The sun is an old man and a girl is short. Grishchenko Olga (Tula region), "My impressions of the story" The sun, the old man and the girl
Days burned with white fire. The ground was hot, the trees were hot too.
The dry grass rustled underfoot. It only got cold in the evenings. And then an ancient old man came out on the banks of the swift Katun River, always sat down in one place - by the snag - and looked at the sun. The sun was setting behind the mountains. In the evening it was huge, red. The old man sat motionless. His hands lay on his knees, brown, dry, and terribly wrinkled. The face is also wrinkled, the eyes are moist and dull. The neck is thin, the head is small, gray-haired. Sharp shoulder blades stick out under a blue cotton shirt.
One day the old man, as he was sitting like this, heard a voice behind him:
- Hello, grandfather!
The old man nodded his head.
A girl sat next to him with a flat suitcase in her hands.
- Resting?
The old man nodded his head again. Said;
-- Resting.
Didn't look at the girl.
- May I write to you? the girl asked.
-- Like this? the old man did not understand.
- Draw you.
The old man was silent for a while, looking at the sun, blinking his reddish eyelids without eyelashes.
“I’m ugly now,” he said.
-- Why? The girl was a bit taken aback. - No, you are handsome.
grandfather.
- Also sick.
The girl looked at the old man for a long time. Then she stroked his dry, brown hand with a soft palm and said:
“You are very handsome, grandfather. Truth.
The old man chuckled weakly.
- Draw, if that's the case.
The girl opened her suitcase.
The old man coughed into his hand.
- Urban, perhaps? -- he asked.
- Urban.
- They pay, you see, for this?
- When, as a matter of fact, I'll do it well, they'll pay.
- You have to try.
-- I am doing my best.
They fell silent.
The old man kept looking at the sun. The girl drew, peering into the face of the old man from the side.
- Are you from here, grandfather?
- Local.
- And were born here?
- Here, here.
- How old are you now?
- Godkov something? Eighty.
-- Wow!
"A lot," agreed the old man, and again grinned weakly. -- And you?
-- Twenty five.
They were silent again.
- What a sun! exclaimed the old man softly.
-- Which? The girl didn't understand.
-- Big.
- Ah... Yes. It's actually beautiful here.
- And the water is over there, you see, what ... By the other shore ...
-- Yes Yes.
- Added a lot of blood.
-- Yes. The girl looked at the other side. -- Yes.
The sun touched the peaks of Altai and began to slowly sink into the distant blue world. And the deeper it went, the more clearly the mountains were drawn. They seemed to move forward. And in the valley - between the river and the mountains - a reddish twilight was quietly fading away. And a thoughtful soft shadow was approaching from the mountains. Then the sun completely disappeared behind the sharp ridge of Buburkhan, and immediately from there a swift fan of bright red rays flew out into the greenish sky. He did not last long - he also quietly faded away. And in the sky in that direction the dawn began to blaze.
“The sun is out,” the old man sighed.
The girl put the sheets in a drawer. For some time they sat just like that - listened to how they were babbling near the shore
small hurried waves Fog crept in large tufts in the valley. In the forest nearby, some night bird timidly cried out. They loudly responded to her from the shore, from the other side.
"Good," the old man said softly.
And the girl was thinking about how she would soon return to a distant sweet city, bring a lot of drawings. There will be a portrait of this old man. And her friend, a talented, real artist, will certainly be angry: "Again
wrinkles!.. Why? Everyone knows that Siberia has a harsh climate and people work hard there. What's next? What?.."
The girl knew that she was not God knows how gifted. But she thinks about what hard life lived this old man. Look at his hands... Wrinkles again! "We have to work, work, work..."
"Are you coming here tomorrow, grandfather?" she asked the old man.
"I'll come," he replied.
The girl got up and went to the village. The old man sat a little longer and also went.
He came home, sat down in his corner, near the stove, and sat quietly, waiting for his son to come home from work and sit down to supper.
The son always came tired, dissatisfied with everything. The daughter-in-law was also always dissatisfied with something. The grandchildren grew up and moved to the city. Without them, the house was dreary. They sat down to have dinner.
The old man was crumbled bread into milk, he sipped, sitting from the edge of the table. He cautiously clinked his spoon against his plate, trying not to make any noise. They were silent.
Then they went to bed. The old man climbed onto the stove, and the son and daughter-in-law went to the upper room. They were silent. Oh oh
what to say? All the words have long been said
The next evening the old man and the girl were again sitting on the shore, by the driftwood. The girl hastily drew, and the old man looked at the sun and said:
- We always lived well, it's a sin to complain. I was a carpenter, there was always enough work. And my sons are all carpenters. Many of them were beaten in the war - four. Two left. Well, now I live with one, with Stepan. And Vanka
lives in the city, in Biysk. Foreman on a new building. Writes; nothing, they live well. They came here and visited. I have many grandchildren who love me. All over the cities now ...
The girl painted the old man's hands, was in a hurry, was nervous, and often washed.
- Was it difficult to live? she asked casually.
- Why is it difficult? wondered the old man. - I'm telling you: they lived well.
- Do you feel sorry for your sons?
- And how? the old man wondered again. - Putting four of these is some kind of joke?
The girl did not understand: either she felt sorry for the old man, or she was more surprised by his strange calmness and tranquility.
And the sun was setting behind the mountains again. The dawn burned softly again.
“There will be bad weather tomorrow,” said the old man.
The girl looked up at the clear sky.
-- Why?
- Breaks me all.
- The sky is very clear.
The old man was silent.
- Will you come tomorrow, grandfather?
"I don't know," the old man answered slowly. - breaks something
- Grandfather, what is the name of such a stone? - The girl took out a white pebble with a golden tint from the pocket of her jacket.
-- Which? asked the old man, continuing to look at the mountains.
The girl handed him a stone. The old man held out his hand without turning around.
-- Such? he asked, glancing briefly at the pebble, and turned it over in his dry, twisted fingers. - It's cream. This was during the war, when there were no silverworts, fire was extracted from it.
The girl was struck by a strange guess: it seemed to her that the old man was blind. She did not immediately find something to talk about, was silent, looked sideways at the old man. And he looked to where the sun had set. Calmly, thoughtfully looked.
- On ... a pebble, - he said and handed the girl a stone. - They're not like that yet. There are: all white, already translucent, and inside there are some specks. And there are: a testicle and a testicle - you can’t tell. There are: on the magpie testicle
similar - with speckles on the sides, but there are, like starlings, - blue, also with a mountain ash like that.
The girl kept looking at the old man. She did not dare to ask if it was true that he was blind.
- Where do you live, grandfather?
- It's not that far away. This is Ivan Kolokolnikov's house, - the old man showed a house on the shore, - further - the Bedarevs, then - the Volokitins, then - the Zinovievs, and there, in the alley, - ours. Come in if you need anything. We had grandchildren, and we had a lot of fun.
-- Thanks.
-- I went. Breaks me.
The old man got up and walked up the path. The girl stared after him until he turned into an alley. Not once did the old man stumble, never hesitate. I walked slowly and looked
under your feet. "No, not blind," the girl realized. "Just poor eyesight."
The next day the old man did not come ashore. The girl was sitting alone, thought the little man, There was something in his life, so simple, so ordinary, something difficult, something big, significant. "The sun - it also just rises and
just coming in, thought the girl. “Isn’t it easy!” And she looked at her drawings intently. She was sad.
The old man did not come on the third day and on the fourth.
The girl went to look for his house.
Found. In the fence of a large five-walled house under an iron roof, in a corner, under a shed, a tall man of about fifty was planing a pine board on a workbench.
"Hello," said the girl.
The man straightened up, looked at the girl, ran his thumb over his sweaty forehead, nodded:
-- Great.
- Tell me, please, grandfather lives here ...
The man looked at the girl attentively and somehow strangely. She fell silent.
“He lived,” said the man. - I'm doing a domino for him.
The girl opened her mouth.
- He died, didn't he?
-- Died. - The man again leaned over the board, shuffled a couple of times with a planer, then looked at the girl. - What did you need?
- So ... I drew him,
- Ah. The man shuffled his planer sharply.
Tell me, was he blind? asked the girl after a long silence.
-- Blind.
-- And how long?
- It's been ten years. And what?
-- So...
The girl went out of the fence
On the street, she leaned against the wattle fence and cried. She felt sorry for her grandfather. And it was a pity that she could not tell about him. But now she felt somehow more deep meaning and secret human life and feat and, without knowing it herself, became much more mature.
F. Abramov "Yes, there is such a medicine"
“... Baba Manya got up. She got up, with difficulty reached the house and took to her bed: she developed bilateral pneumonia. Baba Manya did not get up from her bed for more than a month, and the doctors had no doubt that the old woman would die. There is no cure in the world to raise an old man from the dead. Yes, there is such a medicine! Starlings brought him to Baba Mana…”
Fedor Alexandrovich Abramov "Yes, there is such a medicine!"
Baba Manya's hut is a former bathhouse, the only building in the village that survived the war, it has a garden the size of a volleyball court, and there is only one birch tree, and even that one is disabled Patriotic War- like stumps, she raised a dry fork, chopped off by a shell, to the sky. But he loves, adores the bird people of Baba Manina's estate. The vociferous bully sparrows live on it from morning till night, white-sided magpies easily, as if on a swing, swing on a birch, crows, doves celebrate their weddings. And whose first song is sung by a handsome starling in spring? At Baba Mani's. On a disabled birch, to which she, on the day when she left the partisan forests together with her fellow countrymen, fitted a simple, hastily knocked together birdhouse.
The neighbors were amazed. They have starling houses - towers carved on poles. And with all the conveniences: here you have a notch with ingenious doors, here you have a shelf and a birch branch - sit down wherever you want and sing your songs.
But starlings do not rush into these towers. In the spring, they fight all day long for the women of Manin's wrecked house, and only after the final division did some loser settle in the towers.
“Baba Manya,” the neighbors asked, “tell us your bird word, with which you lure starlings to you.”
- Yes, what is my bird word? I don't know any bird words. Is it sometimes out of boredom that you go out and talk to them. That's all my bird word.
That spring, Baba Manya decided to renovate her birdhouse a little, and what good, the starlings will get angry - they will fly away to the neighbors. Every creature of God loves to be taken care of.
On a warm sunny day, she left the house, trodden a path in the snow to a disabled birch, then brought a ladder, put it against the tree trunk.
Baba Manya was old and decrepit. Somehow she got up on the first three crossbars, and then - her head was spinning - she fell into the snow.
For a while she lay unconscious in the snow, and then sparrows flew to the birch and let's shout all together:
- Get up, get up, Baba Manya! And then you'll catch a cold.
Baba Manya got up. She got up, with difficulty reached the house and took to her bed: she developed bilateral pneumonia.
Baba Manya did not get up from her bed for more than a month, and the doctors had no doubt that the old woman would die. There is no cure in the world to raise an old man from the dead.
Yes, there is such a medicine!
Starlings were brought to his grandmother Mana.
Once, early in the morning, Baba Manya came to her senses - and what is it? Who is knocking on all the windows of her miserable shack?
She lifted her old head from the pillow - and, my God: starlings! Her favorites. Knocking, pounding with yellow beaks in the frames, beating with blued wings on the glass:
- Get up, get up, Baba Manya! We bring you health.
Baba Manya, out of impotence, dropped her head on the pillow, wept:
“No, no, I can’t, guys. I can't get up, I can't meet you anymore.
- Yes, how not to meet! Who said you don't have the strength?
Baba Manya made an unimaginable effort on herself and got up. She couldn't die without seeing last time to your favorite bird.
Grabbing the walls, the doorposts with her hands, she crawled out into the street, into the warm sun, leaned on a light, whitened with age, like herself, batozhka and stood for a long time with her eyes closed, listening with pleasure to the spring song of the starlings.
From that day on, Baba Manya went on the mend.
Shukshin Vasily
Sun, old man and girl
Vasily Shukshin
Sun, old man and girl
Days burned with white fire. The ground was hot, the trees were hot too.
The dry grass rustled underfoot. It only got cold in the evenings. And then an ancient old man came out on the banks of the swift Katun River, always sat down in one place - by the driftwood - and looked at the sun. The sun was setting behind the mountains. In the evening it was huge, red. The old man sat motionless. His hands lay on his knees, brown, dry, and terribly wrinkled. The face is also wrinkled, the eyes are moist and dull. The neck is thin, the head is small, gray-haired. Sharp shoulder blades stick out under a blue cotton shirt.
One day the old man, as he was sitting like this, heard a voice behind him:
Hello grandpa!
The old man nodded his head.
A girl sat next to him with a flat suitcase in her hands.
Resting?
The old man nodded his head again. Said;
Resting.
Didn't look at the girl.
May I write to you? - asked the girl.
Like this? - the old man did not understand.
Draw you.
The old man was silent for a while, looking at the sun, blinking his reddish eyelids without eyelashes.
I'm ugly now, he said.
Why? - The girl was somewhat confused. - No, you are beautiful, grandfather.
In addition, sick.
The girl looked at the old man for a long time. Then she stroked his dry, brown hand with a soft palm and said:
You are very handsome, grandfather. Truth.
The old man chuckled weakly.
Draw, if that's the case.
The girl opened her suitcase.
The old man coughed into his hand.
Urban, maybe? - he asked.
Urban.
Apparently they pay for it?
When, as a matter of fact, I'll do it well, they'll pay.
We must try.
I am doing my best.
They fell silent.
The old man kept looking at the sun.
The girl drew, peering into the face of the old man from the side.
Are you from here, grandpa?
Local.
And were born here?
Here, here.
How old are you now?
Godkov something? Eighty.
A lot, - the old man agreed and again smiled weakly. - And you?
Twenty five.
They were silent again.
What a sun! the old man exclaimed softly.
Which? - did not understand the girl.
Big.
Ah... yes. It's actually beautiful here.
And the water is over there, you see, what a ... On the other side ...
They added a lot of blood.
Yes. - The girl looked at the other side. - Yes.
The sun touched the peaks of Altai and began to slowly sink into the distant blue world. And the deeper it went, the more clearly the mountains were drawn. They seemed to move forward. And in the valley, between the river and the mountains, the reddish twilight was quietly fading away. And a thoughtful soft shadow was approaching from the mountains. Then the sun completely disappeared behind the sharp ridge of Buburkhan, and immediately from there a swift fan of bright red rays flew out into the greenish sky. It did not last long - it also faded quietly. And in the sky in that direction the dawn began to blaze.
The sun is gone, the old man sighed.
The girl put the sheets in a drawer.
For some time they sat just like that - listened to the little hurried waves murmuring near the shore.
Fog crept into the valley in large patches.
In the forest nearby, some night bird timidly cried out. They loudly responded to her from the shore, from the other side.
Okay, the old man said softly.
And the girl was thinking about how she would soon return to a distant sweet city, bring a lot of drawings. There will be a portrait of this old man. And her friend, a talented, real artist, will certainly be angry: “Wrinkles again! .. And for what? Everyone knows that Siberia has a harsh climate and people work hard there. And what next? What? ..”
The girl knew that she was not God knows how gifted. But she thinks about what a difficult life this old man lived. Look at his hands... Wrinkles again! "We have to work, work, work..."
Are you coming here tomorrow, grandfather? she asked the old man.
I will, he replied.
The girl got up and went to the village.
The old man sat a little longer and also went.
He came home, sat down in his little corner, near the stove, and sat quietly, waiting for his son to come home from work and sit down to supper.
The son always came tired, dissatisfied with everything. The daughter-in-law was also always dissatisfied with something. The grandchildren grew up and moved to the city. Without them, the house was dreary. They sat down to have dinner.
The old man was crumbled bread into milk, he sipped, sitting from the edge of the table. Cautiously clinking a spoon on a plate - he tried not to make noise. They were silent.
Then they went to bed.
The old man climbed onto the stove, and the son and daughter-in-law went to the upper room. They were silent. What to talk about? All the words have long been said
The next evening the old man and the girl were again sitting on the shore, by the driftwood. The girl hastily drew, and the old man looked at the sun and said:
We always lived well, it's a sin to complain. I was a carpenter, there was always enough work. And my sons are all carpenters. Many four beat them in the war. Two left. Well, now I live with one, with Stepan. And Vanka lives in the city, in Biysk. Foreman on a new building. Writes; nothing, they live well. They came here and visited. I have many grandchildren, they love me. All over the cities now ...
The girl painted the old man's hands, was in a hurry, was nervous, and often washed.
Was it difficult to live? she asked casually.
Why is it difficult? - the old man was surprised. - I'm telling you: they lived well.
Feel sorry for the sons?
But how? - again the old man was surprised.
The girl did not understand: either she felt sorry for the old man, or she was more surprised by his strange calmness and tranquility.
And the sun was setting behind the mountains again. The dawn burned softly again.
There will be bad weather tomorrow, - said the old man.
The girl looked up at the clear sky.
Breaks me down.
And the sky is very clear.
The old man was silent.
Will you come tomorrow, grandfather?
I don’t know, - the old man did not immediately respond.
Grandpa, what is the name of such a stone? - The girl took out a white pebble with a golden tint from her jacket pocket.
Which? - asked the old man, continuing to look at the mountains.
The girl handed him a stone. The old man held out his hand without turning around.
Such? he asked, glancing briefly at the pebble, and turned it over in his dry, twisted fingers. This was during the war, when there were no silverworts, fire was extracted from it.
The girl was struck by a strange guess: it seemed to her that the old man was blind. She did not immediately find something to talk about, was silent, looked sideways at the old man. And he looked to where the sun had set. Calmly, thoughtfully looked.
On ... a pebble, - he said and handed the girl a stone. - They're not like that yet. There are: all white, already translucent, and inside there are some specks. And there are: a testicle and a testicle - you can’t tell. There are: it looks like a magpie testicle - with specks on the sides, and there are, like those of starlings, blue, also with a mountain ash with such.
The girl kept looking at the old man. She did not dare to ask if it was true that he was blind.
Where do you live, grandfather?
And it's not that far away. This is Ivan Kolokolnikov's house, - the old man showed the house on the shore, - further - the Bedarevs, then - the Volokitins, then the Zinovievs, and there, in the lane - ours. Come in if you need anything. We had grandchildren, and we had a lot of fun.
Thank you.
I went. Breaks me.
The old man got up and walked up the path.
The girl stared after him until he turned into an alley. Not once did the old man stumble, never hesitate. He walked slowly and looked at his feet. "No, not blind," the girl realized. "Just poor eyesight."
The next day the old man did not come ashore. The girl sat alone, thinking about the old man, There was something in his life, so simple, so ordinary, something difficult, something big, significant. "The sun - it also just rises and just sets," the girl thought. "Isn't that easy!" And she stared at her drawings. She was sad.
The old man did not come on the third day and on the fourth.
The girl went to look for his house.
In the fence of a large five-walled house under an iron roof, in a corner, under a shed, a tall man of about fifty was planing a pine board on a workbench.
Hello, said the girl.
The man straightened up, looked at the girl, ran his thumb over his sweaty forehead, nodded:
Great.
Please tell me, grandfather lives here...
The man looked at the girl attentively and somehow strangely. She fell silent.
Lived, - said the man. - Here I am doing a domino for him.
The girl opened her mouth.
He died, right?
Pomer.- The man again bent to the board, shuffled a couple of times with a planer, then looked at the girl.- And what did you need?
So... I drew him
A-a.- The peasant shuffled sharply with a planer.
Tell me, was he blind? the girl asked after a long silence.
And how long?
It's been ten years. And what?
The girl went out of the fence
On the street, she leaned against the wattle fence and cried. She felt sorry for her grandfather. And it was a pity that she could not tell about him. But now she felt some deeper meaning and mystery of human life and feat, and, without realizing it herself, she became much more mature.
- 1. "The sun, the old man and the girl" Completed: Grishchenko Olga Alexandrovna 2015
- 2. Annotation This story will not leave the reader indifferent. The feelings of the characters are conveyed through short dialogues, which makes the reader feel the emotions of the characters more acutely. At first glance, the plot is simple: the girl notices an old man who admires the sunset. She wants to draw a stranger, fascinated by his appearance. An ordinary conversation is tied up between the characters. For several days, the characters meet on the banks of the river, admire the sunset, talk about life. Through short remarks, the old man shares the story of his life with the girl, thus revealing his worldview. The heroine is amazed by him life position. Gradually, the views of an elderly man affect the girl. For several evenings in a row, the old man does not come to the appointed place, and the heroine decides to find out the reason for his absence. Finding the old man's house, she learns that the man has died. The girl mourns the deceased as a native, since their communication was dear to her. Unfortunately, like any work that is capacious in content and rich in empirical coloring, it is difficult to convey the essence of this story in an annotation.
- 3. characteristics of the characters: Sun To explain my choice, I need to reveal in more detail the image of each hero of the story. The sun in the story is an integral part of the old man's life. He finds spiritual peace in the beauty of the sunset. The old man is blind, but this does not prevent him from admiring the sun. He feels more than he sees the surrounding beauty of nature. Perhaps the hero has been spending evenings in his favorite place for many years, watching the sunset, so his memory revives in his imagination the image of a fading daylight. For the old man, the sunset is the end of another, perhaps last day his life. For a girl, on the contrary, the change of day and night means something new: her life path is just beginning. "There was something about him.<старика>life, so simple, so ordinary, something difficult, something big, significant. "The sun - it also just rises and just sets," the girl thought. "Isn't that easy!" » quote from text
- 4. characteristics of the characters: The old man The central image of the story is the old man. This character is revealed thanks to other participants in the story, thus uniting them. The old man is a link in the chain of images. This character carries the main semantic load. It is impossible to convey in words the importance of this hero. He is a hard worker who steadfastly takes the blows of fate. Such people at that time guaranteed spiritual growth and a rich heritage for our country. This character is an example for today's youth.
- 5. “- We always lived well, it’s a sin to complain. I was a carpenter, there was always enough work. And my sons are all carpenters. Many of them were beaten in the war - four. Two left.<…>I have many grandchildren who love me. Everything is now in the cities ... The girl painted the old man's hands, was in a hurry, was nervous, often washed. - Was it difficult to live? she asked casually. - Why is it difficult? - the old man was surprised. - I'm telling you: they lived well. - Do you feel sorry for your sons? - And how? the old man wondered again. - Putting four of these is some kind of joke? The girl did not understand: either she felt sorry for the old man, or she was more surprised by his strange calmness and tranquility. And the sun was setting behind the mountains again. Again the dawn burned quietly.
- 6. characteristics of the characters: Girl This character is necessary for the narrative as an antithesis to the image of the old man. The girl is young and not yet weighed down by bitter life experience. But at the same time, she differs from her peers: she sees the beauty of old age, respects an elderly man for his merits and fortitude, and is not without compassion. “The girl went out of the fence. On the street, she leaned against the wattle fence and cried. She felt sorry for her grandfather. And it was a pity that she could not tell about him. But now she felt some deeper meaning and mystery of human life and feat, and, without realizing it herself, she became much more mature.
- 7. My attitude to the work The work of Vasily Shukshin is a golden collection of the life and customs of the author's contemporaries. All the realities of that time were reflected in his works: whether it was the restoration of life after the war or conflicts between fathers and children, difficult situations and everyday life. Heroes of Shukshin - simple people with an interesting fate and an inner core. This story moved me to tears. The depth of its meaning is enormous, however, the language of the work is simple. It is difficult to explain what exactly permeates this short story: the genuine feelings that it evokes are difficult to describe. This is patriotism, and respect for elders, and admiration for nature, and the human soul, incomprehensible to the mind.
- 8. Reasons for choosing Many of Shukshin's works contain a particle of the mysterious Russian soul. But this story is different in that the main characters do not have a name - they are not named in any way by the author. This gives the work an infinity: such a meeting could happen with anyone, in any corner of our Motherland. From this, the characters of the story become closer and dearer to the reader. I read this story several times, and after each reading it ached in my chest. It seems to me that this work should be included in school curriculum to teach children to love nature, respect elders, appreciate life and every moment of it.
Days burned with white fire. The ground was hot, the trees were hot too.
The dry grass rustled underfoot. It only got cold in the evenings. And then an ancient old man came out on the banks of the swift Katun River, always sat down in one place - by the driftwood - and looked at the sun. The sun was setting behind the mountains. In the evening it was huge, red. The old man sat motionless. His hands lay on his knees, brown, dry, and terribly wrinkled. The face is also wrinkled, the eyes are moist and dull. The neck is thin, the head is small, gray-haired. Sharp shoulder blades stick out under a blue cotton shirt.
One day the old man, as he was sitting like this, heard a voice behind him:
Hello grandpa!
The old man nodded his head.
A girl sat next to him with a flat suitcase in her hands.
Resting?
The old man nodded his head again. Said:
Resting.
Didn't look at the girl.
May I write to you? - asked the girl.
Like this? - the old man did not understand.
Draw you.
The old man was silent for a while, looking at the sun, blinking his reddish eyelids without eyelashes.
I'm ugly now, he said.
Why? - The girl was somewhat confused. - No, you are handsome, grandfather.
In addition, sick.
The girl looked at the old man for a long time. Then she stroked his dry, brown hand with a soft palm and said:
You are very handsome, grandfather. Truth.
The old man chuckled weakly.
Draw, if that's the case.
The girl opened her suitcase.
The old man coughed into his hand.
Urban, maybe? - he asked.
Urban.
Apparently they pay for it?
When, as a matter of fact, I'll do it well, they'll pay.
We must try.
I am doing my best.
They fell silent.
The old man kept looking at the sun.
The girl drew, peering into the face of the old man from the side.
Are you from here, grandpa?
Local.
And were born here?
Here, here.
How old are you now?
Godkov something? Eighty.
A lot, - agreed the old man and again weakly smiled. - And you?
Twenty five.
They were silent again.
What a sun! the old man exclaimed softly.
Which? - did not understand the girl.
Big.
Ah... yes. It's actually beautiful here.
And the water is out, you see, what ... On the other side ...
They added a lot of blood.
Yes. The girl looked at the other side. - Yes.
The sun touched the peaks of Altai and began to slowly sink into the distant blue world. And the deeper it went, the more clearly the mountains were drawn. They seemed to move forward. And in the valley - between the river and the mountains - the reddish dusk was quietly fading away. And a thoughtful soft shadow was approaching from the mountains. Then the sun completely disappeared behind the sharp ridge of Buburkhan, and immediately from there a swift fan of bright red rays flew out into the greenish sky. It did not last long - it also faded quietly. And in the sky in that direction the dawn began to blaze.
The sun is gone, the old man sighed.
The girl put the sheets in a drawer.
For some time they sat just like that - listened to the little hurried waves murmuring near the shore.
Fog crept into the valley in large patches.
In the forest nearby, some night bird timidly cried out. They loudly responded to her from the shore, from the other side.
Okay, the old man said softly.
And the girl was thinking about how she would soon return to a distant sweet city, bring a lot of drawings. There will be a portrait of this old man. And her friend, a talented, real artist, will certainly be angry: “Wrinkles again! .. And for what? Everyone knows that Siberia has a harsh climate and people work hard there. What's next? What?.."
The girl knew that she was not God knows how gifted. But she thinks about what a difficult life this old man lived. Look at his hands ... Again wrinkles! “We have to work, work, work…”
Are you coming here tomorrow, grandfather? she asked the old man.
I will, he replied.
The girl got up and went to the village.
The old man sat a little longer and also went.
He came home, sat down in his corner, near the stove, and sat quietly - waiting for his son to come home from work and sit down for dinner.
The son always came tired, dissatisfied with everything. The daughter-in-law was also always dissatisfied with something. The grandchildren grew up and moved to the city. Without them, the house was dreary. They sat down to have dinner.
The old man was crumbled bread into milk, he sipped, sitting from the edge of the table. Cautiously clinking a spoon on a plate - he tried not to make noise. They were silent.
Then they went to bed.
The old man climbed onto the stove, and the son and daughter-in-law went to the upper room. They were silent. What to talk about? All words have long been said.
The next evening the old man and the girl were again sitting on the shore, by the driftwood. The girl hastily drew, and the old man looked at the sun and said:
We always lived well, it's a sin to complain. I was a carpenter, there was always enough work. And my sons are all carpenters. Many of them were beaten in the war - four. Two left. Well, now I live with one, with Stepan. And Vanka lives in the city, in Biysk. Foreman on a new building. Writes; nothing, they live well. They came here and visited. I have many grandchildren who love me. All over the cities now ...
The girl painted the old man's hands, was in a hurry, was nervous, and often washed.
Was it difficult to live? she asked casually.
Why is it difficult? - the old man was surprised. - I'm telling you: they lived well.
Feel sorry for the sons?
But how? the old man wondered again. - Putting four of these is some kind of joke?
The girl did not understand: either she felt sorry for the old man, or she was more surprised by his strange calmness and tranquility.
And the sun was setting behind the mountains again. The dawn burned softly again.
There will be bad weather tomorrow, - said the old man.
The girl looked up at the clear sky.
Breaks me down.
And the sky is very clear.
The old man was silent.
Will you come tomorrow, grandfather?
I don't know, the old man didn't answer right away. - Breaks something.
Grandpa, what is the name of such a stone? - The girl took out a white pebble with a golden tint from her jacket pocket.
Which? - asked the old man, continuing to look at the mountains.
The girl handed him a stone. The old man held out his hand without turning around.
Such? he asked, glancing briefly at the pebble, and turned it over in his dry, twisted fingers. - It's cream. This was during the war, when there were no silverworts, fire was extracted from it.
One hot summer, an old man from a neighboring village began to come out to the bank of the Katun River. He always sat down in one place - by the snag - and looked at the sun. He sat motionless, his dry, horribly wrinkled hands on his knees, his dull eyes fixed on the distance.
One day a young voice greeted him. An artist girl from the city was walking by, saw a picturesque old man and asked permission to paint his portrait. The old man was confused at first, but grinned and allowed. He somehow looked strangely into the distance, then said: “What a big sun! And they added it like blood to the water near the shore. Everything around looked really beautiful.
By evening the sun had set. A cool fog crept over the valley. "Good!" said the old man. It was getting dark, and he and the girl parted ways to meet tomorrow to draw again.
The next day, the artist got into a conversation with the old man. He said that he was already 80 years old. He worked as a carpenter. Four sons were killed in the war. Two are left. With one of these two, Stepan, he now lives in the countryside. The old man spoke about the death of his four sons with some kind of calm tranquility, which greatly surprised the girl.
The sun was setting behind Altai again. “There will be bad weather tomorrow,” said the old man. - Breaks me all. I don't know if I'll come tomorrow." Taking out of her pocket a beautiful pebble picked up somewhere, the girl asked the old man what it was called. The old man extended his hand without turning around. He determined by touch that the girl had given him a flint, and began to describe other stones of different colors found in these places. And the girl was suddenly struck by a strange guess: it seemed to her that the old man was blind.
The next day he did not come to the shore. Remembering how thoughtfully and sincerely the old man admired the sun, the girl kept trying to guess whether he was sighted or not. He did not come on the third day, and on the fourth. The artist went to the village to try to find him.
She found the old man's house. In the yard, a man of about fifty was planing a pine board on a workbench. The artist asked if grandfather lives here. “I lived,” the man said. - I'm making a coffin for him. He died".
The girl opened her mouth. She asked if the old man was blind. The man replied that yes - he had been blind for ten years ...
Moving away from the house, the girl leaned against the wattle fence and began to cry. She felt sorry for her grandfather. It was a pity that, without finishing the portrait, she could not tell about it. But this incident revealed to her the meaning and mystery of human life. Without noticing it herself, the girl became much older.
Ludmila Zykina. Dedication to Shukshin