“You know,” the teacher said, hesitating a little, as if she had decided to tell us something very important and adult. – Time will pass, a lot, a lot of time, and you will become quite adults. You will not only have children, but also children’s children, your grandchildren. Time will pass, and everyone who was an adult when the war was going on will die. Only you, the current children, will remain. Children of the past war. – She paused. “Neither your daughters, nor your sons, nor your grandchildren, of course, will know the war. In all the land there will be only you who remembers it. And it may happen that new babies will forget our grief, our joy, our tears! So, don’t let them forget! Do you understand? You won’t forget, so don’t let others!
Now we were silent. It was quiet in our class. Excited voices were heard only from the corridor and from behind the walls.
After school, I didn’t rush to Vadka, he didn’t miss classes now, and how could anyone sit at home on such a day?
In general, I came to them at dusk.
The three-story communal house where they lived looked like a ship: all the windows were glowing different colors- it really depended on the curtains. And although no noise or hubbub was heard, it was already clear that behind the colored windows people were celebrating their victory. Maybe some with wine, real, but most with sweeter tea or potatoes, for today’s occasion not just boiled, but fried. What is there! Without wine, everyone was drunk with joy!
In the cramped space under the stairs, fear touched me with its icy hand! Still would! The door to the room where Vadim and Marya lived was open a full palm, and there was no light in the room. At first it flashed in my head as if the room had been cleared by thieves. Where is their conscience, on a holiday...
But then I felt a dark ray hitting the half-open door.
It’s as if there, in the room, the black sun is baking hotly and now its rays are breaking through the crack, penetrating under the stairs. Nothing is visible, it's a strange sun. But you can hear it, but you feel it with all your skin, like the breath of a terrible and large beast.
I pulled myself door handle. The hinges creaked protractedly, as if crying.
At dusk I saw that Marya was lying on the bed, dressed and wearing boots. And Vadim is sitting on a chair near the cold “stove stove”.
I wanted to say that it was a great sin to be twilight on such an evening, I wanted to find the switch and flip it so that the strange black sun would disappear, melt away, because even an ordinary electric light bulb could handle it. But something kept me from turning on the light, speaking in a loud voice, grabbing Vadim from behind so that he would move, come to life in this darkness.
I walked into the room and saw that Marya was lying with her eyes closed. "Is he really sleeping?" – I was amazed. And he asked Vadim:
- What's happened?
He sat in front of the potbelly stove, his hands pressed between his knees, and his face seemed unfamiliar to me. Some changes have occurred in this face. It became sharper, shrunk a little, childishly plump lips stretched out like bitter threads. But the main thing is the eyes! They got bigger. And it was as if they had seen something terrible.
Vadim was lost in thought and didn’t even move when I entered, twirled in front of him and stared into his eyes.
- What's happened? – I repeated, not even imagining what Vadka might answer.
And he looked, thoughtfully, at me, or rather, looked through me and said with thin, wooden lips:
- Mom died.
I wanted to laugh, shout: what a joke! But would Vadka... So it’s true... How can this be?
I remembered what day it was today and shuddered. After all, the end of the war is a great holiday! And is it really possible that on a holiday, for this to happen on a holiday...
- Today? – I asked, still not believing. After all, my mother, my mother, on whom you can always rely, asked me to tell Vadik and Masha that things were getting better in the hospital.
And it turned out...
- For several days now... She was buried without us...
Wider and wider.
It’s as if he and Marya, on a small raft in their room, are sailing from the shore where I, a lop-eared little boy, am standing.
I know: a little more, and it’s black fast water will pick up the raft, and the black sun, which no longer burns with visible, but only felt warmth, shines on the unstable raft, escorting it on an unclear path.
He moved weakly.
“To the orphanage,” he answered. And for the first time, while we were talking, he blinked. He looked at me with a meaningful look.
And suddenly he said...
And suddenly he said something that I will never be able to forget.
“You know,” said the great and incomprehensible man Vadka, “you should get out of here.” And that is a sign. - He hesitated. “Whoever walks near trouble can touch it and become infected.” And your dad is at the front!
“But the war is over,” I breathed.
– You never know! – said Vadim. – The war is over, and you see how it happens. Go!
He got up from the stool and began to slowly turn around in place, as if seeing me off. Walking around him, I extended my hand to him, but Vadim shook his head.
Marya was still lying there, still sleeping in some kind of unreal, fairy-tale dream, only the fairy tale was not kind, not about a sleeping princess.
This fairy tale was without any hope.
- And Marya? – I asked helplessly. He didn’t ask, but stammered in a childish, plaintive voice.
“Marya is sleeping,” Vadim answered me calmly. - He’ll wake up and...
He did not say what would happen when Marya woke up.
Slowly backing away, I walked out into the space under the stairs. And he closed the door behind him.
The black sun no longer broke through here, into the understairs darkness. It remained there, in the little room, where the windows were still covered with strips of paper, just as at the very beginning of the war.
I saw Vadim again.
Mom told me which orphanage he was in. She came and said. I understood what her tears meant on the day before Victory.
But nothing came of it, no conversation.
I found Vadim in the orphanage yard - he was carrying an armful of firewood. The end of summer turned out to be cool, and the stove had apparently already been lit. Noticing me, he nodded silently, without a smile, disappeared into the open mouth of the large door, and then returned.
I wanted to ask him, how are you, but it was a stupid question. Isn't it clear how? And then Vadim asked me:
- How are you?
After all, the same question can look stupid and completely serious if asked different people. Or rather, people in different situations.
“Nothing,” I replied. I was unable to say “fine.”
“Soon we will be sent to the west,” said Vadim. – The entire orphanage is leaving.
-Are you happy? – I asked and lowered my eyes. No matter what question I asked, it turned out to be awkward. And I interrupted him with another: “How is Marya?”
“Nothing,” Vadim answered.
Yes, the conversation didn’t work out.
He stood in front of me, a much older, unsmiling guy, as if he wasn’t very familiar with me.
Vadim was wearing gray pants and a gray shirt, unknown to me, apparently from the orphanage. It’s strange, they separated Vadim from me even more.
And it also seemed to me that he felt some kind of awkwardness. Like he's guilty of something, or what? But what? What stupidity!
I just lived in one world, and he existed in a completely different one.
- Well, am I going? – he asked me.
Strange. Is that really what they ask?
“Of course,” I said. And shook his hand.
- Be healthy! - he told me, watched me walk for a moment, then turned decisively and didn’t look back.
I haven't seen him since then.
In the building that he occupied Orphanage, the artel producing buttons was located. There weren’t even buttons during the war. The war was over, and buttons were urgently needed to sew them onto new coats, suits and dresses.
In the fall, I entered fourth grade and was again given extra food stamps.
Albert Likhanov
I dedicate it to the children of the past war, their hardships and not at all children’s suffering. I dedicate it to today’s adults who have not forgotten how to base their lives on the truths of military childhood. May those lofty rules and undying examples always shine and never fade in our memory - after all, adults are just former children.
Remembering my first classes and my dear teacher, dear Anna Nikolaevna, now, when so many years have passed since that happy and bitter time, I can say quite definitely: our teacher loved to be distracted.
Sometimes, in the middle of a lesson, she would suddenly rest her fist on her sharp chin, her eyes would become misty, her gaze would sink into the sky or sweep through us, as if behind our backs and even behind the school wall she saw something happily clear, something we, of course, did not understand , and here is what is visible to her; her gaze became misty even when one of us was stomping around the blackboard, crumbling the chalk, groaning, sniffling, looking questioningly at the class, as if looking for salvation, asking for a straw to grab onto - and then suddenly the teacher became strangely quiet, her gaze softened, she forgot the respondent at the blackboard, forgot us, her students, and quietly, as if to herself and to herself, she uttered some truth that still had a direct relation to us.
“Of course,” she said, for example, as if reproaching herself, “I won’t be able to teach you drawing or music.” But the one who has God’s gift,” she immediately reassured herself and us too, “will be awakened by this gift and will never fall asleep again.”
Or, blushing, she muttered under her breath, again not addressing anyone, something like this:
– If anyone thinks that they can skip just one section of mathematics and then move on, they are sorely mistaken. In learning you cannot deceive yourself. You may deceive the teacher, but you will never deceive yourself.
Either because Anna Nikolaevna did not address her words to any of us specifically, or because she spoke to herself, an adult, and only the last ass does not understand how more interesting conversations adults' teachers' and parents' moral teachings about you, or all this taken together had an effect on us, because Anna Nikolaevna had a military leader's mind, and a good commander, as you know, will not take a fortress if he only hits in the forehead - in a word, Anna Nikolaevna's distractions, her general's maneuvers, and thoughtful reflections at the most unexpected moment turned out, surprisingly, to be the most important lessons.
In fact, I almost don’t remember how she taught us arithmetic, the Russian language, and geography, so it’s clear that this teaching became my knowledge. But the rules of life that the teacher pronounced to herself remained for a long time, if not for a century.
Perhaps trying to instill self-respect in us, or perhaps pursuing a simpler but important goal, spurring on our efforts, Anna Nikolaevna from time to time repeated one apparently important truth.
“This is all it takes,” she said, “just a little more - and they will receive a certificate of primary education.”
Indeed, multi-colored colors swelled inside us. air balloons. We looked, satisfied, at each other. Wow, Vovka Kroshkin will receive the first document in his life. And me too! And, of course, excellent student Ninka. Anyone in our class can get - like this - certificate about education.
At the time when I was studying, elementary education was appreciated. After the fourth grade, they were given a special paper, and they could complete their studies there. True, this rule did not suit any of us, and Anna Nikolaevna explained that we had to complete at least seven years of education, but a document on primary education was still issued, and we thus became quite literate people.
– Look how many adults have only primary education! - Anna Nikolaevna muttered. – Ask your mothers, your grandmothers at home, who finished only one primary school, and think carefully after that.
We thought, asked questions at home and gasped to ourselves: a little more, and it turned out that we were catching up with many of our relatives. If not in height, if not in intelligence, if not in knowledge, then through education we were approaching equality with people we loved and respected.
“Wow,” sighed Anna Nikolaevna, “about a year and two months!” And they will get an education!
Who was she grieving for? Us? For yourself? Unknown. But there was something significant, serious, disturbing in these lamentations...
Immediately after spring break in third grade, that is, without a year and two months initially educated person, I received food stamps.
It was already the forty-fifth, ours were beating the Krauts in vain, Levitan announced a new fireworks display on the radio every evening, and in my soul in the early mornings, at the beginning of a day undisturbed by life, two lightning bolts crossed, blazing - a premonition of joy and anxiety for my father. I seemed to be all tense, superstitiously averting my eyes from such a murderously painful possibility of losing my father on the eve of obvious happiness.
It was in those days, or rather, on the first day after spring break, that Anna Nikolaevna gave me coupons for supplementary nutrition. After classes I have to go to cafeteria number eight and have lunch there.
We were given free food vouchers one by one - there wasn’t enough for everyone at once - and I had already heard about the eighth canteen.
Who didn’t know her, really! This gloomy, drawn-out house, an extension to former monastery, looked like an animal that was spread out, clinging to the ground. From the heat that made its way through the unsealed cracks in the frames, the glass in the eighth dining room not only froze, but was overgrown with uneven, lumpy frost. Gray bangs over front door frost hung over, and when I passed by the eighth dining room, it always seemed to me as if there was such a warm oasis with ficus trees inside, probably along the edges of the huge hall, maybe even under the ceiling, like in the market, there live two or three happy sparrows, which managed to fly into ventilation pipe and they tweet at themselves beautiful chandeliers, and then, having grown bolder, they sit on ficus trees.
This is how the eighth dining room seemed to me while I was just passing by it, but had not yet been inside. What significance, one might ask, do these ideas have now?
Even though we lived in a rear-facing city, even though my mother and grandmother sat down with all their might, not allowing me to go hungry, the feeling of insatiability visited me many times a day. Infrequently, but still regularly, before going to bed, my mother made me take off my T-shirt and bring my shoulder blades together on my back. Smiling, I obediently did what she asked, and my mother sighed deeply, or even began to sob, and when I demanded to explain this behavior, she repeated to me that the shoulder blades come together when a person is extremely thin, so I can count all my ribs It’s possible, and in general I have anemia.
I laughed. I don’t have any anemia, because the word itself means that there should be little blood, but I had enough of it. That's when I stepped on this summer bottle glass, it gushed out as if from a water tap. All this is nonsense - my mother’s worries, and if we talk about my shortcomings, then I could admit that there is something wrong with my ears - I often heard in them some kind of additional, in addition to the sounds of life, a slight ringing, really , my head was lighter and I seemed to think even better, but I was silent about it, I didn’t tell my mother, otherwise he’d come up with some other stupid disease, like hearing loss, ha-ha-ha!
But this is all nonsense on vegetable oil!
The main thing was that the feeling of insatiability did not leave me. It seems like we've eaten in the evening, but our eyes still see something delicious - some plump sausage with rounds of lard, or, even worse, a thin piece of ham with a teardrop of some moist deliciousness, or a pie that smells ripe apples. Well, it’s not for nothing that there is a saying about insatiable eyes. Maybe in general there is some kind of impudence in the eyes - the stomach is full, but the eyes are still asking for something.
Albert Likhanov is a children's writer. Today we will present you one of his most famous works, or rather, its summary. "The Last Cold" is a story he wrote in 1984. The book makes a truly amazing impression. It describes the growing up of a person, as well as a terrible, cruel war. It can be assumed that it is on a military theme. Only it's not like that. This is a story not about people in the rear and the heroism of soldiers, this is a story about children in those terrible years.
The book begins with the boy Kolya remembering the teacher, Anna Nikolaevna, who taught him school lessons, as well as life lessons.
Then it was 1945, there was a war going on. The narrator was supposed to graduate from primary school in a year and 2 months.
Constant hunger
Further, the summary of the book “The Last Cold” talks about how you want to eat all the time. In general, all the guys could be divided into 3 groups: ordinary, punks and jackals. Ordinary guys were afraid of everyone else. The jackals took food from everyone, while the punks simply inspired fear with their entire appearance, and at the same time they evoked the feeling of a completely stupid crowd.
At some point, when Kolya was eating, he left the soup (an unthinkable thing for the narrator, since his mother taught him to always finish everything, even if he didn’t like the food very much). Unbeknownst to him, one of the jackals approached him and began to beg with his eyes for the remains of the soup. At this moment the narrator hesitated, although he gave him the food. He noticed this boy, silently calling him yellow-faced. In addition, he noticed one guy from the punks who made his way without a queue among the small ones. He nicknamed him Nose.
A few days later, while eating again, he again saw the yellow-faced man who stole bread from a very little girl, which caused a terrible scandal. After this, Nose’s gang decided to beat up the yellow-faced man, but it turned out that, in general, they don’t really know how to fight, they show off more. Then yellow-faced Nosa grabbed him by the throat and began to choke him. The gang fled in horror. And the yellow-faced man wandered towards the fence. There he fainted. Seeing this, Kolya began to call for help, and the boy was brought to his senses. It turned out that he had not eaten anything for 5 days, and was stealing bread for himself and his sister Marya. Then the narrator learned that the yellow-faced man’s name was Vadka.
Heroes
It is also necessary to talk about the heroes, compiling a brief summary for this story. “The Last Cold” shows us completely different children during the war years. So, the narrator lived with his grandmother and mother, his father fought. At home, his women “wrapped themselves in a cocoon,” as he said, and sheltered him from any troubles. In general, he did not go hungry, he was always shod and dressed, and did not miss classes.
But Marya and Vadka lived completely differently. Their father died at the very beginning of the war. Mom was in the hospital with typhus, and there was little hope for recovery. The girl lost her food coupons somewhere, so her brother was forced to go rogue and get food by his cunning. At the same time, they did not sink morally. The children constantly thought about their mother and always lied to her in their letters so that she would not worry at all. They lived in a very poor house. The narrator learned all this after talking with Vadka.
Help for children
Describing the summary (“The Last Cold”), it is worth noting that the narrator was drawn to Vadka like a magnet. He respected this strange, yellow-faced boy. At some point, it turned out that Vadka did not have enough money, and in order to survive in the cold, he asked the narrator for a jacket for a while. He went home and talked with his grandmother, to whom he told about Marya and Vadka, as well as about their difficult situation. But the grandmother did not allow him to give the jacket. But the narrator went against her will. He took the item of clothing and ran to the guys outside. A little later, the narrator's mother approached them. He told her what the matter was, but the mother, unlike the grandmother, treated the children with sympathy, fed them well, and they fell asleep right at the table from satiety.
Skipping school
Albert Likhanov described the life of these children very interestingly. “The Last Cold” is a story about true friendship. So, the next day the three children got ready to go to school. The girl went, and Kolya and Vadka skipped school for the first time. Yellowface and the narrator, who had tagged along with him, went to look for food. At first Kolya was very indignant, because Vadik was well-fed, and his grandmother and mother invited them to visit again in the evening, so why do they need to look for food? He asked the boy this question, and he said that the narrator’s relatives were not obliged to feed him. He acted nobly and did not want to sit on someone else’s neck.
Cake
Vadik and Kolya begged for some oil cake and went to the market. Yellowface spoke about his own “survival technology.”
Mothers
When compiling a summary of the story “The Last Cold,” you need to talk about the relationships of children with their mothers. So, when Kolya was with Vadim, he very actively compared them. The narrator was always under the protection of his mother, did not feel sorry for her, and was not afraid for her. But Vadik’s relationship with his mother was completely different: he himself said that he was very afraid for her, that after the death of their father she had changed a lot. This attitude towards a loved one speaks of the boy’s already emerging maturity; he, unlike Kolya, has already seen a lot in life. Even wrinkles appeared on his face, sometimes he looked like an old man.
Returning from school, Marya scolded Vadik for skipping classes and said that she had been given food stamps. The children finally ate in the dining room, but the girl’s second meal was taken away, after which her brother drove the offender away.
The main characters (“The Last Cold”) leave the dining room, laugh and joke. Vadik's coat was torn with a knife, the girl began to cry. Yellowface goes to school because he was called to the principal, while Kolya accompanies Marya home. Here they wrote a letter to her mother, and the not particularly talkative narrator was suddenly attacked by the spirit of writing, perhaps due to the fact that he imagined himself in the place of the children.
Then they went to Kolya’s house, did their homework there, and ate. A yellow-faced man came in with textbooks tied with a belt and a whole bag of food - it was handed to him through the teacher's director. Vadik accuses the narrator’s mother of being summoned to the director, as well as of these handouts. But mom says she has nothing to do with it. She seats the boy at the table, and he reluctantly agrees. They start talking about the bathhouse. It turned out that Vadik and Marya washed only once after their mother’s hospitalization because of the girl’s terrible embarrassment to go to the bathroom. shared bath, but she couldn’t wash herself, it was difficult. The narrator says about childhood that it seems like you are free, but this is not so, you are not free. At some point, you will definitely need to do something that your soul resists with all its might. And at the same time they tell you that this is necessary, and you, suffering, toiling, resisting, still do what is required.
When Marya and Vadka leave, Kolya’s mother scolds him for skipping classes, by the way, the first time in his life.
May 8
Some time later (May 8), Kolya notices a strange fuss in his mother’s behavior, and there are tears in her eyes. He assumes that something happened to his father. But she says it's all in in perfect order, after which he invites him to go visit Vadka and Marya. There the mother also behaves unnaturally. The narrator's suspicions about dad intensify, only that everything is actually fine with him.
9th May
Victory Day has arrived. The whole country is rejoicing, people seem close to each other, since they are all united by great joy, as Likhanov described. “The Last Cold” (the content is briefly presented in this article) expresses with this description amazing pride in one’s country.
No one could sit still at school. Anna Nikolaevna told her students that some time would pass and they would all become adults. Everyone will have children, then grandchildren. More time will pass, and those who are now adults will die. Then only they will remain, the children of the past war. Their children and grandchildren will not know the war. Only they will remain on Earth, people who will still remember it. It may happen that the guys will forget this grief, this joy, these tears... And she asked them not to let this happen. Don’t forget yourself and don’t let others forget.
Mother's death
The narrator went to Marya and Vadim's house. There were no lights on in their apartment, but the door was open. The girl was lying in her clothes on the bed. Vadik was sitting next to her on the floor. He said that their mother died a few days ago, and they only found out about it today. May 9 was not a holiday for everyone.
They were sent to an orphanage. The narrator visited them once, but somehow their conversation did not go well. He has not seen them since then, because the children were transferred to another orphanage.
End of the work
The story “The Last Cold” ends with the words that sooner or later wars all end. But hunger is receding much more slowly than the enemy. And the tears don't dry for a long time. And canteens with additional food are open, where jackals live - hungry, small children who are innocent of anything. This must not be forgotten! This is what Anna Nikolaevna ordered.
“The Last Cold”: review
It's very difficult to leave a review for this product. We are well-fed people; we have never known war or famine. And it’s very scary to imagine the fear and despair of the people of those years, small, innocent of anything.
Albert LIKHANOV
LATEST COLD
Dedicated to the children of the past war, their
deprivation and not at all childish suffering.
Dedicated to today's adults who are not
I forgot how to trust my life with truths
military childhood. May they always shine and not
those high ones fade in our memory
rules and undying examples, - after all
adults are just former children.
Remembering my first classes and my dear teacher, dear Anna
Nikolaevna, now that so many years have passed with that happy and
bitter time, I can say quite definitely: our mentor loved
get distracted
It happened that in the middle of a lesson she would suddenly rest her fist on her sharp
chin, her eyes were misty, her gaze was buried in the sky or flashed
through us, as if behind our backs and even behind the school wall, she saw
something happily clear, incomprehensible to us, of course, but visible to her; sight
it was foggy even when one of us was stomping around the blackboard, crumbling chalk,
groaned, sniffled, looked around questioningly at the class, as if looking for
salvation, asking for a straw to grab onto - and then suddenly
the teacher became strangely quiet, her gaze softened, she forgot the defendant
board, forgot us, her students, and quietly, as if to herself and to herself,
spoke some truth that still had the most direct relation to us.
“Of course,” she said, for example, as if reproaching herself, “I don’t
I can teach you drawing or music. But the one who has God's gift -
she immediately reassured herself and us too, “with this gift he will be awakened and
will never sleep again.
Or, blushing, she muttered under her breath, again to no one
referring to something like this:
- If anyone thinks they can skip just one section
mathematics, and then go further, he is cruelly mistaken. In teaching it is impossible
deceive yourself. You may deceive the teacher, but you won’t fool yourself.
What.
Is it because Anna Nikolaevna’s words were not directed at any of us?
didn’t pay attention specifically, either because she was talking to herself,
an adult, but only the last donkey does not understand how
more interesting is the conversations of adults, teachers and parents about you
moral teachings, then all this taken together had an effect on us, because
Anna Nikolaevna had a military mind, and a good commander, as you know,
will not take the fortress if he begins to hit only in the forehead - in a word, distractions
Anna Nikolaevna, her general maneuvers, thoughtful, in the most unexpected
moment, reflection turned out to be, surprisingly, the most important lessons.
How she taught us arithmetic, Russian language, geography, I,
in fact, I hardly remember - because, apparently, this teaching became mine
knowledge. But the rules of life that the teacher pronounced to herself,
stayed for a long time, if not forever.
Maybe trying to instill self-respect in us, or maybe pursuing more
a simple but important goal - spurring our efforts, Anna Nikolaevna
from time to time she repeated one important, apparently truth.
“This is all it takes,” she said, “just a little more and they’ll get it.”
certificate of primary education.
Indeed, colorful balloons were inflating inside us.
We looked, satisfied, at each other. Wow, Vovka Kroshkin will get
the first document in my life. And me too! And of course Ninka is an excellent student.
Anyone in our class can get - how is that? -
Certification of education.
At the time when I was studying, primary education was valued. After
the fourth grade was given a special paper, and it was possible to finish on this
your teaching. True, this rule did not suit any of us, and Anna
Nikolaevna explained that you need to finish at least seven years, but the document on
primary education was still given out, and we thus became
quite literate people.
- Just look at how many adults have only a primary education
education! - Anna Nikolaevna muttered. - Ask your mothers at home,
their grandmothers, who completed only one elementary school, and
think about it after that.
We thought, asked questions at home and gasped to ourselves: a little more - and we,
It turned out that we were catching up with many of our relatives. If not in height, if not in intelligence,
if not by knowledge, then by education we were approaching equality with people
loved and respected.
“Wow,” sighed Anna Nikolaevna, “about a year and two months!” AND
they will get an education!
Who was she grieving for? Us? For yourself? Unknown. But there was something in these
lamentations significant, serious, disturbing...
Immediately after spring break in third grade, that is, without a year and
two months as a primary educated person, I received coupons for
additional food.
It was already the forty-fifth, ours beat the fascists in vain, Levitan every
the evening announced a new fireworks display on the radio, and in my soul in the early mornings, in
at the beginning of a day undisturbed by life, two blazing crosses crossed
lightning - a premonition of joy and anxiety for the father. I'm all right
tensed, superstitiously averting his eyes from such a murderously painful
the possibility of losing his father on the eve of obvious happiness.
In those days, or rather, on the first day after spring break, Anna
Nikolaevna gave me food vouchers. After classes I have to go to
dining room number eight and have lunch there.
We were given free food vouchers one by one - for everyone at once
there wasn’t enough - and I already heard about the eighth canteen.
Who didn’t know her, really! This gloomy, drawn-out house,
annex to the former monastery, looked like an animal that was spread out,
hugging the ground. From the heat that made its way through the unsealed cracks
the frames and glass in the eighth dining room were not only frozen, but overgrown with uneven
lumpy ice. Frost hung like a gray fringe over the front door, and when I
passed by the eighth dining room, it always seemed to me as if there was
such a warm oasis with ficus trees, probably along the edges of the huge hall, maybe
even under the ceiling, as in the market, there live two or three happy sparrows,
who managed to fly into the ventilation pipe, and they tweet at themselves
beautiful chandeliers, and then, having become bolder, they sit on ficus trees.
This is how the eighth dining room seemed to me while I was just passing through
past it, but have not yet been inside. What significance, one might ask, do they have?
now these performances?
Will explain.
Even though we lived in a rear city, even though my mother and grandmother sat down
with all my might, not letting me go hungry, the feeling of insatiability visited me a lot
once a day. Not often, but still regularly, before bedtime, my mother forced
me to take off my shirt and pull my shoulder blades together on my back. Smirking, I obediently
did what she asked, and mother sighed deeply, or even accepted
sob, and when I demanded to explain this behavior, she repeated
I feel like the shoulder blades come together when a person is extremely thin, and so are the ribs
You can count all of me, and in general I have anemia.
I laughed. I don’t have any anemia, because the word itself means
that there should be little blood, but I had enough of it. That's when I
in the summer I stepped on a bottle glass, it gushed as if from a tap
tap. All this is nonsense - my mother’s worries, and if we talk about mine
shortcomings, then I could admit that there is something wrong with my ears
okay - often some kind of additional sound was heard in them, in addition to the sounds
life, a slight ringing, however, it made my head lighter and seemed even better
I figured it out, but I kept quiet about it, didn’t tell my mom, otherwise she’d come up with something else
some stupid disease, for example, small ears, ha ha ha!
But this is all nonsense on vegetable oil!
The main thing was that the feeling of insatiability did not leave me. It seems like we're eating in the evening,
but my eyes still see something tasty - some kind of sausage
plump with rounds of lard, or, even worse, a thin piece of ham with
a teardrop of some wet delicacy, or a pie that smells
ripe apples. Well, it’s not for nothing that there is a saying about insatiable eyes. Maybe,
In general, there is some kind of impudence in the eyes - the belly is full, and the eyes are still
They are asking for something else.
In general, it seems like you’re eating a lot, an hour will pass, and then
sucks with a spoon - I won’t save you. And again I want to eat. And when does a person
he’s hungry, his head is drawn to writing. Some kind of
he will invent an unprecedented dish - I have never seen it in my life, except perhaps in the movie “Merry
guys,” for example, a whole pig lies on a platter. Or something else
sort of. And all sorts of food places, like the eighth dining room, are also for humans
can be imagined in the very looking nice.
Food and warmth, it is clear to everyone, are very compatible things. So I
I imagined ficus trees and sparrows. I also imagined the smell of my beloved
peas.
However, reality did not confirm my expectations.
The door, scalded with frost, gave way to me from behind, pushed it forward, and I
I immediately found myself at the end of the line. This line did not lead to food, but to the window
dressing rooms, and in it, like a cuckoo in a kitchen clock, a thin
an aunt with black and, it seemed to me, dangerous eyes. These eyes are me
I noticed it right away - they were huge, half the size of the face, and in the wrong light
dim light bulb mixed with reflections of daylight
through the ice-covered window, they sparkled with cold and anger.
This canteen was arranged specifically for all schools in the city, therefore,
It’s clear that there was a children’s line here, made up of boys and girls, quiet in
in an unfamiliar place, and therefore immediately polite and submissive.
“Hello, Aunt Grusha,” said the line in different voices- so I
realized that the cloakroom attendant was called by this name, and also said hello, as
all, politely calling her Aunt Grusha.
She didn't even nod, she glared raven's eye, threw at
a tin barrier, a scratched number, and I found myself in the hall. With mine
Only the size and the sparrows coincided in their ideas. They weren't sitting on ficus trees,
and on the iron crossbar right up to the ceiling they weren’t chattering animatedly, like
their brothers chirped in the market, not far from the dung pellets, and there were
silent and modest.
The far wall of the dining room was cut through by an oblong embrasure, in which
white coats flashed by, but the path to the embrasure was blocked by a wooden, up to
the belts and fence are a dull gray-green color, like the entire dining room. To
climb behind the fence, you had to go up to the painted woman sitting on
on a stool in front of a plywood box with slots, she took coupons,
looked at them fastidiously and dropped them, as if in mailboxes, into the cracks
boxes Instead, she gave out duralumin roundels with numbers - for them at
the embrasure was given first, second and third, but the food was different, as can be seen in
depending on coupons.
Heaping my share on the tray, I chose free place at the table
for four. Three chairs were already occupied: on one sat a skinny woman with
horse-faced pioneer, sixth grade, the other two occupied
the boys are older than me, but also younger than the pioneers. They looked smooth and
rosy-cheeked, and I immediately realized that the boys were racing to see who was faster
will eat his portion. The guys often glanced at each other, slurped loudly,
but they were silent, didn’t say anything - the competition turned out to be silent, as if
Quietly snoring, they played a tug-of-war: who would win? I probably looked at them
too attentively and too thoughtfully, expressing doubt with his gaze
V mental development boys, so one of them looked up from the cutlet and
He said to me indistinctly because his mouth was full of food:
- Eat it before you get hit!
I decided not to argue and started eating, occasionally glancing at the riders.
No, whatever you say, this food could only be called that -
additional food. Certainly not the main thing! The sour cabbage soup made my cheekbones cramp.
For the main course I had oatmeal with a yellow puddle of melted butter, and
I haven’t liked oatmeal since pre-war times. It’s just the third that made me happy -
a glass of cold delicious milk. I finished the rye pink buckwheat with milk.
However, I ate everything - that’s how it was supposed to be, even if the food they give
not tasty. My grandmother and mother persistently taught me all my adult life
always eat everything without leaving a trace.
I finished eating alone, when both the pioneer and the boys left. The one who won
passing by, he gave me a painful click on my shorn head, so
I washed down not only a piece with milk rye bread, but also a bitter lump
resentment stuck in the throat.
Before this, however, there was one moment in which I really didn’t know anything.
I understood, having figured it all out only the next day, a whole day later.
Having defeated his opponent, the smooth guy rolled up a bread ball and placed it on
edge of the table and moved back a little. Raising their heads, the boys looked up, and
A sparrow flew straight onto the table, as if on a silent command. He grabbed
bread round and immediately cleaned up.
“He was lucky,” the champion said hoarsely.
- And how! - confirmed the loser.
The champion still had a crust of bread left.
- Leave? - he asked his friend.
- Jackals? - he was indignant. - Better give it to the sparrows!
The champion put down the crust, but the sparrow, which flew up right away, was unable to
Many writers turned to the theme of war, depicting the fate of people in difficult times. Likhanov also wrote a wonderful work, which he dedicated to the children of the war. Likhanov's story The Last Cold conveys deprivation and childish suffering, revealing to the reader the theme of children and war.
Studying the story The Last Cold in for reader's diary, will allow for a short time touch the past, the events that left an imprint in children's hearts. In his story, depicting the ordeals of wartime children, the author reflects real feelings and experiences, because he witnessed everything that happened. Let's start getting acquainted with summary works by Albert Likhanov and his work The Last Cold.
The narrator remembers school years and your teacher. Her name was Anna Nikolaevna. She was a wonderful woman who not only taught school subjects such as mathematics, geography, Russian, but also gave life lessons, presenting them unobtrusively, pronouncing them quietly, as if talking to herself.
From the story we learn the name of the hero. This is Kolya, who lives in the city. Even on the street war time, the father is at the front, the city itself is in the rear. This Last year war and radios constantly report another victory. Hunger reigns everywhere, and both adults and children experience it. The boy lives with his mother and grandmother, who try to protect the child from hardship, hunger and cold. Kolya goes to third grade and, like other children, he receives food stamps. Despite the fact that the family tried their best to make sure that their child did not experience need, Kolya still has a feeling of not being full.
The boy has to visit the eighth canteen, which seems to him like a heavenly place, but in reality everything was different. It was a large, cold hall filled with hungry children. Not everyone got coupons, so the children took turns to eat. They received bread and tasteless oatmeal. The food was joyless for the hero, but the other children devoured everything quickly and with appetite.
I finished my lunches and main character, because that’s what his mother taught him. Therefore, due to his upbringing, he tried to eat cold porridge. The boy himself grew up surrounded by care, but at school he also saw the fates of other children. It’s Likhanov’s story that helps us understand the severity of their fate. The children tried to finish everything and leave the crumbs for the birds so that they would not be left for the jackals.
Kolya often heard about jackals and the very next day he realized who they were. These were the children who did not receive coupons and came to the canteen to beg for food, or even steal. This is how the hero meets a brother and sister who are begging. But besides them, there is also a gang of evil children who only know how to mock and mock.
As Kolya was told, among the jackals there were those who took not only bread, but also porridge. This time it turned out that the boy to whom Kolya gave food also robbed the girl. A gang with a big-nosed leader decides to beat the thief, and when they catch up on the street, they begin to beat him. Defending himself, the boy grabs the main man by the neck and begins to choke him. The children run away, and Kolya approaches the injured thief, who has lost consciousness. The hero saves the boy by calling the cloakroom attendant. She treats the victim to tea. The boy says that he has not eaten anything for more than five days.
The boy turned out to have a name, and Vadim talks about his sister Marya, and that their father fought and died at the front. They were evacuated from Minsk, but found themselves without coupons because they had lost them. The mother, having fallen ill with typhus, is in the hospital, and the children, so that she does not become aware of their problems, write funny letters, where every word is a complete lie.
Kolya did not remain indifferent to the grief of the children. Vadim borrows a jacket from Kolya, as he decides to sell his expensive coat in order to feed himself until new coupons are distributed. Kolya agrees to give away his outerwear.
When Vadim was trying on the jacket, Kolya’s mother saw this picture and approached the children. From her son she learned about the troubles of children. She tries to help them by inviting them into the house, feeding them and putting them to bed. Then she called the school, reporting the terrible situation of the children, although they asked to keep their story secret.
The next day was marked by Kolya's truancy. He missed classes because he and Vadim went in search of food. As the walk showed, the new acquaintance already knew the hot spots well. On the way, Vadim talked about children who take away food at knifepoint.
The boys approached the communal apartment, which was allocated to the Rusakov family. Kolya had never seen such a wretched room. On this day he again shares his food with his friend. While they were eating, they saw Marya happily running to her brother. She said that they were being given new coupons, and a small amount of money had also been collected for them.
Vadim’s sister received lunch first, but before she could eat it, a jackal ran up to her with a blade and took the cutlet away. Vadka went to stand up for his sister, scaring the thief. He threw the cutlet and ran away. Now the bitten cutlet remained unnoticed, although only yesterday the children would have immediately finished it. It turns out that when the feeling of hunger leaves a person, he becomes different.
Coming out of the dining room, Vadim was attacked by the same jackal with a blade and damaged the guy’s coat, which he wanted to sell. This upsets Vadim.
The children separated. Vadka went to class, and Kolya and Marya, having written a letter, went to the barracks where the typhoid patients were. Dear Marya shared how shameful it was to steal and how shame changes over time, because hunger quickly kills all human principles.
Kolya learns in the evening from Marya and her brother that the teachers again gave him a bag of groceries, while Kolya’s mother did not admit that this was her doing. Later, Marya talked about her trip to the bathhouse, but her brother did not let her into the women’s section, because he was afraid that her sister would be scalded there and took her with him to the men’s bathhouse. Now my sister is ashamed to go to the bathhouse. And in the evening Kolya received a scolding from his mother, who learned about her son’s absenteeism. Despite the explanations, the mother was unforgiving and believed that the brother and sister were a bad influence on her child.
Next from brief retelling In the story The Last Cold, we learn that Kolya’s mother conveyed news to Vadim about the good condition of their mother. But on May 8, on the eve of Victory Day, the mother came upset. After collecting food, they go to visit the children. She behaves strangely there.
The next day the city celebrated a significant day. Teachers ask all children to remember what they experienced and carry these memories throughout their lives, passing on the memory to their grandchildren.
After the holiday, Kolya goes to Vadim and learns about their grief. Vadim's mother died of typhus. Now the strange behavior of his mother became clear. Now Kolya’s acquaintances will be taken to an orphanage. Our hero will meet his friend a couple more times, who will later inform him that their orphanage is moving to another city.
Kolya will go back to school in the fall, to the next grade. There will again be food coupons and again he will see a hungry boy with whom he will share his food.
Likhanov, The last cold weather summary
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