, which contained pasta, sugar and hematogen tiles. He immediately understood who this parcel was from - his mother simply had nowhere to get pasta. He took the package to Lidia Mikhailovna and demanded that she never again try to give him food.
Lidia Mikhailovna, seeing that the boy refuses to accept help, went to a new trick - she taught him a new game for money - "wall". They spent their evenings playing this game, trying to talk in a whisper, since the director of the school lived in the neighboring apartment. But one day, the hero, seeing that the teacher was cheating, moreover, making him constantly win, got angry, and they started a loud argument, which was heard by the director who entered the room. Lidia Mikhailovna confessed to him that she was playing with a student for money, and a few days after that she quit and went to her home, to the Kuban. In winter, the hero received another package - a box full of pasta, under which lay three large red apples. He immediately guessed who sent him this parcel.
The first publication of the work took place in 1973. The story is autobiographical. The plot is based on the events of the post-war period, when the author had to overcome several kilometers every day to get to school. A summary of Rasputin's story "French Lessons" will introduce the reader to a difficult period in the life of a little boy who faced the harsh realities of a cruel world too early.
Main characters
- Narrator- The story is being told from his point of view. He's also the main character. An 11-year-old boy from a poor family who had to gamble to survive.
- Lidia Mikhailovna- the class teacher of the protagonist. French teacher.
There is only an elementary school in the village. For further education, it is necessary to get to the regional center, located 50 kilometers from home. The mother had to fuss, to persuade her friend to take in a "lodger" for the duration of her studies. It was not easy for a woman to decide to send her eldest son to the regional center. On her neck sat two more freeloaders who grew up without a father. The year turned out to be lean. They lived from hand to mouth, eating what God would send, and so one less eater.
Teaching was easy. In the village, everyone considered the main character the most brainy, and under pressure from local residents, the woman had to agree that let the guy go and study further. How could the boy know in advance what awaits him in a new place. There were no problems with studies at school, except for French lessons. Well, he was not given in any way, his pronunciation was especially lame. The French teacher threw up her hands in impotence, trying to teach her to pronounce the words correctly, but to no avail.
In their free time from school, they walked with the boys, played, but as soon as they were left alone, longing invariably rolled over. I wanted to go home, to my mother, to my friends. Living among strangers was not easy. When the mother arrived, she did not immediately recognize her son, he had lost so much weight. Frightened for his health, she decides to take him back to the village, but the main character was smart enough not to succumb to momentary weakness and go home. He runs away. Mother returned home alone.
The reason for thinness was not homesickness, but eternal malnutrition. The food that the mother sent was not enough. They disappeared as quickly as they appeared. Someone obviously dragged them, but it was not possible to catch the culprit. He did not tell his mother about the theft, so as not to upset once again.
One day, the neighborhood boys suggested an easy way to earn some money. He ended up playing for money. Fedka brought them to his company, introduced them to the guys, taught them the basic rules of the game. Nothing complicated. The main thing is to stop in time. Managed to cut down the ruble and enough for the next day. The ruble can be safely exchanged for milk. It gave strength, satisfies hunger. One day, the guys' patience snapped. They did not like the fact that they lose, and the main character is constantly with money. They beat him up.
At school, they immediately noticed a bright black eye. It was not possible to hide the bruise from Lidia Mikhailovna. As a class teacher, she began to ask questions about the so-called wound. One of his classmates passed it on, saying that he and the guys were playing for money. The teacher asked me to stay after class for a conversation. Thank you for not taking me to the director to explain. It is not recommended to joke with him.
Under the gaze of her attentive eyes, I had to tell the whole truth. To admit that money is exchanged for milk, that the amounts won do not exceed a ruble. The teacher was surprised that he limited himself to such an amount, but kept silent.
I had to stop playing games. He promised to keep it. True, they did not manage to hold out for long without money. I had to start playing again. It was embarrassing and embarrassing, but hunger forced me. On the fourth day, another fight. Lidia Mikhailovna, seeing the broken lip, understood everything without words. As punishment, she decided to study French on an individual basis.
Classes were held in her apartment. The teacher constantly tried to feed the hungry student, but he was ashamed and embarrassed to have dinner with her. He jumped up and left. One day a package was delivered to the school. The main character thought that it was from his mother, but from the contents of the package he guessed that it was not from her. The teacher, seeing the parcel in front of her, pretended that she had no idea what it was about. Then she admitted that she wanted the best.
French lessons continued. For the main character, it was a complete surprise when the teacher offered to play with her for money. The coin hit the wall, and then you need to reach it with your fingers from your coin to someone else's. Whoever reaches it, wins.
During this lesson, they were caught by the director of the school, who lives behind the wall. He came at the most inopportune moment. The game was in full swing. Vasily Andreevich demanded an explanation. He was out of breath with indignation. He lacked the words to express his indignation. In his eyes, playing for the money of a teacher with his student looked like a real crime.
Three days after the incident, the teacher left. Before leaving, they met and talked. She explained the reason for her absence from school. She said that she was leaving for her place in the Kuban. She has not been seen since. One day, in the middle of winter, a parcel filled with macaroni and apples came to school again. Before that, he had seen apples only in pictures.