Korotkov gray-haired read the summary. Literary magazine
The famous prose writer and screenwriter Yuri Korotkov is the author of the popular stories "Azaria", "Willis", "Aboriginal", "Wild Love". The children of the 1st grade and I turned to Yu. Korotkov's story "Grey", published in the magazine "We" (No. 7, 1993), quite by accident.
Having familiarized ourselves with the approximate topics of graduation essays, we decided to try our hand, in particular, in reviewing the materials of Literaturnaya Gazeta and youth magazines. They borrowed magazines from the library. Youth", "The same age", "We". And those who worked with the magazine "We" opened for us the story of Y. Korotkov "Grey". They all read it with great interest.
In order for the lesson to take the form of a dispute, preliminary work was needed: to achieve mandatory knowledge of the text by each student, to prepare questions. Questions in a strong class can be brought immediately to the lesson, in a weak one - hang out in advance:
1. What and who is this story about?
2. What is right and wrong is the main character of the story Oleg Petukhov-Ivanov:
from the 1st orphanage;
b) in the army;
v) in the house (relationship with sister, attitude to mother, to friends)?
3. What does the educator accuse Oleg of? orphanage Akakic? Do you agree with him? And how does the hero of the story understand this?
4. Who is right and which side are you on? (Work on the passage on "not resisting evil with violence".)
5. Has the character changed by the end of the story, and in what direction?
6. What do you consider the most important thing for you in this story? Your personal attitude to the hero and the events described in the story.
The lesson went well. The conversation turned out to be great, heated debate flared up around many of the details described in the story.
What is this story about? Why did she excite me?
I think because it is about us, about our time, about a guy who is a little older than us, about his difficult childhood and, finally, about serving in the army, where hazing reigns, breaking the fate of young people. And yet, in the words of the hero of the story, that "... the main thing is to save your soul, not to brutalize ... As long as your soul has not become embittered, it means that evil has not yet won ..."
And how not to become embittered, how not to let evil into your soul when there is evil around you? Evil from childhood... When a mother sends her two children to an orphanage in order to arrange her life, to get married. This little boy Oleg Petukhov cannot understand in any way: "It's not true! You're lying, she's back, she's going to look for me. I'll tell her everything about you, everything, she'll show you!"
It's incredible, how can you not be angry at the whole world little man. Humiliated, offended, beaten by classmates who forced him to play the role of "six": clean shoes, make the bed, carry five briefcases, decide for them test papers, and to learn "... it's getting worse and worse, from a deuce to a triple" to learn. This, in my opinion, is beyond human vulture.
Yes, no matter how hard and insulting it was, Oleg almost resigned himself to his position, almost gave up ("Don't, Sereg ... This is how we are ... I'm not offended ...")
In my opinion, this "almost" is some kind of hope that his mother will come for him and his sister, that she will find him. After another unsuccessful escape to the mother, "... the gray strand in the hair became wider, captured the forelock and temple", "the eyes looked calm and despondent." There was some kind of fracture in Oleg's soul. He resists, fights, fights for his freedom, independence, for the honor of his sister Belka: "I'll kill! I'll kill everyone!".
Oleg is right that he starts to fight, but (this is exactly what I see main idea author) he is deeply wrong in that he turned away, did not help the one in trouble, lives on his own, for himself ...
Yes, this idea is emphasized twice in the story: the first time in the orphanage, and then in the army, when Oleg "... washed the pipes", when Sergeant Liukin sends the soldier Chebotar to the barracks for his "demobilization" album in a snowstorm, and Chebotar dies. And Oleg turns away: "I would not go." Again, only for myself.
And he is very cruel to his mother. Can't forgive her orphanage.
(There are disputes, polar opinions, and it is important for the teacher to draw a conclusion himself.)
Completely agree with Akaki. You can't be like Oleg.
Well, why didn't this adult man, clever Akakich, come to Oleg and others to help?
Is it possible to help children in this situation at all? Protect them from the "elephants" in the orphanage? From "grandfathers" in the army? Maybe you really need to fight for yourself?
In my opinion, Alexander, the "marshal's son", who left the university, played a big role in the fate of Oleg, because "daddy" "shoved" him there.
(It's appropriate here. expressive reading excerpts from the story: from "Gophers will be brought soon" to "I plowed mine, I'll get mine!" p. 68, from "Listen, Oleg ..." to "You are more to blame than this half-wit Liukin .;." pp. 82, from "Not resisting evil..." to "This is such a tale" pp. 79-80.)
The teacher, listening to the opinion of the children, helps to understand the behavior of the characters, to see their position in life, is there a “pivot inside” and what is it like, is it rotten. Is it possible to justify or condemn Oleg? It is appropriate to recall the biblical one: "Judge not, lest you be judged."
Let's go back to the text. They read the hero’s answer to this question and decided to write it down in their notebooks: “No matter what happens, no matter how painful it is, just don’t let evil into your soul. Even if it conquers the whole world, as long as your soul exists, where do they go no, evil has not yet won!"
Apparently, the death of Alexander, his conversations with Oleg did their job, and, I think, the hero changed in better side, realized he was wrong, because at the end of the story the author sends him to the grave of his mother, whom he had once abandoned.
We must remain human, that is, we need to look at ourselves through the eyes of Alexander (another hero of the story) and decide: if there is something from Opeg in us, then it is better to try to get rid of it faster, because sooner or later everyone will do it. So it's better - earlier.
Maybe I've given the approximate answers of the guys in too much detail, but I got great satisfaction from this lesson. And, as a result, a student of my class at the final exam, choosing the topic "My favorite magazine", showed an excellent experience of reviewing the magazine "We" and independently analyzed Yu. Korotkov's story "Grey". It was the work of a contender for a medal. She took a risk.
Clara GAYSINA
Ivanov squeezed his way along the narrow aisle of the reserved seat car, glanced at the ticket and at the seat he had taken. Grandmother, sitting on a neatly straightened bed, smiled guiltily:
Excuse me, son, I already ordered it myself. It's hard for me to go upstairs.
Ivanov silently threw the duffel bag on the top shelf and sat down, pushing back the edge of Grandma's bed. Another fellow traveler, a flabby fat man in an open shirt that got wet under the armpits, caught his eye and smiled readily. This one, apparently, was one of those lovers of road talk and was happy about a new person.
Served? he asked cheerfully.
Interesting?
The fat man did not expect a harsh tone, became embarrassed and said:
Yours are going there, - the grandmother nodded at the partition.
Who are ours? Ivanov did not understand.
Dismissed. Drink all the way. Will you drink too?
I won't.
The lights outside the window swayed and immediately disappeared. The train picked up speed, trembling at the junctions of the track. Grandmother, squinting blindly, looked at Ivanov point-blank.
I don’t understand something ... How old are you, son?
Twenty.
Why are you all gray?
Ivanov got up and went to the vestibule. He smoked in the vestibule on the lid of the dustbin, put his palms to the dusty glass, trying to see what was outside the window - there was night, impenetrable darkness, movement in the dark, - clapped behind opened door toilet, he went into the toilet, threw a cigarette butt, glanced briefly in the mirror ... He leaned against the sink and began to study his face with calm surprise - with sharp cheekbones that sank like a dead man's cheeks, deep wrinkles at the corners of his mouth, feverishly shining, in a painful blue eyes.
When he returned to his compartment, the neighbors were asleep. He climbed onto the top bunk and lay down on top of the blanket, his hands behind his head.
Demobilized people were walking behind a thin partition, glasses were clinking there, a detuned guitar was strumming.
And I say: wash the ceiling with soap and report! So I say: with soap and report ...
No, listen, but we have ...
Deadline, I say, twenty minutes - the time has gone!
Listen, a young man comes to us with a "float" ...
Wow! Ceiling! Ha ha ha!
Well, listen guys! With a "float", after the institute comes a young ...
And I say: you, green salabon, are you still going to swing the rights?
Ha ha ha! Soap ceiling!
Ivanov jumped off the shelf and stepped into the next compartment. Four steamed demiliers crowded around the table, two schoolgirls sat closer to the aisle, ruddy from half a glass of port wine, goggling enthusiastic eyes. A broad-shouldered guy with a tattoo under his rolled up sleeve was talking about the ceiling.
Listen! - Quietly, through his teeth said Ivanov. - At the expense of "one" - take a deep breath. On the count of "two" - shut up!
What you said?
You heard what I said. I wouldn’t yell at every corner that the bastard - maybe they won’t notice!
What is it, he fell off the bolt?
Guys, wait, guys, - the bespectacled man fussed, who started everything about the young man with the “float”. We are really loud.
No, you heard - he's a scumbag? - the guy with the tattoo tried to get up.
True, let's be quiet, guys, - the bespectacled man yearned. - From the train to the commandant's office ...
Ivanov was waiting for the one with the tattoo to get out from behind the table in order to dump him at the feet of the others. The girls were very disturbing, out of the corner of his eye he saw their frightened faces.
Everything is fine, fellow countryman, we are quiet, - the bespectacled man, splashing over the edge, hastily poured a glass and handed it to Ivanov.
He grabbed it to splash in the face. He put it on the table, returned to his room and lay down, turning to the wall. Behind the partition muttered in a low voice:
What did he get upset about? Mad, right?
Let's go, Tanya.
Where are you girls. It's too early.
No, we'll go, thanks.
The whole buzz is broken.
Why were you holding me? Would have broken in, and calmed down.
Yes, well, him. Have you seen his eyes? Exactly - shifted ...
Ivanov tossed and turned, knocking over the blanket, toiled, floated in the hot, stifling air. I could not stand it, again took out a crumpled pack of "Astra", went to smoke. In the vestibule were demobilized - all four. They turned around at once, froze, apparently expecting him to retreat or begin to explain himself, but Ivanov silently squeezed his way to the window, lit a cigarette, looking through the dusty glass at the four behind him. They were whispering from behind, the bespectacled man was desperately waving his hand: come on, don't get involved.
Hey, fellow countryman, - called the broad-shouldered.
Ivanov turned sharply, resting his eyes on him with a cold, heavy look. There was a pause for a moment, a silent scene - one word, and a fight would have begun.
Okay, live for now, - the broad-shouldered man muttered, threw away his cigarette and went into the car. The rest followed.
Ivanov squeezed his way along the narrow aisle of the reserved seat car, glanced at the ticket and at the seat he had taken. Grandmother, sitting on a neatly straightened one. Yuri Korotkov - Dancing ghosts. To most fully reveal the content of books about the Afghan war. Everything about the book: ratings, reviews, publications, translations, where to buy, download and read. Korotkov Yuri Marksovich. Born June 10, 1955. Screenwriter, director, actor. Graduated Literary Institute them. Yuri Korotkov became famous as a screenwriter; based on the works of which the well-deserved popular films "Accident & nbsp.
Filmography, photo, Interesting Facts from life and much more at KinoPoisk. Full list films and collaborations with . Reflecting on this problem, I recall the story of Yuri Korotkov "Grey". Main character For many years, Oleg held a grudge against his own mother for the fact that she handed over her children to an orphanage. Summary "Cliff" by Ivan Goncharov.
One of the bandits - Shura Volkov - was once Victoria's lover.
Action / Adventure Directed by David Jackson / David Jackson / A primitive action movie with a hackneyed plot move about mixed suitcases at the airport. One handsome guy goes on vacation with his family, and the other, a mafia courier, is carrying drugs for 2. There is an accidental exchange of suitcases.
And the handsome guy turns out to be a former commando, and, of course, the gangsters kidnap his son. Further, everything goes along the knurled rails.
All filmed in Italy. Volkodav, Russia, 2. Science Fiction / Fantasy Producer: Ruben Dishdishyan.
Summary: Based on the novel by Maria Semenova. The last man from the tribe of Gray Dogs became a mighty warrior who calls himself the Wolfhound. Having escaped death in the underground mines, the Wolfhound sets out on a journey accompanied by his companion, the Non-Flying Mouse. The wolfhound is obsessed with the desire to punish the Ogre, who destroyed the village of the Gray Dogs. Having reached the castle of the sworn enemy, the Wolfhound brutally cracks down on the Cannibal.
There, he frees two captives, the sage Tilorn and the slave Niilith. Together with them, the Wolfhound ends up in the city of Galirad, which is experiencing troubled times. Kness Galirada, seeking to save the city from ruin, marries his daughter Elen to the young warrior Vinitar, who promises protection to Galirad.
The young princess has a long journey to the land of her future husband. She asks Wolfhound to be her bodyguard on a dangerous journey. Agreeing to serve the Knesinka, the Wolfhound finds himself drawn into a whirlpool of mysterious events that shed light on the true purpose of the trip. I won't give you a machine gun.
Ivanov squeezed his way along the narrow aisle of the reserved seat car, glanced at the ticket and at the seat he had taken. Grandmother, sitting on a neatly straightened bed, smiled guiltily:
Excuse me, son, I already ordered it myself. It's hard for me to go upstairs.
Ivanov silently threw the duffel bag on the top shelf and sat down, pushing back the edge of Grandma's bed. Another fellow traveler, a flabby fat man in an open shirt that got wet under the armpits, caught his eye and smiled readily. This one, apparently, was one of those lovers of road talk and was happy about a new person.
Served? he asked cheerfully.
Interesting?
The fat man did not expect a harsh tone, became embarrassed and said:
Yours are going there, - the grandmother nodded at the partition.
Who are ours? Ivanov did not understand.
Dismissed. Drink all the way. Will you drink too?
I won't.
The lights outside the window swayed and immediately disappeared. The train picked up speed, trembling at the junctions of the track. Grandmother, squinting blindly, looked at Ivanov point-blank.
I don’t understand something ... How old are you, son?
Twenty.
Why are you all gray?
Ivanov got up and went to the vestibule. He smoked in the vestibule on the lid of the dustbin, put his palms to the dusty glass, trying to see what was outside the window - it was night there, impenetrable darkness, movement in the dark - the open toilet door slammed behind him, he went into the toilet, threw a cigarette butt, glanced in the mirror ... He leaned against the sink and began to study his face with calm surprise - with sharp cheekbones, sagging cheeks like those of a dead man, deep wrinkles at the corners of the mouth, feverishly shining eyes in a painful blue.
When he returned to his compartment, the neighbors were asleep. He climbed onto the top bunk and lay down on top of the blanket, his hands behind his head.
Demobilized people were walking behind a thin partition, glasses were clinking there, a detuned guitar was strumming.
And I say: wash the ceiling with soap and report! So I say: with soap and report ...
No, listen, but we have ...
Deadline, I say, twenty minutes - the time has gone!
Listen, a young man comes to us with a "float" ...
Wow! Ceiling! Ha ha ha!
Well, listen guys! With a "float", after the institute comes a young ...
And I say: you, green salabon, are you still going to swing the rights?
Ha ha ha! Soap ceiling!
Ivanov jumped off the shelf and stepped into the next compartment. Four steamed demiliers crowded around the table, two schoolgirls sat closer to the aisle, ruddy from half a glass of port wine, goggling enthusiastic eyes. A broad-shouldered guy with a tattoo under his rolled up sleeve was talking about the ceiling.
Listen! - Quietly, through his teeth said Ivanov. - At the expense of "one" - take a deep breath. On the count of "two" - shut up!
What you said?
You heard what I said. I wouldn’t yell at every corner that the bastard - maybe they won’t notice!
What is it, he fell off the bolt?
Guys, wait, guys, - the bespectacled man fussed, who started everything about the young man with the “float”. We are really loud.
No, you heard - he's a scumbag? - the guy with the tattoo tried to get up.
True, let's be quiet, guys, - the bespectacled man yearned. - From the train to the commandant's office ...
Ivanov was waiting for the one with the tattoo to get out from behind the table in order to dump him at the feet of the others. The girls were very disturbing, out of the corner of his eye he saw their frightened faces.
Everything is fine, fellow countryman, we are quiet, - the bespectacled man, splashing over the edge, hastily poured a glass and handed it to Ivanov.
He grabbed it to splash in the face. He put it on the table, returned to his room and lay down, turning to the wall. Behind the partition muttered in a low voice:
What did he get upset about? Mad, right?
Let's go, Tanya.
Where are you girls. It's too early.
No, we'll go, thanks.
The whole buzz is broken.
Why were you holding me? Would have broken in, and calmed down.
Yes, well, him. Have you seen his eyes? Exactly - shifted ...
Ivanov tossed and turned, knocking over the blanket, toiled, floated in the hot, stifling air. I could not stand it, again took out a crumpled pack of "Astra", went to smoke. In the vestibule were demobilized - all four. They turned around at once, froze, apparently expecting him to retreat or begin to explain himself, but Ivanov silently squeezed his way to the window, lit a cigarette, looking through the dusty glass at the four behind him. They were whispering from behind, the bespectacled man was desperately waving his hand: come on, don't get involved.
Hey, fellow countryman, - called the broad-shouldered.
Ivanov turned sharply, resting his eyes on him with a cold, heavy look. There was a pause for a moment, a silent scene - one word, and a fight would have begun.
Okay, live for now, - the broad-shouldered man muttered, threw away his cigarette and went into the car. The rest followed.
Ivanov pulled down the window, exposed his face to the cold, dense wind.
And again he lay with his head buried in the pillow, his head in his hands. The car swayed, as if walking along an embankment ...
... steps were approaching, someone scratched at the door.
Who's there? - joyfully sang the mother. She glanced quickly in the mirror, adjusted her new elegant dress.
It's me - a terrible wolf!
Olezhka, a plump-cheeked boy with a small gray strand in a forelock, stared frightened at the door.
I'm going! I came! - the door swung open, a man in a cardboard wolf mask growled and moved towards Olezhka, holding out his hands with twisted fingers.
Olezhka, numb with horror, pressed his back against the wall.
Alla, the older sister, pushed the peasant away, shielding her brother with her back.
Well, that's enough, that's enough ... - the mother said with an indecisive smile.
The man chuckled under the mask.
A healthy kid is afraid of a wolf! Let him grow up as a man! Woo! He held out his hands again. Olezhka closed his eyes, desperately fighting off the paws of the wolves...
... the conductor shook him by the shoulder for the last time:
Sleep at home, soldier!
They were already standing in the aisle with their suitcases, outside the window in the gray morning light houses were floating.
Ivanov stepped onto the platform and moved in the crowd towards the station, giving way to porters with rumbling iron carts.
He walked at random along the Arbat lanes, which were not yet awake, gray and not crowded. At the entrances, with two wheels on the sidewalk, stood a line of cars. Breathing noisily, a wiry old man in red sports shorts and a cap with a long visor ran past.
Ivanov rang for a long time at the door in the old dark staircase with steep spans. Finally, light footsteps were heard in the apartment.
Who's there?
The door slightly opened on a chain, Alla stood barefoot, holding a dressing gown on her chest.
You don't know, do you?
Olezhka! You?
Can you login?
Returned! - Alla opened the door, grabbed him by the neck. Why didn't you send a telegram?
While all the people jumped from one service to another, Varfolomey Korotkov, a gentle, quiet blond, firmly served in the Glavtsentrbazspimat (Spimat for short) as a clerk and served in it for 11 whole months.
On September 20, 1921, the cashier Spimat covered himself with his nasty eared hat, grabbed his briefcase and left. He returned completely wet, put his hat on the table, and put his briefcase on top of the hat. Then he left the room and returned a quarter of an hour later with a large chicken. He put the chicken on the briefcase, on the chicken - his right hand and said: “There will be no money. And do not fit in, gentlemen, otherwise you, comrades, will overturn the table for me. Then he covered himself with a hat, waved a chicken and disappeared through the door.
Three days later, the salary was still issued. Korotkov received 4 large packs, 5 small and 13 boxes of Spimat's "products", and, having packed the "salary" in a newspaper, he left for home, and at the entrance of Spimat he almost got hit by a car in which someone drove up, but who exactly, Korotkov did not see.
At home, he laid the matches on the table: “We will try to sell them,” he said with a stupid smile and knocked on the door of his neighbor, Alexandra Fedorovna, who works in the Gubvinsklad. The neighbor was squatting in front of a row of bottles of church wine, her face was tearful. “And we get matches,” said Korotkov. “But they don’t burn!” cried Alexandra Fyodorovna. "How is it that they don't burn?" Korotkov was frightened and rushed to his room.
The first match immediately went out, the second fired sparks into the left eye of comrade. Korotkov, and had to be blindfolded. Korotkov suddenly looked like a wounded man in battle.
All night Korotkov struck matches and struck out three boxes like that. His room was filled with a suffocating sulphurous smell. At dawn Korotkov fell asleep and saw in his dream a living billiard ball with legs. Korotkov screamed and woke up, and for another five seconds he imagined the ball. But then everything was gone, Korotkov fell asleep and never woke up.
In the morning, Korotkov, wearing a bandage, showed up for work. On his desk, he found a paper asking for uniforms for typists. Taking the paper, Korotkov went to the head of the base, Comrade Chekushin, but at his very door he ran into an unknown person, who struck him with his appearance.
The stranger was so short that he reached Korotkov only to the waist. The lack of height was redeemed by the extreme width of the shoulders. The square body sat on twisted legs, and the left one was lame. The unknown man's head was a gigantic model of an egg, horizontally skewered around his neck, with the sharp end pointing forward. And like an egg she was bald and shiny. The unknown person's tiny face was shaved to the blue, and green eyes, small as pinheads, sat in deep depressions. The body of the unknown person was dressed in a jacket sewn from a gray blanket, from under which a Little Russian embroidered shirt peeked out, legs in trousers made of the same material and low hussar boots from the time of Alexander I.
"What do you need?" asked the stranger in the voice of a copper basin, and it seemed to Korotkov that his words smelled of matches. “You see, do not enter without a report!”, the bald man deafened with saucepan sounds. "I'm going with a report," Korotkov went astray, pointing to his paper. The bald man suddenly got angry: “Don’t you understand?! And why do you have black eyes at every step? Well, nothing, we'll put everything in order! - he tore the paper out of Korotkov's hands and wrote a few words on it, after which the office door swallowed the unknown. Chekushin was not in the office! Lidochka, Chekushin's personal secretary (also blindfolded, injured by matches) said that Chekushin was expelled yesterday, and the bald one is now in his place.
Arriving in his room, Korotkov read the bald man's writing: "All typists and women in general will be given soldier's underpants in a timely manner." Korotkov composed a telephone message in three minutes, handed it over to the manager for signature, and after that sat in the room for four hours, so that the manager, if he decides to drop in suddenly, would certainly find him immersed in work.
Nobody ever came. At half past four the bald one left, and the office immediately fled. Comrade Korotkov went home alone later than everyone else.
The next morning, Korotkov happily threw off the bandage and immediately became prettier and changed. He was late for work, and when he nevertheless ran into the office, the entire office did not sit in their places at the kitchen tables of the former Alpine Rose restaurant, but stood in a pile against the wall, on which paper was nailed. The crowd parted, and Korotkov read "Order No. 1" about the immediate dismissal of Korotkov for negligence and for his bruised face. Under the order was the signature: "Head of the pants."
How? Is his surname Longhorn? croaked Korotkov. - And I read "Underpants" instead of "Underpants". He writes his last name with a small letter! As for the face, he has no right! I will explain!!! - he sang high and thin and rushed straight to the terrible door.
As soon as Korotkov ran up to the office, the door swung open, and Longjohn rushed along the corridor with a briefcase under his arm. Korotkov rushed after him. "You see, I'm busy! - rang the frantically striving Longhorn, - Contact the clerk! "I'm a clerk!" Korotkov squealed in horror. But Longjohn had already slipped away, jumped into a motorcycle and disappeared into the smoke. "Where did he go?" Korotkov asked in a trembling voice. "Say to Tsentrsnab ..." Korotkov ran down the stairs in a whirlwind, jumped out into the street, jumped into the tram and rushed after him. Hope burned his heart.
In Tsentrsnab, he immediately saw the square back of Pantser flashing ahead on the stairs and hurried after her. But on the 5th platform, the back disappeared into the thick of people. Korotkov flew up to the landing and entered the door with two inscriptions in gold on green "Pepigneroc Dormitory" and in black on white "Nachkantsupravdelsnab". In the room, Korotkov saw glass cages and fair-haired women running between them to the unbearable rumble of cars. There was no longshort. Korotkov stopped the first woman he came across. “He is leaving now. Catch up with him,” the woman replied, waving her hand.
Korotkov ran in the direction the woman pointed to, found himself on a darkish landing and saw the open mouth of the elevator, which assumed a square back. "Comrade Longhorn!" shouted Korotkov, and his back turned. Korotkov recognized everything: both the gray jacket and the briefcase. But it was a Longshort with a long, ruffled Assyrian beard that fell over his chest. "Late, comrade, on Friday," Longjohn shouted in tenor as he was being lowered by the elevator. "The voice is also tethered," thumped in Korotkovsky's skull.
A second later, with a curse, Korotkov rushed down the stairs, where he again saw Pantser, blue-shaven and scary. He passed quite close, separated only by a glass wall. Korotkov rushed to the nearest door handle and unsuccessfully began to tear it, and only then, in despair, saw a tiny inscription: "All around, through the 6th entrance." "Where is the sixth?" Korotkov shouted weakly. In response, a luster-colored old man came out of the side door with a huge list in his hands.
Do you all go? murmured the old man. “Come on, anyway, I already crossed you out, Vasily Petrovich,” and he laughed voluptuously.
I'm Varfolomey Petrovich - said Korotkov.
Do not confuse me, - the terrible old man objected. - Kolobkov V.P. and Pantser. Both have been translated. And in place of Longhorn - Chekushin. I managed to drive all day, and they kicked me out ...
I am saved! Korotkov exclaimed jubilantly and reached into his pocket for a little book so that the old man could make a note about his reinstatement in the service, and then he turned pale, clapped his pockets and with a muffled cry rushed back up the stairs - there was no wallet with all the documents! Running up the stairs, I rushed back, but the old man had already disappeared somewhere, all the doors were locked, and in the semi-darkness of the corridor there was a slight smell of sulfur. "Tram!" groaned Korotkov. He jumped out into the street and ran into a small building of unpleasant architecture, where he began to prove to a gray man, oblique and gloomy, that he was not Kolobkov, but Korotkov, and that his documents had been stolen. Sery demanded a certificate from the brownie, and a painful dilemma opened up before Korotkov: to Spimat or to the brownie? And when he had already decided to run to Spimat, the clock struck four, dusk fell, and people with briefcases ran out of all the doors. "It's too late," thought Korotkov, "go home."
At home, a note stuck out in the ear of the castle - a neighbor left Korotkov all her wine salary. Korotkov dragged all the bottles to him, collapsed on the bed, jumped up, threw the boxes of matches on the floor and furiously began to crush them with his feet, vaguely dreaming that he was crushing Longsoner's head. He stopped: “Well, isn’t he really a double?” Fear crept into the room through the black windows, Korotkov wept softly. He cried, ate, then cried again. He drank half a glass of wine and suffered from pain in his temples for a long time, until a cloudy dream took pity on him.
On the next morning Korotkov ran to the brownie. The brownie, as luck would have it, died, and no certificates were issued. Frustrated, Korotkov rushed off to Spimat, where Chekushin may have already returned.
In Spimat, Korotkov went straight to the office, but on the threshold he stopped and opened his mouth: there was not a single familiar face in the hall of the former Alpine Rose restaurant. Korotkov went to his room, and the light faded in his eyes - Longjohn was sitting at Korotkov's table and a frilled beard covered his chest: "I'm sorry, I'm the local clerk," he answered in an astonished falsetto. Korotkov hesitated and went out into the corridor. And immediately the shaved face of Pantser blocked the world: “Good! - the pelvis slammed, and a convulsion brought Korotkov. - You are my assistant. Pantser - clerk. I’ll run off to the department, and you and Longsoner will write your attitude about all the former ones, and especially about this bastard Korotkov.
Longwinder dragged Korotkov, who was breathing heavily, into the office, crossed out on paper, slammed his seal, grabbed the receiver, yelled into it, "I'll be right there," and disappeared through the door. And Korotkov read with horror on a piece of paper: “The bearer of this is my assistant comrade V.P. Kolobkov ... "At that moment the door opened, and Longjohn returned in his beard:" Longjohn has already fled? Korotkov howled and jumped up to Longjohn, baring his teeth. The pantser fell out in horror into the corridor and rushed to run. Korotkov came to his senses and rushed after him. From the cries of Longjohn, the office was in disarray, and Longjohn himself disappeared behind the former restaurant organ. Korotkov rushed after him, but caught on to a huge organ handle - a grunt was heard, and now all the halls were filled with a lion's roar: “The Moscow fire was noisy, thundered ...” A car signal broke through the howl and roar, and Longjohn, clean-shaven and formidable, entered the lobby. In an ominous bluish glow, he began to climb the stairs. Korotkov's hair began to stir, he ran out into the street through the side doors and saw a bearded Long Johner jump into the cab.
Korotkov cried out painfully: "I'll explain it!" - and rushed off on a tram to a green building, asked the blue teapot in the window where the claims bureau was, and immediately got confused in the corridors and rooms. Relying on his memory, Korotkov went up to the eighth floor, opened the door and entered an immense and completely empty hall with columns. A massive figure of a man in white came down heavily from the stage, introduced himself and affectionately asked Korotkov whether he would please them with a brand new feuilleton or essay. Confused Korotkov began to tell his bitter story, but then the man began to complain about “this Pantser”, who, during his two days here, managed to transfer all the furniture to the claims bureau.
Korotkov screamed and flew off to the claims bureau. For about five minutes he ran, following the curves of the corridor, and ended up at the place from which he ran out. "Ah, damn!" Korotkov gasped and ran in the other direction - in five minutes he was again in the same place. Korotkov ran into the empty colonnaded hall and saw a man in white - he was standing without an ear and a nose, and his left arm was broken off. Backing away and growing cold, Korotkov again ran out into the corridor. Suddenly, a secret door opened in front of him, from which a shriveled woman came out with empty buckets on a yoke. Korotkov rushed through that door, found himself in a semi-dark space with no way out, began frenziedly scratching at the walls, fell on some kind of white spot, which released him onto the stairs. Korotkov ran downstairs, from where footsteps were heard. Another moment - and a gray blanket and a long beard appeared. Their eyes crossed at the same time, and both howled in thin voices of fear and pain. Korotkov stepped back up, Longjohn backed down: "Save me!" he yelled, changing his thin voice to a brassy bass. Having stumbled, he fell with a thunder, turned into a black cat with phosphorescent eyes, flew out into the street and disappeared. An unusual clearing suddenly came in Korotkov's brain: “Aha, I understand. Cats! He began to laugh louder and louder until the whole staircase was filled with booming peals.
In the evening, sitting at home on the bed, Korotkov drank three bottles of wine in order to forget everything and calm down. Now his head ached all over and twice Comrade. Korotkov vomited in the pelvis. Korotkov firmly resolved to straighten out his documents and never again appear in Spimat, and not meet with the terrible Pantser. In the distance, a clock began to chime. Having counted forty blows, Korotkov smiled bitterly and burst into tears. Then he again convulsively and heavily vomited church wine.
The next day Com. Korotkov again climbed up to the eighth floor and finally found a claims bureau. There were seven women in the bureau at the typewriters. The extreme brunette abruptly interrupted Korotkov, who was about to open his mouth, pulled him out into the corridor, where she resolutely expressed her intention to give herself to Korotkov. “I don’t need it,” Korotkov replied hoarsely, “they stole my documents ...” The brunette rushed to Korotkov with a kiss, and then (“Tek-s”) a lustrin old man suddenly appeared.
You are everywhere, Mr. Kolobkov. But you can’t kiss me on a business trip - they gave me, an old man. And I'll file an application for you. Molester, are you getting to the subdivisions? Do you want to tear out the lifts from the old man's hands? he suddenly cried. Hysteria seized Korotkov, but then: “Next!” squawked the office door. Korotkov rushed into it, passed the cars and found himself in front of a graceful blond man, who nodded to Korotkov: "Poltava or Irkutsk?" Then he pulled out a drawer, and a secretary crawled out of the drawer, twisting like a snake, took a pen from his pocket and began to scribble. The brunette head popped out of the door and shouted excitedly:
I have already sent his documents to Poltava. And I'm going with him. I have an aunt in Poltava.
I do not want! cried Korotkov, his eyes wandering.
Poltava or Irkutsk? The blond growled out of himself. - Don't waste your time! Do not walk in the corridors! No smoking! Don't bother changing money!
Handshakes are cancelled! crowed the secretary.
It is said in the thirteenth commandment: do not enter without a report to your neighbor, - the luster mumbled and flew through the air.
Dizziness came around the room, the blond began to grow in the dregs. He waved a huge hand, the wall fell apart, the machines on the tables played a foxtrot, and thirty women paraded around them. White trousers with purple stripes crawled out of the cars: “The bearer of this is really the bearer, and not some kind of scammer.” Korotkov whimpered thinly and began banging his head against the corner of the blond table. “Now there is only one salvation - to Dyrkin in the fifth department,” the old man whispered anxiously. - Go! I'm going!" There was a smell of ether, and hands vaguely carried Korotkov out into the corridor. Dampness smelt from the mesh going into the abyss...
The cab and two Korotkovs fell down. The first Korotkov got out, the second remained in the cockpit mirror. A pink fat man in a top hat said to Korotkov: “Here I am going to arrest you.” “You can't arrest me,” Korotkov laughed with a satanic laugh, “because I don't know who I am. Maybe I'm a Hohenzollern. Pantser did not come across? Answer me fat man!" The fat man trembled in horror: “Now to Dyrkin, not otherwise. He's just ugly!" And they ascended in the elevator to Dyrkin.
When Korotkov entered the cosily furnished office, the plump little Dyrkin jumped up from the table and barked: "M-shut up!", although Korotkov had not yet said anything. At the same moment a pale young man with a briefcase appeared in the office. Dyrkin's face was covered with smiling wrinkles, he cried out in a sweet and welcoming voice. However, the young man, in a metallic voice, gave Dyrkin a scolding, waved his briefcase, cracked it on Dyrkin's ear, and, threatening Korotkov with his red fist, went out. “Here,” said the kind and humiliated Dyrkin, “is the reward for diligence. Well... Beat Dyrkin. It hurts with your hand, so take the candelabrik. Understanding nothing, Korotkov took the candelabrum and hit Dyrkin on the head with a crunch. Dyrkin, shouting "guard", fled through the inner door. "Ku Klux Klan! - shouted the cuckoo from the clock, and turned into a bald head. - Let's write down how you beat the workers! Rage seized Korotkov, he struck the candelabra at the clock, and Longjohn jumped out of them, turned into a white cockerel and darted through the door. Immediately behind the doors came the cry of Dyrkin: “Catch him!”, And the heavy footsteps of people flew from all sides. Korotkov started to run.
They ran up a huge staircase: a fat man's top hat, a white rooster, a candelabra, Korotkov, a boy with a revolver in his hand, and some other people stomping. On the street Korotkov, overtaking the top hat and the chandelier, jumped out first and rushed down the street. Passers-by hid from him in the doorways, whistled somewhere, someone hooted, shouted "Hold it." The shots flew after Korotkov, and the snarling Korotkov strove for the eleven-story giant, overlooking the street sideways.
Korotkov ran into the mirrored vestibule, plunged into the elevator box, sat down on the sofa across from another Korotkov, and rode to the very top. Immediately, shots rang out below.
At the top Korotkov jumped out and listened. From below came a growing rumble, from the side - the sound of balls in the billiard room. Korotkov ran into the billiard room with a battle cry. A shot rang out from below. Korotkov locked the glass doors of the billiard room and armed himself with balls, and when the first head appeared near the elevator, he began shelling. In response, a machine gun howled. Glasses shattered.
Korotkov realized that the position could not be held and ran out onto the roof. "Surrender!" - vaguely reached him. Catching up the rolling balls, Korotkov jumped up to the parapet and looked down. His heart sank. He made out the bugs-people, gray figures dancing towards the entrance, and behind them a heavy toy dotted with golden heads. "Surrounded! gasped Korotkov. - Firefighters".
Leaning over the parapet, he launched three balls one after another (the bugs ran in alarm) and three more. When Korotkov bent down to pick up more shells, people poured out of the gap in the billiard room. A lustrin old man flew over them, followed by a terrible Rollerblade with a blunderbuss in his hands menacingly rolled out on rollers. "It's over!" shouted Korotkov weakly. The courage of death surged into his soul. He climbed up on the parapet and shouted: Better death than a disgrace!"
The pursuers were two steps away. Already Korotkov could see the outstretched hands, flames had already jumped out of Longsoner's mouth. The abyss of sunshine beckoned Korotkov, with a piercing shout of victory he jumped up and flew up to the narrow crack in the alley. Then the blood sun burst in his head with a ringing sound, and he saw absolutely nothing more.
