Zoshchenko read satirical stories. Mikhail Zoshchenko The most important thing

Mikhail Zoshchenko

Stories for children

Smart animals

They say that elephants and monkeys are very smart animals. But other animals are not stupid either. Look what smart animals I saw.

Smart goose

One goose was walking in the yard and found a dry crust of bread.

So the goose began to peck at this crust with its beak in order to break it and eat it. But the crust was very dry. And the goose could not break it. But the goose didn’t dare swallow the whole crust right away, because it probably wouldn’t be good for the goose’s health.

Then I wanted to break this crust so that it would be easier for the goose to eat. But the goose did not allow me to touch its crust. He probably thought that I wanted to eat it myself.

Then I stepped aside and watched what would happen next.

Suddenly the goose takes this crust with its beak and goes to the puddle.

He puts this crust in the puddle. The crust is made soft in water. And then the goose eats it with pleasure.

It was a smart goose. But the fact that he didn't let me break the crust shows that he wasn't all that smart. Not exactly a fool, but he was still a little behind in his mental development.

Smart chicken

One hen was walking in the yard with chickens. She has nine little chicks.

Suddenly a shaggy dog ​​came running from somewhere.

This dog crept up to the chickens and grabbed one.

Then all the other chickens got scared and scattered.

Kura was also very scared at first and ran. But then he looks - what a scandal: the dog is holding her little chicken in his teeth. And he probably dreams of eating it.

Then the chicken boldly ran up to the dog. She jumped up a little and gave the dog a painful peck right in the eye.

The dog even opened his mouth in surprise. And she released the chicken. And he immediately ran away quickly. And the dog looked to see who pecked her in the eye.

And, seeing the chicken, she became angry and rushed at it. But then the owner ran up, grabbed the dog by the collar and took it away with him.

And the chicken, as if nothing had happened, collected all her chickens, counted them and began to walk around the yard again.

It was a very smart chicken.

Stupid thief and smart pig

Our owner had a pig at his dacha. And the owner locked this piglet in the barn at night so that no one would steal it.

But one thief still wanted to steal this pig.

He broke the lock at night and made his way into the barn.

And piglets always squeal very loudly when they are picked up. Therefore, the thief took the blanket with him.

And just as the piglet wanted to squeal, the thief quickly wrapped him in a blanket and quietly walked out of the barn with him.

Here is a piglet squealing and floundering in a blanket. But the owners do not hear his screams, because it was a thick blanket. And the thief wrapped the pig very tightly.

Suddenly the thief feels that the pig is no longer moving in the blanket. And he stopped screaming. And lies without any movement.

The thief thinks:

“I may have wrapped the blanket around him really tight. And maybe the poor little pig suffocated there.”

The thief quickly unfolded the blanket to see what was wrong with the piglet, and the piglet jumped out of his hands, squealed, and rushed to the side.

Then the owners came running. The thief was captured.

Thief says:

- Oh, what a pig this cunning piglet is. He probably pretended to be dead on purpose so that I would let him out. Or maybe he fainted from fear.

The owner says to the thief:

- No, my little pig didn’t faint, but he deliberately pretended to be dead so that you would untie the blanket. This is a very smart pig, thanks to which we caught the thief.

Very smart horse

Besides the goose, chicken and pig, I saw a lot of smart animals. And I’ll tell you about this later.

In the meantime, I need to say a few words about smart horses.

Dogs eat boiled meat.

Cats drink milk and eat birds. Cows eat grass. Bulls also eat grass and gore people. Tigers, those cheeky animals, eat raw meat. Monkeys eat nuts and apples. Chickens peck crumbs and various debris.

Tell me, please, what does the horse eat?

The horse eats the same healthy food that children eat.

Horses eat oats. And oats are oatmeal and rolled oats.

And children eat oatmeal and rolled oats and thanks to this they become strong, healthy and brave.

No, horses are not stupid for eating oats.

Horses are very smart animals because they eat such a healthy baby food. In addition, horses love sugar, which also shows that they are not stupid.

Smart bird

One boy was walking in the forest and found a nest. And in the nest sat tiny naked chicks. And they squeaked.

They were probably waiting for their mother to fly in and feed them worms and flies.

The boy was glad that he had found such nice chicks, and wanted to take one to bring him home.

As soon as he extended his hand to the chicks, suddenly some feathered bird fell from the tree like a stone at his feet.

She fell and lies in the grass.

The boy wanted to grab this bird, but it jumped a little, hopped on the ground and ran away to the side.

Then the boy ran after her. “Probably,” he thinks, “this bird hurt its wing, and that’s why it can’t fly.”

As soon as the boy approached this bird, it jumped again, jumped on the ground and again ran away a little.

The boy follows her again. The bird flew up a little and sat down in the grass again.

Then the boy took off his hat and wanted to cover the bird with this hat.

As soon as he ran up to her, she suddenly fluttered up and flew away.

The boy was really angry with this bird. And he quickly went back to take at least one chick.

And suddenly the boy sees that he has lost the place where the nest was, and cannot find it.

Then the boy realized that this bird had deliberately fallen from the tree and was deliberately running along the ground in order to take the boy away from its nest.

So the boy never found the chick.

He picked a few wild strawberries, ate them and went home.

Clever dog

I had a big dog. Her name was Jim.

It was a very expensive dog. It cost three hundred rubles.

And in the summer, when I was living at the dacha, some thieves stole this dog from me. They lured her with meat and took her away with them.

So I searched and searched for this dog and couldn’t find it anywhere.

And then one day I came to the city to my city apartment. And I’m sitting there, grieving that I lost such a wonderful dog.

Suddenly I heard someone on the stairs call.

I open the door. And you can imagine - my dog ​​is sitting on the platform in front of me.

And some top tenant says to me:

- Oh, what a smart dog you have - she just called herself. She nuzzled the electric bell and called for you to open the door for her.

It's a shame that dogs can't talk. Otherwise she would have told who stole it and how she got into the city. The thieves probably brought it by train to Leningrad and wanted to sell it there. But she ran away from them and probably ran through the streets for a long time until she found her familiar house, where she lived in the winter.

Then she climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. She lay at our door. Then she saw that no one opened it for her, so she took it and called.

Oh, I was very happy that my dog ​​was found, I kissed her and bought her a big piece of meat.

Relatively smart cat

One housewife left on business and forgot that she had a cat in the kitchen.

And the cat had three kittens that had to be fed all the time.

Our cat got hungry and started looking for something to eat.

And there was no food in the kitchen.

Then the cat went out into the corridor. But she didn’t find anything good in the corridor either.

Then the cat approached one room and felt through the door that there was something pleasant smelling there. And so the cat began to open this door with its paw.

And in this room there lived an aunt who was terribly afraid of thieves.

And here this aunt sits by the window, eats pies and trembles with fear.

And suddenly she sees that the door to her room is quietly opening.

The aunt, frightened, says:

- Oh, who's there?

But no one answers.

The aunt thought they were thieves, opened the window and jumped out into the yard.

And it’s good that she, the fool, lived on the first floor, otherwise she probably would have broken her leg or something. And then she only hurt herself a little and bloodied her nose.

So my aunt ran to call the janitor, and meanwhile our cat opened the door with her paw, found four pies on the window, gobbled them up and went back to the kitchen to her kittens.

The janitor comes with his aunt. And he sees that there is no one in the apartment.

The janitor got angry with his aunt - why did she call him in vain - he scolded her and left.

And my aunt sat down by the window and wanted to start making pies again. And suddenly he sees: there are no pies.

The aunt thought that she herself had eaten them and forgot out of fear. And then she went to bed hungry.

And in the morning the owner arrived and began to carefully feed the cat.

Mikhail Zoshchenko

Funny stories for children (collection)

Stories about Minka's childhood

A history teacher

The history teacher calls me differently than usual. He pronounces my last name in an unpleasant tone. He deliberately squeaks and squeals when pronouncing my last name. And then all the students also begin to squeak and squeal, imitating the teacher.

I hate being called out like that. But I don’t know what needs to be done to prevent this from happening.

I stand at my desk and answer the lesson. I answer pretty well. But the lesson contains the word "banquet".

-What is a banquet? - the teacher asks me.

I know very well what a banquet is. This is lunch, food, a formal meeting at the table, in a restaurant. But I don’t know whether such an explanation can be given in relation to great historical people. Isn't this too small an explanation in terms of historical events?

- Huh? - the teacher asks, squealing. And in this “ah” I hear ridicule and disdain towards me.

And, hearing this “ah,” the students also begin to squeal.

The history teacher waves his hand at me. And he gives me a bad mark. At the end of the lesson I run after the teacher. I catch up with him on the stairs. I can't say a word from excitement. I have a fever.

Seeing me in this form, the teacher says:

- At the end of the quarter I will ask you again. Let's pull the three.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I say. – If you call me like that again, then I... I...

- What? What's happened? - says the teacher.

“I’ll spit at you,” I mutter.

- What you said? – the teacher shouts menacingly. And, grabbing my hand, he pulls me upstairs to the director’s room. But suddenly he lets me go. He says: “Go to class.”

I go to class and expect that the director will come and kick me out of the gymnasium. But the director doesn't come.

A few days later, the history teacher calls me to the blackboard.

He quietly pronounces my last name. And when the students begin to squeal out of habit, the teacher hits the table with his fist and shouts to them:

- Be silent!

There is complete silence in the class. I mumble the task, but I'm thinking about something else. I think about this teacher who didn't complain to the principal and called me out in a different way than before. I look at him and tears appear in my eyes.

Teacher says:

- Don't worry. At least you know for a C.

He thought that I had tears in my eyes because I didn’t know the lesson well.

With my sister Lelya I walk through the field and pick flowers.

I collect yellow flowers.

Lelya collects blue ones.

Behind us is our little sister Julia. She collects white flowers.

We collect this on purpose to make it more interesting to collect.

Suddenly Lelya says:

- Gentlemen, look what a cloud it is.

We look at the sky. A terrible cloud is quietly approaching. She is so black that everything around her becomes dark. She crawls like a monster, enveloping the entire sky.

Lelya says:

- Hurry home. Now there will be a terrible thunderstorm.

We are running home. But we are running towards the cloud. Right into the mouth of this monster.

Suddenly the wind blows. He spins everything around us.

Dust rises. Dry grass is flying. And the bushes and trees bend.

With all our might we run home.

The rain is already falling in large drops on our heads.

Terrible lightning and even more terrible thunder shake us. I fall to the ground and, jumping up, run again. I run as if a tiger is chasing me.

The house is so close.

I look back. Lyolya drags Yulia by the hand. Julia is roaring.

Another hundred steps and I’m on the porch.

On the porch Lelya scolds me about why I lost my yellow bouquet. But I didn't lose him, I abandoned him.

I speak:

- Since there is such a thunderstorm, why do we need bouquets?

Huddled close to each other, we sit on the bed.

A terrible thunder shakes our dacha.

The rain drums on the windows and roof.

You can't see anything from the rain.

By Grandma

We are visiting grandma. We are sitting at the table. Lunch is served.

Our grandmother is sitting next to our grandfather. Grandfather is fat and overweight. He looks like a lion. And grandma looks like a lioness.

A lion and a lioness are sitting at a table.

I keep looking at my grandmother. This is my mother's mother. She has gray hair. And a dark, amazingly beautiful face. Mom said that in her youth she was an extraordinary beauty.

They bring a bowl of soup.

It is not interesting. I'm unlikely to eat this.

But then they bring the pies. This is nothing yet.

Grandfather himself pours the soup.

As I serve my plate, I say to my grandfather:

- I just need one drop.

Grandpa holds a pouring spoon over my plate. He drops one drop of soup onto my plate.

I look at this drop in confusion.

Read the texts of stories, short storiesMikhail M. Zoshchenko

Aristocrat

Grigory Ivanovich sighed noisily, wiped his chin with his sleeve and began to tell:

I, my brothers, do not like women who wear hats. If a woman is wearing a hat, if she is wearing fildecos stockings, or has a pug in her arms, or has a golden tooth, then such an aristocrat is not a woman to me at all, but a smooth place.

And at one time, of course, I was fond of an aristocrat. I walked with her and took her to the theater. It all happened in the theater. It was in the theater that she developed her ideology to its fullest extent.

And I met her in the courtyard of the house. At the meeting. I look, there is such a freckle standing there. She is wearing stockings and has a gilded tooth.

Where are you from, I say, citizen? From which number?

“I am,” he says, “from the seventh.”

Please, I say, live.

And somehow I immediately liked her terribly. I visited her often. To number seven. Sometimes I would come as an official person. They say, how are things with you, citizen, in terms of damage to the water supply and toilet? Does it work?

Yes, he answers, it works.

And she herself wraps herself in a flannel scarf, and nothing more. Only cuts with his eyes. And the tooth in your mouth shines. I went to her for a month - I got used to it. I began to answer in more detail. They say the water supply works, thank you, Grigory Ivanovich.

Further - more, we began to walk along the streets with her. We go out into the street, and she orders me to take her arm. I’ll take it under my arm and drag it like a pike. And I don’t know what to say, and I’m ashamed in front of the people.

Well, since she tells me:

“Why are you,” he says, “keep taking me around the streets?” My head started spinning. You, he says, as a gentleman and in power, would take me, for example, to the theater.

It’s possible, I say.

And just the next day the little girl sent tickets to the opera. I received one ticket, and Vaska the locksmith donated the other to me.

I didn’t look at the tickets, but they are different. Which one is mine - sit downstairs, and which Vaskin - is right in the gallery itself.

So we went. We sat down in the theater. She boarded my ticket, I boarded Vaskin's. I’m sitting at the top of the river and can’t see a damn thing. And if I bend over the barrier, I see her. It's bad though. I got bored, got bored, and went downstairs. I look - intermission. And she walks around during intermission.

Hello, I say.

Hello.

I wonder, I say, is there any running water here?

“I don’t know,” he says.

And to the buffet myself. I'm following her. She walks around the buffet and looks at the counter. And there's a dish on the counter. There are cakes on the platter.

And I, like a goose, like an uncut bourgeois, hover around her and offer:

If, I say, you want to eat one cake, then don’t be shy. I will cry.

Mercy, he says.

And suddenly he walks up to the dish with a lecherous gait and grabs the cream and eats it.

And I have money - the cat cried. At most, it's enough for three cakes. She eats, and I anxiously rummage through my pockets, checking with my hand how much money I have. And the money is as big as a fool's nose.

She ate it with cream, but something else. I already grunted. And I’m silent. This kind of bourgeois modesty took over me. Say, a gentleman, and not with money.

I walk around her like a rooster, and she laughs and asks for compliments.

I speak:

Isn't it time for us to go to the theater? They called, maybe.

And she says:

And he takes the third.

I speak:

On an empty stomach - isn't it a lot? Might make you feel sick.

No, he says, we’re used to it.

And he takes the fourth.

Then the blood rushed to my head.

Lay down, I say, back!

And she was scared. She opened her mouth, and the tooth glistened in her mouth.

And it was as if the reins had gotten under my tail. Anyway, I don’t think I can go out with her now.

Lie down, I say, to hell with it!

She put it back. And I tell the owner:

How much do we charge for eating three cakes?

But the owner behaves indifferently - he plays around.

“From you,” he says, “for eating four pieces, this is so much.”

How, - I say, - for four?! When the fourth is in the dish.

“No,” he answers, “although it is in the dish, a bite was made on it and it was crushed with a finger.”

How, - I say, - a bite, have mercy! These are your funny fantasies.

And the owner behaves indifferently - he twirls his hands in front of his face.

Well, people, of course, gathered. Experts.

Some say the bite is done, others say it’s not. And I turned out my pockets - all sorts of junk, of course, fell out on the floor - people laughed. But it's not funny to me. I'm counting money.

I counted the money - only four pieces left. In vain, honest mother, I argued.

Paid. I turn to the lady:

Finish your meal, I say, citizen. Paid.

But the lady doesn't move. And he is embarrassed to finish eating.

And then some guy got involved.

Come on, they say, I’ll finish eating.

And he finished eating, you bastard. For my money.

We sat down in the theater. We finished watching the opera. And home.

And at the house she says to me in her bourgeois tone:

Quite disgusting of you. Those who don't have money don't travel with ladies.

And I say:

Happiness is not in money, citizen. Sorry for the expression.

That's how we parted ways.

I don't like aristocrats.

Cup

Here recently the painter Ivan Antonovich Blokhin died due to illness. And his widow, a middle-aged lady, Marya Vasilievna Blokhina, organized a small picnic on the fortieth day.

And she invited me.

Come,” he says, “to remember the dear deceased with what God sent.” “We won’t have chickens or fried ducks,” he says, “and there won’t be any pates in sight either.” But sip as much tea as you like, as much as you like, and you can even take it home with you.

I speak:

Although there is not much interest in tea, you can come. Ivan Antonovich Blokhin treated me quite kindly, I say, and even whitewashed the ceiling for free.

Well, he says, come even better.

On Thursday I went.

And a lot of people came. All sorts of relatives. Brother-in-law too, Pyotr Antonovich Blokhin. Such a poisonous man with a mustache standing up. He sat down opposite the watermelon. And the only thing he does, you know, is that he cuts off a watermelon with a penknife and eats it.

And I drank one glass of tea, and I don’t feel like it anymore. The soul, you know, does not accept. And in general, the tea is not very good, I must say, it feels a little like a mop. And I took the glass and put it to the damn side.

Yes, I put it aside a little carelessly. The sugar bowl stood here. I hit the device on this sugar bowl, on the handle. And take the glass, damn it, and give it a crack.

I thought they wouldn't notice. The devils noticed.

The widow answers:

No way, father, did you hit the glass?

I speak:

Nonsense, Marya Vasilievna Blokhina. It will still hold out.

And the brother-in-law got drunk on watermelon and answers:

That is, how is this nothing? Good trivia. The widow invites them to visit, and they bale things from the widow.

And Marya Vasilyevna examines the glass and becomes more and more upset.

This, he says, is pure ruin in the household - breaking glasses. “This,” he says, “one will tamper with a glass, another will tear the faucet off the samovar clean, the third will put a napkin in his pocket.” What will this be like?

What, he says, is he talking about? “So,” he says, “the guests should smash their faces right in with a watermelon.”

I didn’t answer anything to this. I just turned terribly pale and said:

“Comrade brother-in-law, I say, it’s quite offensive to hear about the face.” “I,” I say, “comrade brother-in-law, will not allow my own mother to break my face with a watermelon.” And in general, I say, your tea smells like a mop. Also, I say, an invitation. For you, I say, damn it, breaking three glasses and one mug is not enough.

Then, of course, there was a noise, a roar. The brother-in-law is the most wobbling of all the others. The watermelon he had eaten went straight to his head.

And the widow is also shaking finely with rage.

“I don’t have the habit of putting mops in tea,” he says. Maybe you put it at home, and then cast a shadow on people. The painter, he says, “Ivan Antonovich is probably turning in his grave from these heavy words... I,” he says, “pike son, will not leave you like this after this.”

I didn’t answer anything, I just said:

Fie on everyone, and on my brother-in-law, I say, Fie.

And he quickly left.

Two weeks after this fact, I received a subpoena in the Blokhina case.

I appear and am surprised.

The judge reviews the case and says:

Nowadays,” he says, “all the courts are closed with such cases, but here’s another thing, wouldn’t you like?” “Pay this citizen two kopecks,” he says, “and clean the air in the cell.”

I speak:

I don’t refuse to pay, but just let them give me this cracked glass out of principle.

Widow says:

Choke on this glass. Take it.

The next day, you know, their janitor Semyon brings a glass. And also purposely cracked in three places.

I didn’t say anything to this, I just said:

Tell your bastards, I say, that now I will drag them through the courts.

Because, really, when my character gets worse, I can go to the tribunal.

1923
* * *
Have you read the texts various stories by Mikhail M. Zoshchenko, Russian (Soviet) writer, classic of satire and humor, known for his funny stories, satirical works and short stories. During his life, Mikhail Zoshchenko wrote many humorous texts, with elements of irony, satire, and folklore.This collection presents Zoshchenko’s best stories from different years: “Aristocrat”, “On live bait”, “Honest Citizen”, “Bathhouse”, “Nervous People”, “The Delights of Culture”, “Cat and People” and others. Many years have passed, but we still laugh when we read these stories from the pen of the great master of satire and humor M.M. Zoshchenko. His prose has long become an integral part of the classics of Russian (Soviet) literature and culture.
This site contains, perhaps, all of Zoshchenko’s stories (contents on the left), which you can always read online and once again be surprised by the talent of this writer, unlike others, and laugh at his silly and funny characters (just don’t confuse them with the author himself :)
Thank you for reading!
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Copyright: Mikhail Mikhailovich Zoshchenko

Mikhail Zoshchenko, whose 120th birthday is being celebrated these days, had his own style that cannot be confused with anyone else. His satirical stories are short, phrases without the slightest frills or lyrical digressions.

A distinctive feature in his manner of writing was precisely the language, which at first glance may seem rude. Most of his works are written in the comic genre. The desire to expose the vices of people that even the revolution could not change was initially perceived as healthy criticism and was welcomed as revealing satire. The heroes of his works were ordinary people with primitive thinking. However, the writer does not make fun of the people themselves, but emphasizes their lifestyle, habits and some character traits. His works were not aimed at fighting these people, but at calling on them to help them get rid of their shortcomings.

Critics called his works literature “for the poor” for his deliberately rustic style, full of words and expressions, which was common among small property owners.

M. Zoshchenko “Bad custom.”

In February, my brothers, I fell ill.

I went to the city hospital. And here I am, you know, in the city hospital, receiving treatment and resting my soul. And all around is peace and quiet and God's grace. Everything around is clean and orderly, it’s even awkward to lie down. If you want to spit, use a spittoon. If you want to sit down, there is a chair; if you want to blow your nose, blow your nose into your hand, but blow your nose into the sheet - oh my God, they don’t allow you to blow it into the sheet. There is no such order, they say. Well, you humble yourself.

And you can’t help but come to terms with it. There is such care, such affection, that it couldn’t be better.

Just imagine, some lousy person is lying there, and they bring him lunch, and make his bed, and put thermometers under his armpits, and push enemas with his own hands, and even inquire about his health.

And who is interested? Important, progressive people - doctors, nurses, nurses and, again, paramedic Ivan Ivanovich.

And I felt such gratitude towards all the staff that I decided to offer financial gratitude. I don’t think you can give it to everyone – there won’t be enough giblets. I'll give it to one, I think. And to whom - he began to take a closer look.

And I see: there is no one else to give, except to the paramedic Ivan Ivanovich. The man, I see, is large and respectable and tries harder than anyone else and even goes out of his way. Okay, I think I'll give it to him. And he began to think about how to stick it to him, so as not to offend his dignity and so as not to get punched in the face for it.

The opportunity soon presented itself. The paramedic approaches my bed. Says hello.

Hello, he says, how are you? Was there a chair?

Hey, I think it took the bait.

Well, I say, there was a chair, but one of the patients took it away. And if you want to sit down, sit down with your feet on the bed. Let's talk.

The paramedic sat down on the bed and sat.

Well,” I tell him, “what do they write about, are the earnings high?”

The earnings, he says, are small, but which intelligent patients, even at the point of death, certainly strive to put into their hands.

If you please, I say, although I’m not dying, I don’t refuse to give. And I’ve even been dreaming about this for a long time.

I take out the money and give it. And he kindly accepted and curtsied with his hand.

And the next day it all started. I was lying very calmly and well, and no one had disturbed me until then, but now the paramedic Ivan Ivanovich seemed stunned by my material gratitude. During the day he will come to my bed ten or fifteen times. Either, you know, he’ll fix the pads, then he’ll drag you into the bath, or he’ll offer to give you an enema. He tortured me with thermometers alone, you cat of a bitch. Previously, a day before, a thermometer or two would be set - that’s all. And now fifteen times. Previously, the bath was cool and I liked it, but now there’s enough hot water to fill it – even though you’re screaming.

I’ve already done this and that – no way. I still shove money at him, the scoundrel, just leave him alone, do me a favor, he gets even more furious and tries.

A week has passed and I see I can’t do it anymore. I got tired, lost fifteen pounds, lost weight and lost my appetite. And the paramedic is trying his best.

And since he, a tramp, almost didn’t even cook it in boiling water. By God. The scoundrel gave me such a bath - the callus on my foot burst and the skin came off.

I tell him:

What, you bastard, are you boiling people in boiling water? There will be no more material gratitude for you.

And he says:

If it doesn’t, it won’t be necessary. Die, he says, without the help of scientists. - And he left.

But now everything is going as before again: thermometers are placed once, enemas are given as needed. And the bath is cool again, and no one bothers me anymore.

It’s not for nothing that the fight against tipping is happening. Oh, brothers, not in vain!

Current page: 1 (book has 3 pages in total) [available reading passage: 1 pages]

Mikhail Zoshchenko
Funny stories for children (collection)

Stories about Minka's childhood

A history teacher

The history teacher calls me differently than usual. He pronounces my last name in an unpleasant tone. He deliberately squeaks and squeals when pronouncing my last name. And then all the students also begin to squeak and squeal, imitating the teacher.

I hate being called out like that. But I don’t know what needs to be done to prevent this from happening.

I stand at my desk and answer the lesson. I answer pretty well. But the lesson contains the word "banquet".

-What is a banquet? - the teacher asks me.

I know very well what a banquet is. This is lunch, food, a formal meeting at the table, in a restaurant. But I don’t know whether such an explanation can be given in relation to great historical people. Isn't this too small an explanation in terms of historical events?

- Huh? - the teacher asks, squealing. And in this “ah” I hear ridicule and disdain towards me.

And, hearing this “ah,” the students also begin to squeal.

The history teacher waves his hand at me. And he gives me a bad mark. At the end of the lesson I run after the teacher. I catch up with him on the stairs. I can't say a word from excitement. I have a fever.

Seeing me in this form, the teacher says:

- At the end of the quarter I will ask you again. Let's pull the three.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I say. – If you call me like that again, then I... I...

- What? What's happened? - says the teacher.

“I’ll spit at you,” I mutter.

- What you said? – the teacher shouts menacingly. And, grabbing my hand, he pulls me upstairs to the director’s room. But suddenly he lets me go. He says: “Go to class.”

I go to class and expect that the director will come and kick me out of the gymnasium. But the director doesn't come.

A few days later, the history teacher calls me to the blackboard.

He quietly pronounces my last name. And when the students begin to squeal out of habit, the teacher hits the table with his fist and shouts to them:

- Be silent!

There is complete silence in the class. I mumble the task, but I'm thinking about something else. I think about this teacher who didn't complain to the principal and called me out in a different way than before. I look at him and tears appear in my eyes.

Teacher says:

- Don't worry. At least you know for a C.

He thought that I had tears in my eyes because I didn’t know the lesson well.

Storm

With my sister Lelya I walk through the field and pick flowers.

I collect yellow flowers.

Lelya collects blue ones.

Behind us is our little sister Julia. She collects white flowers.

We collect this on purpose to make it more interesting to collect.

Suddenly Lelya says:

- Gentlemen, look what a cloud it is.

We look at the sky. A terrible cloud is quietly approaching. She is so black that everything around her becomes dark. She crawls like a monster, enveloping the entire sky.

Lelya says:

- Hurry home. Now there will be a terrible thunderstorm.

We are running home. But we are running towards the cloud. Right into the mouth of this monster.

Suddenly the wind blows. He spins everything around us.

Dust rises. Dry grass is flying. And the bushes and trees bend.

With all our might we run home.

The rain is already falling in large drops on our heads.

Terrible lightning and even more terrible thunder shake us. I fall to the ground and, jumping up, run again. I run as if a tiger is chasing me.

The house is so close.

I look back. Lyolya drags Yulia by the hand. Julia is roaring.

Another hundred steps and I’m on the porch.

On the porch Lelya scolds me about why I lost my yellow bouquet. But I didn't lose him, I abandoned him.

I speak:

- Since there is such a thunderstorm, why do we need bouquets?

Huddled close to each other, we sit on the bed.

A terrible thunder shakes our dacha.

The rain drums on the windows and roof.

You can't see anything from the rain.

By Grandma

We are visiting grandma. We are sitting at the table. Lunch is served.

Our grandmother is sitting next to our grandfather. Grandfather is fat and overweight. He looks like a lion. And grandma looks like a lioness.

A lion and a lioness are sitting at a table.

I keep looking at my grandmother. This is my mother's mother. She has gray hair. And a dark, amazingly beautiful face. Mom said that in her youth she was an extraordinary beauty.

They bring a bowl of soup.

It is not interesting. I'm unlikely to eat this.

But then they bring the pies. This is nothing yet.

Grandfather himself pours the soup.

As I serve my plate, I say to my grandfather:

- I just need one drop.

Grandpa holds a pouring spoon over my plate. He drops one drop of soup onto my plate.

I look at this drop in confusion.

Everyone laughs.

Grandfather says:

“He asked for one drop himself.” So I fulfilled his request.

I didn't want soup, but for some reason I'm offended. I'm almost crying.

Grandma says:

- Grandpa was joking. Give me your plate, I'll pour it.

I don't give my plate and don't touch the pies.

Grandfather says to my mother:

- This is a bad child. He doesn't understand jokes.

Mom tells me:

- Well, smile at grandpa. Answer him something.

I look at my grandfather angrily. I quietly tell him:

- I will never come to you again...

I am not guilty

We go to the table and eat pancakes.

Suddenly my father takes my plate and starts eating my pancakes. I'm crying.

Father with glasses. He looks serious. Beard. Nevertheless, he laughs. He says:

– You see how greedy he is. He feels sorry for one pancake for his father.

I speak:

- One pancake, please eat. I thought you would eat everything.

They bring soup. I speak:

- Dad, do you want my soup?

Dad says:

- No, I’ll wait until they bring the sweets. Now, if you give me something sweet, then you are really a good boy.

Thinking that cranberry jelly with milk for dessert, I say:

- Please. You can eat my sweets.

Suddenly they bring a cream that I am partial to.

Pushing my saucer of cream towards my father, I say:

- Please eat, if you are so greedy.

The father frowns and leaves the table.

Mother says:

- Go to your father and ask for forgiveness.

I speak:

- I will not go. I am not guilty.

I leave the table without touching the sweets.

In the evening, when I am lying in bed, my father comes up. He has my saucer with cream in his hands.

Father says:

- Well, why didn’t you eat your cream?

I speak:

- Dad, let's eat it in half. Why should we quarrel over this?

My father kisses me and spoon-feeds me cream.

Chrolophyll

Only two subjects are interesting to me - zoology and botany. The rest is not.

However, history is also interesting to me, but not from the book we are going through.

I am very upset that I am not a good student. But I don’t know what needs to be done to prevent this from happening.

Even in botany I got a C. And I know this subject very well. I read a lot of books and even made a herbarium - an album in which leaves, flowers and herbs were pasted.

The botany teacher is telling something in class. Then he says:

- Why are the leaves green? Who knows?

There is silence in the class.

“I’ll give an A to the one who knows,” says the teacher.

I know why the leaves are green, but I remain silent. I don't want to be an upstart. Let the first students answer. Besides, I don't need an A. That she will be the only one hanging around among my twos and threes? It's comical.

The teacher calls the first student. But he doesn't know.

Then I casually raise my hand.

“Oh, that’s how it is,” says the teacher, “you know.” Well, tell me.

“The leaves are green,” I say, “because they contain the coloring substance chlorophyll.”

Teacher says:

- Before I give you an A, I need to find out why you didn’t raise your hand right away.

I'm silent. This is very difficult to answer.

- Maybe you didn’t remember right away? - asks the teacher.

- No, I remembered right away.

– Maybe you wanted to be taller than the first students?

I'm silent. Shaking his head reproachfully, the teacher gives an “A”.

In the zoological garden

Mother holds my hand. We are walking along the path.

Mother says:

“We’ll see the animals later.” First there will be a competition for children.

We're going to the site. There are a lot of children there.

Each child is given a bag. You need to get into this bag and tie it on your chest.

Here are the bags tied. And the children in bags are placed on a white line.

Someone waves a flag and shouts: “Run!”

Tangled in bags, we run. Many children fall and cry. Some of them get up and run on crying.

I almost fall too. But then, having managed, I quickly move in this bag of mine.

I'm the first to approach the table. Music is playing. And everyone claps. And they give me a box of marmalade, a flag and a picture book.

I walk up to my mother, clutching the gifts to my chest.

On the bench, mom cleans me up. She combs my hair and wipes my dirty face with a handkerchief.

After that we go to see the monkeys.

I wonder if monkeys eat marmalade? We need to treat them.

I want to treat the monkeys with marmalade, but suddenly I see that I don’t have a box in my hands...

Mom says:

– We probably left the box on the bench.

I run to the bench. But my box of marmalade is no longer there.

I cry so much that the monkeys pay attention to me.

Mom says:

“They probably stole our box.” It's okay, I'll buy you another one.

- I want this one! - I shout so loudly that the tiger flinches and the elephant raises its trunk.

So simple

We are sitting in a cart. A reddish peasant horse runs briskly along a dusty road.

The owner's son Vasyutka rules the horse. He casually holds the reins in his hands and from time to time shouts at the horse:

- Well, well, go... I fell asleep...

The little horse has not fallen asleep at all, she is running well. But that's probably how you're supposed to shout.

My hands are burning - I want to hold the reins, correct them and shout at the horse. But I don’t dare ask Vasyutka about this.

Suddenly Vasyutka himself says:

- Come on, hold the reins. I'll smoke.

Sister Lelya says to Vasyutka:

- No, don't give him the reins. He doesn't know how to rule.

Vasyutka says:

– What do you mean – he can’t? There is nothing to be able to do here.

And now the reins are in my hands. I hold them at arm's length.

Holding tightly to the cart, Lelya says:

- Well, now there will be a story - he will certainly overthrow us.

At this moment the cart bounces on a bump.

Lelya screams:

- I see. Now she will turn us around.

I also suspect that the cart will tip over, since the reins are in my inept hands. But no, having jumped on a bump, the cart rolls smoothly further.

Proud of my success, I pat the horse’s sides with the reins and shout: “Well, she’s asleep!”

Suddenly I see a turn in the road.

Hastily I ask Vasyutka:

-Which rein should I pull so that the horse runs to the right?

Vasyutka calmly says:

- Pull the right one.

- How many times do you pull the right one? - I ask.

Vasyutka shrugs:

- Once.

I pull the right rein, and suddenly, like in a fairy tale, the horse runs to the right.

But for some reason I’m upset and annoyed. So simple. I thought it was much more difficult to control a horse. I thought there was a whole science here that needed to be studied for years. And here is such nonsense.

I hand over the reins to Vasyutka. Not particularly interesting.

Lelya and Minka

Christmas tree

This year, guys, I turned forty years old. This means that I have seen the New Year tree forty times. It's a lot!

Well, for the first three years of my life, I probably didn’t understand what a Christmas tree was. My mother probably carried me in her arms. And, probably, with my black little eyes I looked without interest at the decorated tree.

And when I, children, turned five years old, I already perfectly understood what a Christmas tree was.

And I was looking forward to this joyful holiday. And I even spied through the crack of the door as my mother decorated the Christmas tree.

And my sister Lelya was seven years old at that time. And she was an exceptionally lively girl.

She once told me:

- Minka, mom went to the kitchen. Let's go to the room where the tree is and see what's going on there.

So my sister Lelya and I entered the room. And we see: a very beautiful tree. And there are gifts under the tree. And on the tree there are multi-colored beads, flags, lanterns, golden nuts, lozenges and Crimean apples.

My sister Lelya says:

- Let's not look at the gifts. Instead, let's eat one lozenge at a time.

And so she approaches the tree and instantly eats one lozenge hanging on a thread.

I speak:

- Lelya, if you ate a lozenge, then I’ll eat something too now.

And I go up to the tree and bite off a small piece of apple.

Lelya says:

- Minka, if you took a bite of the apple, then I’ll now eat another lozenge and, in addition, I’ll take this candy for myself.

And Lelya was a very tall, long-knitted girl. And she could reach high.

She stood on her tiptoes and began to eat the second lozenge with her big mouth.

And I was surprisingly short. And it was almost impossible for me to get anything except one apple that hung low.

I speak:

- If you, Lelishcha, ate the second lozenge, then I will bite off this apple again.

And I again take this apple with my hands and again bite it a little.

Lelya says:

“If you took a second bite of the apple, then I won’t stand on ceremony any more and will now eat the third lozenge and, in addition, I’ll take a cracker and a nut as a souvenir.”

Then I almost started crying. Because she could reach everything, but I couldn’t.

I tell her:

- And I, Lelishcha, how will I put a chair by the tree and how will I get myself something besides an apple.

And so I began to pull a chair towards the tree with my thin hands. But the chair fell on me. I wanted to pick up a chair. But he fell again. And straight for gifts.

Lelya says:

- Minka, it seems you broke the doll. This is true. You took the porcelain hand from the doll.

Then my mother’s steps were heard, and Lelya and I ran into another room.

Lelya says:

“Now, Minka, I can’t guarantee that your mother won’t put up with you.”

I wanted to roar, but at that moment the guests arrived. Many children with their parents.

And then our mother lit all the candles on the tree, opened the door and said:

- Everyone come in.

And all the children entered the room where the Christmas tree stood.

Our mom says:

– Now let each child come up to me, and I will give each one a toy and a treat.

And so the children began to approach our mother. And she gave everyone a toy. Then she took an apple, a lozenge and a candy from the tree and also gave it to the child.

And all the children were very happy. Then my mother took in her hands the apple that I had bitten off and said:

- Lelya and Minka, come here. Which of you two took a bite of this apple?

Lelya said:

– This is Minka’s work.

I pulled Lelya’s pigtail and said:

“Lyolka taught me this.”

Mom says:

“I’ll put Lyolya in the corner with her nose, and I wanted to give you a wind-up little train.” But now I will give this winding little train to the boy to whom I wanted to give the bitten apple.

And she took the train and gave it to one four-year-old boy. And he immediately began to play with him.

And I got angry at this boy and hit him on the hand with a toy. And he roared so desperately that his own mother took him in her arms and said:

- From now on, I will not come to visit you with my boy.

And I said:

– You can leave, and then the train will remain for me.

And that mother was surprised at my words and said:

- Your boy will probably be a robber.

And then my mother took me in her arms and said to that mother:

“Don’t you dare talk about my boy like that.” Better leave with your scrofulous child and never come to us again.

And that mother said:

- I will do so. Hanging around with you is like sitting in nettles.

And then another, third mother, said:

- And I will leave too. My girl didn't deserve to be given a doll with a broken arm.

And my sister Lelya screamed:

“You can also leave with your scrofulous child.” And then the doll with the broken arm will be left to me.

And then I, sitting in my mother’s arms, shouted:

- In general, you can all leave, and then all the toys will remain for us.

And then all the guests began to leave.

And our mother was surprised that we were left alone.

But suddenly our dad entered the room.

He said:

“This kind of upbringing is ruining my children.” I don't want them to fight, quarrel and kick guests out. It will be difficult for them to live in the world, and they will die alone.

And dad went to the tree and put out all the candles. Then he said:

- Go to bed immediately. And tomorrow I will give all the toys to the guests.

And now, guys, thirty-five years have passed since then, and I still remember this tree well.

And in all these thirty-five years, I, children, have never again eaten someone else’s apple and never once hit someone who is weaker than me. And now the doctors say that this is why I am so relatively cheerful and good-natured.

Do not lie

I studied for a very long time. There were still gymnasiums back then. And teachers then put marks in the diary for each lesson asked. They gave any score - from five to one inclusive.

And I was very small when I entered the gymnasium, the preparatory class. I was only seven years old.

And I still didn’t know anything about what happens in gymnasiums. And for the first three months I literally walked around in a fog.

And then one day the teacher told us to memorize a poem:

The moon shines merrily over the village,
White snow sparkles with blue light...

But I didn’t memorize this poem. I didn't hear what the teacher said. I didn’t hear because the boys who were sitting behind either slapped me on the back of the head with a book, or smeared ink on my ear, or pulled my hair, and when I jumped up in surprise, they placed a pencil or insert under me. And for this reason, I sat in class, frightened and even stunned, and all the time I listened to what else the boys sitting behind me were planning against me.

And the next day, as luck would have it, the teacher called me and ordered me to recite the assigned poem by heart.

And I not only didn’t know him, but I didn’t even suspect that there were such poems in the world. But out of timidity, I did not dare to tell the teacher that I did not know these verses. And completely stunned, he stood at his desk, not saying a word.

But then the boys began to suggest these poems to me. And thanks to this, I began to babble what they whispered to me.

And at this time I had a chronic runny nose, and I couldn’t hear well in one ear, and therefore had difficulty understanding what they were telling me.

I somehow managed to pronounce the first lines. But when it came to the phrase: “The cross under the clouds burns like a candle,” I said: “The crackling under the clouds hurts like a candle.”

Here there was laughter among the students. And the teacher laughed too. He said:

- Come on, give me your diary here! I'll put a unit there for you.

And I cried, because it was my first unit and I didn’t yet know what happened.

After classes, my sister Lelya came to pick me up to go home together.

On the way, I took the diary out of my backpack, unfolded it to the page where the unit was written, and said to Lelya:

- Lelya, look, what is this? The teacher gave me this for the poem “The moon shines merrily over the village.”

Lelya looked and laughed. She said:

- Minka, this is bad! It was your teacher who gave you a bad grade in Russian. This is so bad that I doubt that dad will give you a photographic device for your name day, which will be in two weeks.

I said:

- What should we do?

Lelya said:

– One of our students took and glued two pages in her diary, where she had a unit. Her dad drooled on his fingers, but couldn’t peel it off and never saw what was there.

I said:

- Lyolya, it’s not good to deceive your parents!

Lelya laughed and went home. And in a sad mood I went into the city garden, sat down on a bench there and, unfolding the diary, looked with horror at the unit.

I sat in the garden for a long time. Then I went home. But when I approached the house, I suddenly remembered that I had left my diary on a bench in the garden. I ran back. But in the garden on the bench there was no longer my diary. At first I was scared, and then I was glad that now I no longer have the diary with this terrible unit with me.

I came home and told my father that I had lost my diary. And Lelya laughed and winked at me when she heard these words of mine.

The next day, the teacher, having learned that I had lost the diary, gave me a new one.

I opened this new diary with the hope that this time there was nothing bad there, but there again stood a unit against the Russian language, even more bold than before.

And then I felt so frustrated and so angry that I threw this diary behind the bookcase that stood in our classroom.

Two days later, the teacher, having learned that I did not have this diary, filled out a new one. And, in addition to a one in the Russian language, he gave me a two in behavior. And he said that my father would definitely look at my diary.

When I met Lelya after class, she told me:

– It won’t be a lie if we temporarily seal the page. And a week after your name day, when you receive the camera, we will peel it off and show dad what was there.

I really wanted to get a photographic camera, and Lelya and I taped up the corners of the ill-fated page of the diary.

In the evening dad said:

- Come on, show me your diary! Interesting to know if you picked up any units?

Dad began to look at the diary, but did not see anything bad there, because the page was taped up.

And when dad was looking at my diary, suddenly someone rang on the stairs.

Some woman came and said:

– The other day I was walking in the city garden and there on a bench I found a diary. I recognized the address from his last name and brought it to you so that you could tell me if your son had lost this diary.

Dad looked at the diary and, seeing one there, understood everything.

He didn't yell at me. He just said quietly:

– People who lie and deceive are funny and comical, because sooner or later their lies will always be revealed. And there was never a case in the world where any of the lies remained unknown.

I, red as a lobster, stood in front of dad, and I was ashamed of his quiet words.

I said:

- Here's what: I threw another one of my, the third, diary with a unit behind a bookcase at school.

Instead of getting even more angry with me, dad smiled and beamed. He grabbed me in his arms and started kissing me.

He said:

“The fact that you admitted this made me extremely happy.” You confessed something that could have remained unknown for a long time. And this gives me hope that you won’t lie anymore. And for this I will give you a camera.

When Lyolya heard these words, she thought that dad had gone crazy in his mind and now gives everyone gifts not for A's, but for un's.

And then Lelya came up to dad and said:

“Daddy, I also got a bad grade in physics today because I didn’t learn my lesson.”

But Lelya’s expectations were not met. Dad got angry with her, kicked her out of his room and told her to immediately sit down with her books.

And then in the evening, when we were going to bed, the bell suddenly rang.

It was my teacher who came to dad. And he said to him:

– Today we were cleaning our classroom, and behind the bookcase we found your son’s diary. How do you like this little liar and deceiver who left his diary so that you would not see him?

Dad said:

– I have already personally heard about this diary from my son. He himself admitted this act to me. So there is no reason to think that my son is an incorrigible liar and deceiver.

The teacher told dad:

- Oh, that's how it is. You already know this. In this case, it is a misunderstanding. Sorry. Good night.

And I, lying in my bed, hearing these words, cried bitterly. And he promised himself to always tell the truth.

And this is indeed what I always do now.

Ah, sometimes it can be very difficult, but my heart is cheerful and calm.

Attention! This is an introductory fragment of the book.

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