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Vasily Makarovich Shukshin
Villager
“What, mom? Shake up the old ways - come. Take a look at Moscow in general. I'll send you money for the trip. Just get there by plane - it will be cheaper. And immediately sent a telegram so that I knew when to meet him. The main thing is don’t be a coward.”
Grandma Malanya read this, pursed her dry lips, and thought.
“Pavel is calling to come over,” she said to Shurka and looked at him over her glasses. (Shurka is grandma Malanya’s grandson, her daughter’s son. My daughter didn’t get along personal life(she got married for the third time), her grandmother persuaded her to give her Shurka for now. She loved her grandson, but kept him strict.)
Shurka was doing his homework at the table. He shrugged his shoulders at the grandmother’s words - go, since he’s calling.
– When are your holidays? – the grandmother asked sternly.
Shurka pricked up his ears.
- Which? Winter?
- What other ones, summer ones, or what?
- From the first of January. And what?
The grandmother made her lips into a tube again - she thought. And Shurka’s heart sank with anxiety and joy.
- And what? – he asked again.
- Nothing. Teach know. “The grandmother hid the letter in her apron pocket, got dressed and left the hut.
Shurka ran to the window to see where she was going.
At the gate, Grandma Malanya met her neighbor and began to speak loudly:
– Pavel is inviting me to Moscow to stay. I really don’t know what to do. I can't even put my mind to it. “Come,” he says, “Mom, I missed you so much.”
The neighbor answered something. Shurka didn’t hear what, but the grandmother said loudly to her:
- We know it’s possible. I have never seen my grandchildren yet, only on the card. Yeah, it's really scary...
Two more women stopped near them, then another one came up, then another... Soon a fair number of people gathered around Grandma Malanya, and she began to tell again and again:
– Pavel is calling to him, to Moscow. I really don’t know what to do...
It was clear that everyone was advising her to go.
Shurka put his hands in his pockets and began to walk around the hut. The expression on his face was dreamy and also thoughtful, like a grandmother’s. In general, he looked very much like his grandmother - just as lean, with high cheekbones, and with the same small, intelligent eyes. But their characters were completely different. Grandma is energetic, wiry, loud, and very inquisitive. Shurka is also inquisitive, but shy to the point of stupidity, modest and touchy.
In the evening they drafted a telegram to Moscow. Shurka wrote, grandma dictated.
- Dear son Pasha, if you really want me to come, then of course I can, although I’m old...
- Hello! – said Shurka. – Who writes telegrams like that?
- How should it be, in your opinion?
- We'll come. Dot. Or this: we’ll come after the New Year. Dot. Signed: mom. All.
Grandma was even offended.
– You go to sixth grade, Shurka, but you have no idea. You have to get smarter little by little!
Shurka was also offended.
“Please,” he said. – Do we know how long we’ll write? Twenty rubles in old money.
Grandma made her lips into a tube and thought.
- Well, write like this: son, I consulted with someone...
Shurka put down his pen.
- I can’t do this. Who cares that you consulted with someone here? They'll laugh at us at the post office.
– Write as you are told! - Grandma ordered. - Why should I spare twenty rubles for my son?
Shurka took the pen and, frowning condescendingly, bent down to the paper.
- Dear son Pasha, I talked to my neighbors here - everyone advised me to go. Of course, in my old age I’m a little scared...
“They’ll change it at the post office anyway,” Shurka put in.
- Just let them try!
Shurka missed these words - about the fact that he had become big and obedient.
“I won’t be so afraid with him.” Goodbye for now, son. I have a lot of thoughts about you myself...
Shurka wrote: “creepy.”
- ...I miss you. I’ll at least take a look at your kids. Dot. Mother.
“Let’s count,” Shurka said maliciously and began poking the words with his pen and counting in a whisper: “One, two, three, four...”
The grandmother stood behind him, waiting.
- Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! So? Multiply sixty by thirty - one thousand eight hundred? So? Divide by one hundred - we have eighteen... For twenty-something rubles! – Shurka announced solemnly.
The grandmother took the telegram and hid it in her pocket.
- I’ll go to the post office myself. You can do the math here, smart guy.
- Please. The same thing will happen. Maybe I made a mistake by a few pennies.
...At about eleven o'clock Yegor Lizunov, a neighbor and school caretaker, came to them. The grandmother asked his family to come to her when he returned from work. Egor has traveled a lot in his lifetime and flown airplanes.
Yegor took off his sheepskin coat and hat, smoothed his graying, sweaty hair with his calloused palms, and sat down at the table. The room smelled of hay and harness.
- So you want to fly?
The grandmother crawled under the floor and took out a quarter with mead.
- Fly, Egor. Tell everything in order - how and what.
- So what’s there to tell? “Egor, not greedily, but somehow even a little condescendingly watched as the grandmother poured the beer. – You will get to the city, there you will take the Biysk-Tomsk, take it to Novosibirsk, and then ask where the city air ticket office is. Or you can go straight to the airport...
- Wait a minute! Settled: it’s possible, it’s possible. You speak as you should, not as you can. Yes, slow down. And then he dumped everything into a heap. “The grandmother offered Yegor a glass of beer and looked at him sternly.
Yegor touched the glass with his fingers and stroked it.
- Well, then you get to Novosibirsk and immediately ask how to get to the airport. Remember, Shurka.
“Write it down, Shurka,” the grandmother ordered.
Shurka tore it out of his notebook Blank sheet and began to write down.
– When you get to Tolmachev, ask again where they sell tickets to Moscow. Take tickets, board the Tu-104 and
end of introductory fragment
Attention! This is an introductory fragment of the book.
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“What, mom? Shake up the old ways - come. Take a look at Moscow in general. I'll send you money for the trip. Just get there by plane - it will be cheaper. And immediately sent a telegram so that I knew when to meet him. The main thing is don’t be a coward.”
Grandma Malanya read this, pursed her dry lips, and thought.
“Pavel is calling to come over,” she said to Shurka and looked at him over her glasses. (Shurka is the grandson of grandmother Malanya, the son of her daughter. The daughter’s personal life was not going well (she got married for the third time), the grandmother persuaded her to give her Shurka for now. She loved her grandson, but kept him strict.)
Shurka was doing his homework at the table. He shrugged his shoulders at the grandmother’s words - go, since he’s calling.
– When are your holidays? – the grandmother asked sternly.
Shurka pricked up his ears.
- Which? Winter?
- What other ones, summer ones, or what?
- From the first of January. And what?
The grandmother made her lips into a tube again - she thought. And Shurka’s heart sank with anxiety and joy.
- And what? – he asked again.
- Nothing. Teach know. “The grandmother hid the letter in her apron pocket, got dressed and left the hut.
Shurka ran to the window to see where she was going.
At the gate, Grandma Malanya met her neighbor and began to speak loudly:
– Pavel is inviting me to Moscow to stay. I really don’t know what to do. I can't even put my mind to it. “Come,” he says, “Mom, I missed you so much.”
The neighbor answered something. Shurka didn’t hear what, but the grandmother said loudly to her:
- We know it’s possible. I have never seen my grandchildren yet, only on the card. Yeah, it's really scary...
Two more women stopped near them, then another one came up, then another... Soon a fair number of people gathered around Grandma Malanya, and she began to tell again and again:
– Pavel is calling to him, to Moscow. I really don’t know what to do...
It was clear that everyone was advising her to go.
Shurka put his hands in his pockets and began to walk around the hut. The expression on his face was dreamy and also thoughtful, like a grandmother’s. In general, he looked very much like his grandmother - just as lean, with high cheekbones, and with the same small, intelligent eyes. But their characters were completely different. Grandma is energetic, wiry, loud, and very inquisitive. Shurka is also inquisitive, but shy to the point of stupidity, modest and touchy.
In the evening they drafted a telegram to Moscow. Shurka wrote, grandma dictated.
- Dear son Pasha, if you really want me to come, then of course I can, although I’m old...
- Hello! – said Shurka. – Who writes telegrams like that?
- How should it be, in your opinion?
- We'll come. Dot. Or this: we’ll come after the New Year. Dot. Signed: mom. All.
Grandma was even offended.
– You go to sixth grade, Shurka, but you have no idea. You have to get smarter little by little!
Shurka was also offended.
“Please,” he said. – Do we know how long we’ll write? Twenty rubles in old money.
Grandma made her lips into a tube and thought.
- Well, write like this: son, I consulted with someone...
Shurka put down his pen.
- I can’t do this. Who cares that you consulted with someone here? They'll laugh at us at the post office.
– Write as you are told! - Grandma ordered. - Why should I spare twenty rubles for my son?
Shurka took the pen and, frowning condescendingly, bent down to the paper.
- Dear son Pasha, I talked to my neighbors here - everyone advised me to go. Of course, in my old age I’m a little scared...
“They’ll change it at the post office anyway,” Shurka put in.
- Just let them try!
Shurka missed these words - about the fact that he had become big and obedient.
“I won’t be so afraid with him.” Goodbye for now, son. I have a lot of thoughts about you myself...
Shurka wrote: “creepy.”
- ...I miss you. I’ll at least take a look at your kids. Dot. Mother.
“Let’s count,” Shurka said maliciously and began poking the words with his pen and counting in a whisper: “One, two, three, four...”
The grandmother stood behind him, waiting.
- Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! So? Multiply sixty by thirty - one thousand eight hundred? So? Divide by one hundred - we have eighteen... For twenty-something rubles! – Shurka announced solemnly.
The grandmother took the telegram and hid it in her pocket.
- I’ll go to the post office myself. You can do the math here, smart guy.
- Please. The same thing will happen. Maybe I made a mistake by a few pennies.
Vladimir Vysotsky. In memory of Vasily Shukshin
...At about eleven o'clock Yegor Lizunov, a neighbor and school caretaker, came to them. The grandmother asked his family to come to her when he returned from work. Egor has traveled a lot in his lifetime and flown airplanes.
Yegor took off his sheepskin coat and hat, smoothed his graying, sweaty hair with his calloused palms, and sat down at the table. The room smelled of hay and harness.
- So you want to fly?
The grandmother crawled under the floor and took out a quarter with mead.
- Fly, Egor. Tell everything in order - how and what.
- So what’s there to tell? “Egor, not greedily, but somehow even a little condescendingly watched as the grandmother poured the beer. – You will get to the city, there you will take the Biysk-Tomsk, take it to Novosibirsk, and then ask where the city air ticket office is. Or you can go straight to the airport...
- Wait a minute! Settled: it’s possible, it’s possible. You speak as you should, not as you can. Yes, slow down. And then he dumped everything into a heap. “The grandmother offered Yegor a glass of beer and looked at him sternly.
Yegor touched the glass with his fingers and stroked it.
- Well, then you get to Novosibirsk and immediately ask how to get to the airport. Remember, Shurka.
“Write it down, Shurka,” the grandmother ordered.
Shurka tore out a blank sheet of paper from the notebook and began writing it down.
– When you get to Tolmachev, ask again where they sell tickets to Moscow. Take your tickets, board the Tu-104 and in five hours you will be in Moscow, the capital of our Motherland.
The grandmother, resting her head on her dry little fist, listened sadly to Yegor. The more he talked and the simpler this trip seemed to him, the more concerned her face became.
- In Sverdlovsk, however, you will land...
- Necessary. They don't ask us there. They plant and that's it. – Yegor decided that now he could have a drink. - Well?.. Here's to an easy road!
- Hold it. In Sverdlovsk, do we have to ask ourselves to be imprisoned, or do they imprison everyone there?
Egor drank, grunted with relish, and smoothed his mustache.
- Everyone. Your beer is good, Malanya Vasilyevna. How do you make it? I would teach my grandmother...
Grandma poured him another glass.
– When you stop skimping, then the beer will be good.
- Like this? – Yegor didn’t understand.
- Put more sugar. Otherwise, you’re all trying to be cheaper and harder. Put more sugar in the hops, and you’ll get beer. And insisting on tobacco is a shame.
“Yes,” Yegor said thoughtfully. He raised his glass, looked at grandma and Shurka, and drank. “Yes,” he said again. - That’s how it is, of course. But when you are in Novosibirsk, be careful not to make a mistake.
- Yes, so... Anything can happen. - Yegor took out a tobacco pouch, lit a cigarette, and blew out a huge white cloud of smoke from under his mustache. – The main thing, of course, when you arrive in Tolmachevo, is not to confuse the ticket office. Otherwise, you can also fly to Vladivostok.
The grandmother became alarmed and offered Yegor a third glass. Yegor immediately drank it, grunted and began to develop his thought:
“It happens that a person approaches the eastern ticket office and says: “I have a ticket.” And he won’t ask where the ticket is. Well, the person flies in a completely different direction. So take a look.
Grandma poured Yegor a fourth glass. Yegor went completely soft. He spoke with pleasure:
– Flying on an airplane requires nerves and nerves! When he gets up, they immediately give you candy...
- Candy?
- But of course. Like, forget it, don’t pay attention... But in fact, this is the most dangerous moment. Or, let’s say, they tell you: “Tie your belts on.” - "For what?" - “That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Heh... it's supposed to. Tell me straight: we can make it up, that’s all. Otherwise it’s “supposed to be.”
- Lord, Lord! - said the grandmother. - So why fly on it, if so...
- Well, if you're afraid of wolves, don't go into the forest. – Yegor looked at the quarter with beer. – In general, reactive ones, they are, of course, more reliable. The propeller one can break at any moment - and please... Then, they often burn, these motors. I once flew from Vladivostok...” Egor made himself more comfortable in his chair, lit a new cigarette, and looked at the quarter again. Grandma didn't move. – We’re flying, so I look out the window: it’s on fire...
- Holy, holy! - said the grandmother.
Shurka even opened his mouth slightly and listened.
- Yes. Well, of course, I screamed. The pilot came running... Well, in general, nothing - he swore at me. Why are you raising a panic? It’s burning there, but don’t worry, sit... That’s the way it is in this aviation.
Shurka found this implausible. He expected that the pilot, seeing the flame, would shoot it down with speed or make an emergency landing, but instead he scolded Yegor. Strange.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Yegor continued, turning to Shurka, “why aren’t passengers given parachutes?”
Shurka shrugged. He didn't know that passengers were not given parachutes. This is, of course, strange if this is the case.
Yegor poked a cigarette into the flower pot, stood up, and poured himself from the quarter.
- Well, you have beer, Malanya!
“Don’t go too hard, you’ll get drunk.”
“Beer is just...” Yegor shook his head and drank. - Khoo! But reactive ones are also dangerous. If something breaks, he flies down like an ax. Right away... And the bones won’t be collected later. Three hundred grams remain from a person. Along with clothes. – Yegor frowned and looked carefully at the quarter. The grandmother took her and carried her into the hallway. Yegor sat a little longer and stood up. He swayed slightly.
– Actually, don’t be afraid! – he said loudly. – Just sit away from the cockpit – in the tail – and fly. Well, I'll go...
He walked heavily to the door, put on a sheepskin coat and a hat.
- Give your regards to Pavel Sergeevich. Well, you have beer, Malanya! Just…
The grandmother was unhappy that Yegor got drunk so quickly - they didn’t really talk.
“You’ve become somewhat weak, Egor.”
- That's why I'm tired. – Yegor took a straw from the collar of his sheepskin coat. – I told our leaders: let’s take out the hay in the summer - no! And now, after this storm, the roads are all covered up. We spent the whole day today, and with great effort made our way to the nearby haystacks. And your beer is so... - Yegor shook his head and laughed. - Well, off I go. It’s okay, don’t be shy – fly. Sit only away from the cabin. Goodbye.
“Goodbye,” said Shurka.
Egor came out; you could hear him carefully descending from the high porch, walking across the yard, creaking the gate, and singing quietly in the street:
The sea spreads wide...
And he fell silent.
The grandmother looked thoughtfully and sadly out the dark window. Shurka reread what Yegor had written down.
“It’s scary, Shurka,” said the grandmother.
- People fly...
- Shall we go by train?
– By train – that’s all my vacation will be spent on travel.
- Lord, Lord! – the grandmother sighed. - Let's write to Pavel. And we cancel the telegram.
Shurka tore out another sheet of paper from the notebook.
- So we won’t fly?
- Where to fly - such a passion, my fathers! Then they will collect three hundred grams...
Shurka thought about it.
– Write: dear son Pasha, I consulted with knowledgeable people here...
Shurka leaned towards the paper.
“They told us how they fly on these planes... And Shurka and I decided: we’ll go by train in the summer.” We know it could be done now, but Shurka has very short holidays...
Shurka hesitated for a second or two and continued to write: “And now, Uncle Pasha, I am writing this on my own behalf. Grandma was scared by Uncle Yegor Lizunov, our supply manager, if you remember. For example, he cited the following fact: he looked out the window and saw that the engine was on fire. If this were so, then the pilot would begin to knock down the flames with speed, as is usually done. I guess he saw the flames coming from the exhaust pipe and panicked. Please write to the old lady that it’s not scary, but don’t write about me - that I wrote to you. And even in the summer she won’t go either. There will be a garden here, various pigs, chickens, geese - she will never leave them. We are still rural residents, after all. And I really want to see Moscow. We take it at school in geography and history, but this, you know, is not the same. And Uncle Yegor also said, for example, that passengers are not given parachutes. This is already blackmail. But grandma believes. Please, Uncle Pasha, shame her. She loves you terribly. So you tell her: how is it so, mom, your son is a pilot himself, a Hero? Soviet Union, awarded many times, and you are afraid to fly on some unfortunate civilian plane! At a time when we had already broken the sound barrier. Write it like this, it will fly in an instant. She's very proud of you. Of course - deservedly so. I'm personally proud too. But I really want to look at Moscow. Well, goodbye for now. Greetings - Alexander." Meanwhile, the grandmother dictated:
– ...We’ll go there closer to the fall. Fungi will grow there, you can have time to prepare some salted salts, make some sea buckthorn jam. In Moscow, after all, everything is purchased. And they won’t do it the way I do it at home. That's it, son. Bow to my wife and children from me and from Shurka. Bye. Did you write it down?
- I wrote it down.
The grandmother took the sheet, put it in an envelope and wrote the address herself:
"Moscow, Leninsky Prospekt, no. 78, apt. 156.
Hero of the Soviet Union Lyubavin Pavel Ignatievich.
From his mother from Siberia.”
She always signed the address herself: she knew that it would be easier to get through.
- Like this. Don't be sad, Shurka. We'll go in the summer.
- And I’m not sad. But you still get ready little by little: take it and decide to fly.
The grandmother looked at her grandson and said nothing.
At night, Shurka heard her tossing and turning on the stove, sighing quietly and whispering something.
Shurka didn’t sleep either. Thought. Life promised many extraordinary things in the near future. I never even dreamed of this.
- Shurk! - called the grandmother.
– Pavel will probably be allowed into the Kremlin?
- Maybe. And what?
– I would like to visit there at least once... to see.
- Everyone is allowed there now.
The grandmother was silent for some time.
“So they let everyone in,” she said incredulously.
– Nikolai Vasilyevich told us.
They were silent for another minute.
“But you too, grandma: where you are brave, but here you are afraid of something,” Shurka said displeasedly. -What are you afraid of?
“Go to sleep,” the grandmother ordered. - Brave man. You'll be the first to shit your pants.
“You bet I won’t be scared?”
- Sleep well. Otherwise you won’t be able to get to school tomorrow again.
A villager from Altai, grandmother Malanya, receives a letter in which her son Pavel invites her to stay in Moscow, promising to send money for the trip. Malanya’s daughter’s grandson, sixth-grader Shurka, who lives with Malanya, is filled with hope to look at the distant capital, where he has never been. Malanya was not there either, she never saw Pavel’s children... After sitting over the letter, the grandmother leaves the house and consults with her neighbors on the street: whether she should set off on a journey across the whole country or not.
Fellow villagers advise us to go. In the evening, Malanya dictates a telegram to Shurka to his son, informing him that the two of them will arrive in Moscow after the New Year. A villager, Malanya does not know how to write telegrams; She composes hers like a large, heartfelt letter.
Pavel advises his mother to fly to the capital by plane. Malanya, who has never flown, invites the experienced school caretaker Yegor Lizunov in the evening to ask him about flights. To make Lizunov more talkative, the grandmother puts a quarter with beer and mead on the table. Egor tells Malanya and Shurka how to get to Novosibirsk, how to get a ticket to Moscow at the airport. Drinking one glass of mead after another while talking, Lizunov shares his flying experience. The more drunk he gets, the more he begins to compose. Egor says that flying is a nerve-wracking experience, so all passengers are immediately given a calming candy. They are forced to fasten their seat belts because they can get screwed up from a height. Airplane engines, he said, often burn. Lizunov assures that during one flight he himself saw a burning engine, reported this to the pilot, but he only swore at him and continued to fly. In the end, Yegor complains that air passengers are not given parachutes, because in the event of a catastrophe, not even the bones of a person will be collected - only three hundred grams will be left of him along with his clothes.
Grandma Malanya is baptized. At first Shurka listens with his mouth open, but then he suspects a lie. Lizunov increasingly reaches for the beer bottle, and Malanya has to hide it from him. Having recommended that the grandmother and grandson sit not near the cockpit of the plane, but in the tail, where more chances to survive the fall, drunken Yegor comes out of the hut and sings “The sea spreads wide”...
Vladimir Vysotsky. In memory of Vasily Shukshin
Frightened Malanya decides to go to Moscow by train. Shurka says that such a trip will take all of his the winter vacation. Malanya dictates a letter to Pavel to Shurka with the message that they will arrive by train by the end of summer, since his grandson has short holidays in winter. But the quick-witted Shurka makes a note from himself in the letter:
“Uncle Pasha... Grandma was scared by Uncle Yegor Lizunov, our supply manager... For example, he cited the following fact: he looked out the window and saw that the engine was on fire. If this were so, then the pilot would begin to knock down the flames with speed, as is usually done. I guess he saw the flames coming from the exhaust pipe and panicked. Please write to the old lady that it’s not scary, but don’t write about me - that I wrote to you. And even in the summer she won’t go either. There will be a garden here, various pigs, chickens, geese - she will never leave them. We are still rural residents, after all. And I really want to see Moscow. We take it at school in geography and history, but this, you know, is not the same. And Uncle Yegor also said, for example, that passengers are not given parachutes. This is already blackmail. But grandma believes. Please, Uncle Pasha, shame her. She loves you terribly. So you tell her: how is it so, mom, your son is a pilot himself, a Hero of the Soviet Union, awarded many times, and you are afraid to fly on some unfortunate civilian plane! At a time when we had already broken the sound barrier. Write it like this, it will fly in an instant. She’s very proud of you... I really want to look at Moscow... Greetings - Alexander.”
Malanya herself writes the address on the envelope:
“Moscow, Leninsky Prospekt, 78, apt. 156.
Hero of the Soviet Union Lyubavin Pavel Ignatievich.
From his mother from Siberia.”
At night, ordinary villagers - grandmother and grandson - toss and turn for a long time, unable to sleep from thoughts about Pavel and distant Moscow.
“So what, mom? Get old, come. You’ll have a look at Moscow and everything. I’ll send you money for the trip. Just get there by plane - it’ll be cheaper. And send a telegram right away so I know when to meet you. The main thing is, don’t be a coward.”
Grandma Malanya read this, pursed her dry lips, and thought.
“Pavel is calling to come over,” she said to Shurka and looked at him over her glasses. (Shurka is the grandson of grandmother Malanya, the son of her daughter. The daughter’s personal life was not going well (she got married for the third time), the grandmother persuaded her to give her Shurka for now. She loved her grandson, but kept him strict.)
Shurka was doing his homework at the table. He shrugged his shoulders at the grandmother’s words - go, since he’s calling.
– When are your holidays? – the grandmother asked sternly.
Shurka pricked up his ears.
- Which? Winter?
- What other ones, summer ones, or what?
- From the first of January. And what?
The grandmother made her lips into a tube again - she thought.
And Shurka’s heart sank with anxiety and joy.
- And what? – he asked again.
- Nothing. Teach know. “The grandmother hid the letter in her apron pocket, got dressed and left the hut.
Shurka ran to the window to see where she was going.
At the gate, Grandma Malanya met her neighbor and began to speak loudly:
– Pavel is inviting me to Moscow to stay. I really don’t know what to do. I can't even put my mind to it. “Come,” he says, “Mom, I missed you so much.”
The neighbor answered something. Shurka didn’t hear that, but the grandmother said loudly to her:
- We know it’s possible. I have never seen my grandchildren yet, only on the card. Yes, it's really scary. Two more women stopped near them, then another one came up, then another... Soon a fair number of people gathered around Grandma Malanya, and she began to tell again and again:
– Pavel is calling to him, to Moscow. I really don’t know what to do...
It was clear that everyone was advising her to go. Shurka put his hands in his pockets and began to walk around the hut. The expression on his face was dreamy and also thoughtful, like a grandmother’s. In general, he looked very much like his grandmother - just as lean, with high cheekbones, and with the same small, intelligent eyes. But their characters were completely different. Grandma is energetic, wiry, loud, and very inquisitive. Shurka is also inquisitive, but shy to the point of stupidity, modest and touchy.
In the evening they drafted a telegram to Moscow. Shurka wrote, grandma dictated.
- Dear son Pasha, if you really want me to come, then of course I can, although I’m old...
- Hello! – said Shurka. – Who writes telegrams like that?
- How should it be, in your opinion?
- We'll come. Dot. Or this: we’ll come after the New Year. Signed: mom. All.
Grandma was even offended.
– You go to sixth grade, Shurka, but you have no idea. You have to get smarter little by little!
Shurka was also offended.
“Please,” he said. – Do we know how long we’ll write? Twenty rubles in old money.
Grandma made her lips into a tube and thought.
- Well, write like this: son, I consulted with someone...
Shurka put down his pen.
- I can’t do this. Who cares that you consulted with someone here? They'll laugh at us at the post office.
– Write as you are told! - Grandma ordered. - Why should I spare twenty rubles for my son?
Shurka took the pen and, frowning condescendingly, bent down to the paper.
- Dear son Pasha, I talked to my neighbors here - everyone advised me to go. Of course, in my old age I’m a little scared...
“They’ll change it at the post office anyway,” Shurka put in.
- Just let them try!
Shurka missed these words - about the fact that he had become big and obedient.
“I won’t be so afraid with him.” Goodbye for now, son. I have a lot of thoughts about you myself...
Shurka wrote: "creepy."
- ...I miss you. I’ll at least take a look at your kids. Dot. Mother.
“Let’s count,” Shurka said maliciously and began poking the words with his pen and counting in a whisper: “One, two, three, four...”
The grandmother stood behind him, waiting.
- Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! So? Multiply sixty by thirty - one thousand eight hundred? So? Divide by one hundred - we have eighteen... For twenty-something rubles! – Shurka announced solemnly.
The grandmother took the telegram and hid it in her pocket.
- I’ll go to the post office myself. You can do the math here, smart guy.
- Please. The same thing will happen. Maybe I made a mistake by a few pennies.
...At about eleven o'clock Yegor Lizunov, a neighbor and school caretaker, came to them. The grandmother asked his family to come to her when he returned from work. Egor has traveled a lot in his lifetime and flown airplanes.
Yegor took off his sheepskin coat and hat, smoothed his graying, sweaty hair with his calloused palms, and sat down at the table. The room smelled of hay and harness.
- So you want to fly?
The grandmother crawled under the floor and took out a quarter with mead.
- Fly, Egor. Tell everything in order - how and what.
- So what’s there to tell? “Egor, not greedily, somehow even looked a little condescendingly as the grandmother poured the beer. – You will get to the city, there you will take the Biysk-Tomsk, take it to Novosibirsk, and then ask where the city air ticket office is. Or you can go straight to the airport...
- Wait a minute! Settled: it’s possible, it’s possible. You speak as you should, not as you can. Yes, slow down. And then he dumped everything into a heap. “The grandmother offered Yegor a glass of beer and looked at him sternly.
Yegor touched the glass with his fingers and stroked it.
- Well, then you get to Novosibirsk and immediately ask how to get to the airport. Remember, Shurka.
“Write it down, Shurka,” the grandmother ordered.
Shurka tore out a blank sheet of paper from the notebook and began writing it down.
– When you get to Tolmachev, ask again where they sell tickets to Moscow. Take your tickets, board the Tu-104 and in five hours you will be in Moscow, the capital of our Motherland.
The grandmother, resting her head on her dry little fist, listened sadly to Yegor. The more he talked and the simpler this trip seemed to him, the more concerned her face became.
- In Sverdlovsk, however, you will land...
- Necessary. They don't ask us there. They plant and that's it. – Yegor decided that now he could have a drink. - Well?.. For an easy road.
- Hold it. In Sverdlovsk, do we have to ask ourselves to be imprisoned, or do they imprison everyone there? Egor drank, grunted with relish, and smoothed his mustache.
- Everyone... Your beer is good, Malanya Vasilievna. How do you make it? I would teach my woman... Vabka poured him another glass.
– When you stop skimping, then the beer will be good.
- Like this? – Yegor didn’t understand.
- Put more sugar. Otherwise, you’re always trying to be cheaper and harder. Put more sugar in the hops, and that’s what you’ll get. But insisting on tobacco is a shame.
“Yes,” Yegor said thoughtfully. He raised his glass, looked at grandma and Shurka, and drank. “Yes,” he said again. - That’s how it is, of course. But when you are in Novosibirsk, be careful not to make a mistake.
- Yes, so... Anything can happen. - Yegor took out a tobacco pouch, lit a cigarette, and blew out a huge white cloud of smoke from under his mustache. – The main thing, of course, when you arrive in Tolmachevo, is not to confuse the ticket office. Otherwise, you can also fly to Vladivostok.
The grandmother became alarmed and offered Yegor a third glass.
Yegor immediately drank it, grunted and began to develop his thought:
– It happens that a person approaches the eastern ticket office and says: “I have a ticket.” And he won’t ask where the ticket is. Well, the person flies in a completely different direction. So take a look.
Grandma poured Yegor a fourth glass. Yegor went completely soft. He spoke with pleasure:
– Flying on an airplane requires nerves and nerves! When he gets up, they immediately give you candy...
- Candy?
- But of course. Like, forget it, don’t pay attention... But in fact, this is the most dangerous moment. Or, let’s say, they tell you: “Tie your belts on.” - "For what?" - “That’s how it’s supposed to be.” - “Heh... it’s supposed to be. Tell me straight: we can make it up, that’s all. Otherwise, it’s supposed to be.”
Villager
Vasily Makarovich Shukshin
Vasily Shukshin
Villager
“So what, mom? Get old, come. You’ll have a look at Moscow and everything. I’ll send you money for the trip. Just get there by plane - it’ll be cheaper. And send a telegram right away so I know when to meet you. The main thing is, don’t be a coward.”
Grandma Malanya read this, pursed her dry lips, and thought.
“Pavel is calling to come over,” she said to Shurka and looked at him over her glasses. (Shurka is the grandson of grandmother Malanya, the son of her daughter. The daughter’s personal life was not going well (she got married for the third time), the grandmother persuaded her to give her Shurka for now. She loved her grandson, but kept him strict.)
Shurka was doing his homework at the table. He shrugged his shoulders at the grandmother’s words - go, since he’s calling.
– When are your holidays? – the grandmother asked sternly.
Shurka pricked up his ears.
- Which? Winter?
- What other ones, summer ones, or what?
- From the first of January. And what?
The grandmother made her lips into a tube again - she thought.
And Shurka’s heart sank with anxiety and joy.
- And what? – he asked again.
- Nothing. Teach know. “The grandmother hid the letter in her apron pocket, got dressed and left the hut.
Shurka ran to the window to see where she was going.
At the gate, Grandma Malanya met her neighbor and began to speak loudly:
– Pavel is inviting me to Moscow to stay. I really don’t know what to do. I can't even put my mind to it. “Come,” he says, “Mom, I missed you so much.”
The neighbor answered something. Shurka didn’t hear that, but the grandmother said loudly to her:
- We know it’s possible. I have never seen my grandchildren yet, only on the card. Yes, it's really scary. Two more women stopped near them, then another one came up, then another... Soon a fair number of people gathered around Grandma Malanya, and she began to tell again and again:
– Pavel is calling to him, to Moscow. I really don’t know what to do...
It was clear that everyone was advising her to go. Shurka put his hands in his pockets and began to walk around the hut. The expression on his face was dreamy and also thoughtful, like a grandmother’s. In general, he looked very much like his grandmother - just as lean, with high cheekbones, and with the same small, intelligent eyes. But their characters were completely different. Grandma is energetic, wiry, loud, and very inquisitive. Shurka is also inquisitive, but shy to the point of stupidity, modest and touchy.
In the evening they drafted a telegram to Moscow. Shurka wrote, grandma dictated.
- Dear son Pasha, if you really want me to come, then of course I can, although I’m old...
- Hello! – said Shurka. – Who writes telegrams like that?
- How should it be, in your opinion?
- We'll come. Dot. Or this: we’ll come after the New Year. Signed: mom. All.
Grandma was even offended.
– You go to sixth grade, Shurka, but you have no idea. You have to get smarter little by little!
Shurka was also offended.
“Please,” he said. – Do we know how long we’ll write? Twenty rubles in old money.
Grandma made her lips into a tube and thought.
- Well, write like this: son, I consulted with someone...
Shurka put down his pen.
- I can’t do this. Who cares that you consulted with someone here? They'll laugh at us at the post office.
– Write as you are told! - Grandma ordered. - Why should I spare twenty rubles for my son?
Shurka took the pen and, frowning condescendingly, bent down to the paper.
- Dear son Pasha, I talked to my neighbors here - everyone advised me to go. Of course, in my old age I’m a little scared...
“They’ll change it at the post office anyway,” Shurka put in.
- Just let them try!
Shurka missed these words - about the fact that he had become big and obedient.
“I won’t be so afraid with him.” Goodbye for now, son. I have a lot of thoughts about you myself...
Shurka wrote: "creepy."
- ...I miss you. I’ll at least take a look at your kids. Dot. Mother.
“Let’s count,” Shurka said maliciously and began poking the words with his pen and counting in a whisper: “One, two, three, four...”
The grandmother stood behind him, waiting.
- Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! So? Multiply sixty by thirty - one thousand eight hundred? So? Divide by one hundred - we have eighteen... For twenty-something rubles! – Shurka announced solemnly.
The grandmother took the telegram and hid it in her pocket.
- I’ll go to the post office myself. You can do the math here, smart guy.
- Please. The same thing will happen. Maybe I made a mistake by a few pennies.
...At about eleven o'clock Yegor Lizunov, a neighbor and school caretaker, came to them. The grandmother asked his family to come to her when he returned from work. Egor has traveled a lot in his lifetime and flown airplanes.
Yegor took off his sheepskin coat and hat, smoothed his graying, sweaty hair with his calloused palms, and sat down at the table. The room smelled of hay and harness.
- So you want to fly?
The grandmother crawled under the floor and took out a quarter with mead.
- Fly, Egor. Tell everything in order - how and what.
- So what’s there to tell? “Egor, not greedily, somehow even looked a little condescendingly as the grandmother poured the beer. – You will get to the city, there you will take the Biysk-Tomsk, take it to Novosibirsk, and then ask where the city air ticket office is. Or you can go straight to the airport...
- Wait a minute! Settled: it’s possible, it’s possible. You speak as you should, not as you can. Yes, slow down. And then he dumped everything into a heap. “The grandmother offered Yegor a glass of beer and looked at him sternly.
Yegor touched the glass with his fingers and stroked it.
- Well, then you get to Novosibirsk and immediately ask how to get to the airport. Remember, Shurka.
“Write it down, Shurka,” the grandmother ordered.
Shurka tore out a blank sheet of paper from the notebook and began writing it down.
– When you get to Tolmachev, ask again where they sell tickets to Moscow. Take your tickets, board the Tu-104 and in five hours you will be in Moscow, the capital of our Motherland.
The grandmother, resting her head on her dry little fist, listened sadly to Yegor. The more he talked and the simpler this trip seemed to him, the more concerned her face became.
- In Sverdlovsk, however, you will land...
- Necessary. They don't ask us there. They plant and that's it. – Yegor decided that now he could have a drink. - Well?.. For an easy road.
- Hold it. In Sverdlovsk, do we have to ask ourselves to be imprisoned, or do they imprison everyone there? Egor drank, grunted with relish, and smoothed his mustache.
- Everyone... Your beer is good, Malanya Vasilievna. How do you make it? I would teach my woman... Vabka poured him another glass.
– When you stop skimping, then the beer will be good.
- Like this? – Yegor didn’t understand.
- Put more sugar. Otherwise, you’re always trying to be cheaper and harder. Put more sugar in the hops, and that’s what you’ll get. But insisting on tobacco is a shame.
“Yes,” Yegor said thoughtfully. He raised his glass, looked at grandma and Shurka, and drank. “Yes,” he said again. - That’s how it is, of course. But when you are in Novosibirsk, be careful not to make a mistake.
- Yes, so... Anything can happen. - Yegor took out a tobacco pouch, lit a cigarette, and blew out a huge white cloud of smoke from under his mustache. – The main thing, of course, when you arrive in Tolmachevo, is not to confuse the ticket office. Otherwise, you can also fly to Vladivostok.
The grandmother became alarmed and offered Yegor a third glass.
Yegor immediately drank it, grunted and began to develop his thought:
– It happens that a person approaches the eastern ticket office and says: “I have a ticket.” And he won’t ask where the ticket is. Well, the person flies in a completely different direction. So take a look.
Grandma poured Yegor a fourth glass. Yegor went completely soft. He spoke with pleasure:
– Flying on an airplane requires nerves and nerves! When he gets up, they immediately give you candy...
- Candy?
- But of course. Like, forget it, don’t pay attention... But in fact, this is the most dangerous moment. Or, let’s say, they tell you: “Tie your belts on.” - "For what?" - “That’s how it’s supposed to be.” - “Heh... it’s supposed to be. Tell me straight: we can make it up, that’s all. Otherwise, it’s supposed to be.”
- Lord, Lord! - said the grandmother. - So why fly on it, if so...
- Well, if you're afraid of wolves, don't go into the forest. - Yegor looked at the quarter with beer. - In general, jet ones, they are, of course, more reliable. The propeller one can break at any moment - and please... Then: they burn often, these motors. I once flew from Vladivostok... - Yegor made himself more comfortable in his chair, lit a new cigarette, looked at the quarter again; Grandma didn’t move. – We’re flying, so I look out the window: it’s on fire...
- Holy, holy! - said the grandmother.
Shurka even opened his mouth slightly and listened.
- Yes. Well, of course I screamed. The pilot came running... Well, in general, nothing - he swore at me. Why are you raising a panic? It’s burning there, but don’t worry, sit... That’s the way it is in this aviation.
Shurka found this implausible. He expected that the pilot, seeing the flame, would shoot it down with speed or make an emergency landing, but instead he scolded Yegor. Strange.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Yegor continued, turning to Shurka, “why aren’t passengers given parachutes?”
Shurka shrugged. He didn't know that passengers were not given parachutes. This is, of course, strange if this is the case.
Egor poked the cigarette into the flower pot, stood up, and poured it himself from the quarter.
- Well, you have beer, Malanya!
“Don’t go too hard, you’ll get drunk.”
“Beer, it’s just...” Yegor shook his head and drank. - Khoo! But reactive ones are also dangerous. If something breaks, he flies down like an ax. Right away... And they won’t collect any bones. Three hundred grams remain from a person. Along with clothes.
Yegor frowned and looked carefully at the quarter. The grandmother took her and carried her into the hallway. Yegor sat for a while and stood up. He swayed slightly.
– Actually, don’t be afraid! – he said loudly. – Just sit away from the cockpit – in the tail – and fly. Well, I'll go...
He walked heavily to the door, put on a sheepskin coat and a hat.
- Give your regards to Pavel Sergeevich. Well, you have beer, Malanya! Just…
The grandmother was unhappy that Yegor got drunk so quickly - they didn’t really talk.
“You’ve become somewhat weak, Egor.”
- That's why I'm tired. – Yegor took a straw from the collar of his sheepskin coat. – I told our leaders: let’s take out the hay in the summer - no! And now, after this storm, the roads are all covered up. We spent the whole day today, and with great effort made our way to the nearby haystacks. And your beer is so... - Yegor shook his head and laughed. - Well, off I go. It’s okay, don’t be shy – fly. Sit only away from the cabin. Goodbye.
“Goodbye,” said Shurka.
Egor came out; you could hear him carefully descending from the high porch, walking across the yard, creaking the gate, and singing quietly in the street:
The sea spreads wide...
And he fell silent.
The grandmother looked thoughtfully and sadly out the dark window. Shurka re-read what Yegor had written down.
“It’s scary, Shurka,” said the grandmother.
- People fly...
- Shall we go by train?
– By train – that’s all my vacation will be spent on travel.
- Lord, Lord! – sighed. grandma. - Let's write to Pavel. And we cancel the telegram.
Shurka tore out another sheet of paper from the notebook.
- So we won’t fly?
- Where to fly - such a passion, my fathers! Then they will collect three hundred grams...
Shurka thought about it.
– Write: dear son Pasha, I consulted with knowledgeable people here...
Shurka leaned towards the paper.
“They told us how they fly on these planes... And Shurka and I decided: we’ll go by train in the summer.” We know it could be done now, but Shurka has very short holidays...
Shurka hesitated for a second or two and continued writing:
“And now, Uncle Pasha, I am writing this on my own behalf. Grandma was frightened by Uncle Yegor Lizunov, our supply manager, if you remember. For example, he cited the following fact: he looked out the window and saw that the engine was on fire. If only it were so, then the pilot would have started to knock down the flames with speed, as is usually done. I assume that he saw the flames from the exhaust pipe and panicked. You, please, write to the old woman that this is not scary, but about me - that I wrote to you. - don’t write. Otherwise, she won’t go there in the summer either. There will be various pigs, chickens, geese - she won’t leave them for a long time. After all, we’re still rural people. But I really want to see Moscow. at school in geography and history, but this, you know, is not the same. And Uncle Yegor said, for example, that passengers are not given parachutes. But the old lady believes. Please, Uncle Pasha, shame her. loves her terribly. So you tell her: how is it, mom, your son is a pilot himself, a Hero of the Soviet Union, awarded many times, and you are afraid to fly on some unfortunate civilian plane! At a time when we had already broken the sound barrier. Write it like this, it will fly in an instant. She's very proud of you. Of course - deservedly so. I'm personally proud too. But I really want to look at Moscow. Well, goodbye for now. Greetings - Alexander."
Meanwhile, the grandmother dictated:
– We’ll go there closer to the fall. Fungi will grow there, you can have time to prepare some salted salts, make some sea buckthorn jam. In Moscow, after all, everything is available for purchase. And they won’t do it the way I do it at home. That's it, son. Bow to my wife and children from me and from Shurka. Bye. Did you write it down?
- I wrote it down.
The grandmother took the sheet, put it in an envelope and wrote the address herself:
"Moscow, Leninsky Prospekt, 78, apt. 156.
Hero of the Soviet Union Lyubavin Pavel Ignatievich.
From his mother from Siberia."
She always signed the address herself: she knew that it would be easier to get through.
- Like this. Don't be sad, Shurka. We'll go in the summer.
- And I’m not sad. But you still get ready little by little: take it and decide to fly.
The grandmother looked at her grandson and said nothing.
At night, Shurka heard her tossing and turning on the stove, sighing quietly and whispering something.
Shurka didn’t sleep either. Thought. Life promised many extraordinary things in the near future. I never even dreamed of this.
- Shurk! - called the grandmother.
– Pavel will probably be allowed into the Kremlin?
- Maybe. And what?
– I would like to visit there at least once... to see.
- Everyone is allowed there now.
The grandmother was silent for some time.
“So they let everyone in,” she said incredulously.
– Nikolai Vasilyevich told us.
They were silent for another minute.
“But you too, grandma: where you are brave, but here you are afraid of something,” Shurka said displeasedly. -What are you afraid of?
“Go to sleep,” the grandmother ordered. - Brave man. You'll be the first to shit your pants.
“You bet I won’t be scared?”
- Sleep well. Otherwise you won’t be able to get to school tomorrow again.
