Congratulations on your relationship anniversary.

. Well, who am I telling?.. Look at how they flog... Once!..

With a low wave of his hand, he slammed the rod on his naked body. Sasha squealed.

“You’re lying,” said the grandfather, “it doesn’t hurt!” But this way it hurts!

And he hit him so hard that the body immediately caught fire, a red stripe swelled, and the brother howled protractedly.

Not sweet? - asked the grandfather, evenly raising and lowering his hand. - Don't you like it? This is for a thimble!

When he waved his hand, everything in my chest rose along with it; the hand fell, and I seemed to fall all over.

Sasha squealed terribly thinly, disgustingly:

I won’t... After all, I said about the tablecloth... After all, I said...

Calmly, as if reading the Psalter, the grandfather said:

Denunciation is not an excuse! The informer gets his first whip. Here's a tablecloth for you!

Grandmother rushed to me and grabbed me in her arms, shouting:

I won’t give you Lexey! I won't give it to you, you monster!

She began kicking the door, calling:

Varya, Varvara!..

Grandfather rushed to her, knocked her down, grabbed me and carried me to the bench. I struggled in his arms, pulled his red beard, bit his finger. He screamed, squeezed me and finally threw me onto the bench, smashing my face. I remember his wild cry:

Tie it up! I'll kill you!..

I remember my mother’s white face and her huge eyes. She ran along the bench and wheezed:

Dad, don’t!.. Give it back...

My grandfather clocked me until I lost consciousness, and for several days I was ill, lying with my back upside down on a wide, hot bed in a small room with one window and a red, unquenchable lamp in the corner in front of a case with many icons.

The days of being unwell were the big days of my life. During them I must have grown a lot and felt something special. From those days, I developed a restless attention to people, and, as if the skin had been torn from my heart, it became unbearably sensitive to any insult and pain, my own and that of others.

First of all, I was very struck by the quarrel between my grandmother and my mother: in the cramped room, the grandmother, black and big, climbed on her mother, pushing her into the corner, towards the images, and hissed:

You didn't take it away, did you?

I was scared.

Such a hefty one! Shame on you, Varvara! I'm an old woman, but I'm not afraid! Be ashamed!..

Leave me alone, mother: I’m sick...

No, you don’t love him, you don’t feel sorry for the orphan!

The mother said heavily and loudly:

I myself am an orphan for life!

Then they both cried for a long time, sitting on a chest in the corner, and the mother said:

If it weren’t for Alexey, I would have left, I would have left! I can’t live in this hell, I can’t, mother! No strength...

“You are my blood, my heart,” my grandmother whispered.

I remember: mother is not strong; She, like everyone else, is afraid of her grandfather. I'm stopping her from leaving the house where she can't live. It was very sad. Soon the mother really disappeared from the house. I went to visit somewhere.

One day, suddenly, as if jumping from the ceiling, grandfather appeared, sat down on the bed, touched my head with his hand as cold as ice:

Hello, sir... Yes, answer me, don’t be angry!.. Well, or what?..

I really wanted to kick him, but it hurt to move. He seemed even redder than before; his head shook restlessly; bright eyes were looking for something on the wall. Taking out of his pocket a gingerbread goat, two sugar cones, an apple and a branch of blue raisins, he placed it all on the pillow, close to my nose.

Here, you see, I brought you a gift!

He bent down and kissed my forehead; then he spoke, quietly stroking my head with a small, hard hand, painted yellow, especially noticeable on the curved, bird-like nails.

I'll kill you then, brother. Got very excited; you bit me, scratched me, well, and I got angry too! However, it doesn’t matter that you endured too much - it will count! You know: when your loved one hits you, it’s not an insult, it’s science! Don’t give in to someone else’s, but don’t give in to yours! Do you think they didn't beat me? Olesha, they beat me so much that you wouldn’t even see it in your worst nightmare.

Our love has a birthday,
I am so pleased to celebrate this holiday.
I remember that feeling at its inception,
We were lucky to meet each other.

It doesn't matter what happened to us before,
I've been resetting everything ever since
How our first kiss became the beginning,
The lover has concluded our contract.

I undertake to remember everything in detail,
Love you, appreciate and respect you.
And in your goals, plans, different thoughts
To preserve and protect our love.

Happy anniversary, my sunshine.
Congratulations, you are my joy.
You are my love, you are my happiness,
I can't imagine myself without you.

I feel very comfortable with you,
I thank fate for you.
I wish you and I well,
I love you so much!

Let this day become another red day of the calendar in our relationship. I want you and I to have more and more such joint dates. So that in a few years every day of the year will be meaningful and filled with the most romantic memories. I love you very much!

Today is a significant date
Only you and I know about it.
I wish everything works out
May your dreams come true soon.

Let our feeling not fade away,
Let our flame burn
I wish us both happiness,
Let the flight be high!

Do you remember how we once
Did you meet on this date?
Since then we have been together
We've been close ever since.
We understand perfectly
We each other immediately.
We will remember this date,
Let's keep it in our hearts.
And through my whole life with you
Let's carry this memory along...

Today is our anniversary -
So much happiness, tender words!
My other half
My meaning of life and love!

The whole world is much brighter with you,
And the heart beats more cheerfully,
With you, winter is warmer and hotter,
And people seem kinder!

Everything has changed so wonderfully:
Every moment is warmed with love!
With you everything was illuminated with light,
After all, you are the magic light!

Today is our holiday
Today is our day.
One for two
A small anniversary.

Day of our love
And shared happiness.
We're walking side by side
Both in thunderstorms and in bad weather.

Let the feeling in your soul
Never gets cold.
And the heart is beating
And love will not leave!

Your smile won my heart,
And you and I have been inseparable since then!
Loving you has opened up a whole world for me,
It paints a fabulous pattern in my soul!

I love you more every day,
And on this date I want to tell you this:
There is no one closer and dearer to me,
I want to connect this life with you!

Happy anniversary,
My favorite person!
I wish you and I happiness,
So that it lasts forever.

To hold hands
Strong, affectionate, reliable,
Never parted
Even if it's difficult!

An ordinary day, but it's not for us
Never forget.
After all, on this day we once
We decided to be together.

And how much time has passed
It doesn't matter, so to speak.
And this day is always with you
We will celebrate.

Today is our holiday
Today is our day!
We are romantic
Anniversary with you.

We are together.
I want it to always be like this
So that we don't part
Never with you!

Let time go by
Let life go on
And our love
Never ends!

A thick, motley, inexpressibly strange life began and flowed with terrible speed. I remember it as a harsh tale, well told by a kind but painfully truthful genius. Now, reviving the past, I myself sometimes find it hard to believe that everything was exactly as it was, and I want to dispute and reject a lot - the dark life of the “stupid tribe” is too rich in cruelty. But truth is higher than pity, and I’m not talking about myself, but about that close, stuffy circle of terrible impressions in which a simple Russian man lived, and still lives to this day. Grandfather's house was filled with a hot fog of mutual enmity of everyone with everyone; it poisoned adults, and even children took an active part in it. Subsequently, from my grandmother’s stories, I learned that my mother arrived precisely on those days when her brothers persistently demanded a division of property from their father. The unexpected return of their mother further exacerbated and intensified their desire to stand out. They were afraid that my mother would demand the dowry that had been assigned to her, but withheld by my grandfather, because she had married by hand, against his will. The uncles believed that this dowry should be divided between them. They, too, had long and fiercely argued with each other about who should open a workshop in the city, and who should open a workshop beyond the Oka, in the settlement of Kunavin. Soon after their arrival, in the kitchen during lunch, a quarrel broke out: the uncles suddenly jumped to their feet and, leaning over the table, began to howl and growl at grandfather, baring their teeth pitifully and shaking themselves like dogs, and grandfather, banging his spoon on the table, turned red full and loudly - like a rooster - he cried:- I’ll send it around the world! Contorting her face painfully, the grandmother said: “Give them everything, father, it will make you feel better, give it back!” - Tssch, potatchica! - the grandfather shouted, his eyes sparkling, and it was strange that, such a small one, he could scream so deafeningly. The mother got up from the table and, slowly walking away to the window, turned her back to everyone. Suddenly Uncle Mikhail hit his brother in the face with a backhand; he howled, grappled with him, and both rolled on the floor, wheezing, groaning, swearing. The children began to cry, pregnant aunt Natalya screamed desperately; my mother dragged her somewhere, taking her in her arms; the cheerful, pockmarked nanny Evgenya was kicking the children out of the kitchen; chairs fell; the young, broad-shouldered apprentice Tsyganok sat astride Uncle Mikhail’s back, and master Grigory Ivanovich, a bald, bearded man in dark glasses, calmly tied his uncle’s hands with a towel. Stretching his neck, the uncle rubbed his thin black beard along the floor and wheezed terribly, and the grandfather, running around the table, cried out pitifully: - Brothers, ah! Native blood! Oh you... Even at the beginning of the quarrel, I was frightened, jumped onto the stove and from there watched in terrible amazement as my grandmother washed away the blood from Uncle Yakov’s broken face with water from a copper washstand; he cried and stamped his feet, and she said in a heavy voice: - Damned, wild tribe, come to your senses! The grandfather, pulling a torn shirt over his shoulder, shouted to her: - What, a witch, gave birth to animals? When Uncle Yakov left, grandma poked her head into the corner, howling amazingly: - Most Holy Mother of God, restore reason to my children! Grandfather stood sideways to her and, looking at the table, where everything was overturned and spilled, he said quietly: - You, mother, look after them, otherwise they will harass Varvara, what good... - Enough, God bless you! Take off your shirt, I'll sew it up... And, squeezing his head with her palms, she kissed her grandfather on the forehead; He, small opposite her, poked his face into her shoulder: - Apparently we need to share, mother... - We must, father, we must! They talked for a long time; At first it was friendly, and then the grandfather began to shuffle his foot along the floor, like a rooster before a fight, shook his finger at the grandmother and whispered loudly: - I know you, you love them more! And your Mishka is a Jesuit, and Yashka is a farmer! And they will drink up my goodness and squander... Turning awkwardly on the stove, I knocked the iron over; thundering down the steps of the building, he plopped into a tub of slop. Grandfather jumped onto the step, pulled me down and began to look into my face as if he was seeing me for the first time. - Who put you on the stove? Mother?- I myself. - You're lying. - No, myself. I was scared. He pushed me away, lightly hitting my forehead with his palm. - Just like my father! Get out... I was glad to escape from the kitchen. I clearly saw that my grandfather was watching me with his smart and keen green eyes, and I was afraid of him. I remember I always wanted to hide from those burning eyes. It seemed to me that my grandfather was evil; he speaks to everyone mockingly, insultingly, teasing and trying to anger everyone. - Oh, you! - he often exclaimed; The long “ee-and” sound always gave me a dull, chilly feeling. At the hour of rest, during evening tea, when he, his uncles and workers came to the kitchen from the workshop, tired, with their hands stained with sandalwood, burnt with vitriol, with their hair tied with a ribbon, all looking like dark icons in the corner of the kitchen - in this dangerous For an hour my grandfather sat opposite me and, arousing the envy of his other grandchildren, talked to me more often than to them. It was all foldable, chiseled, sharp. His satin, silk-embroidered, blank waistcoat was old and worn out, his cotton shirt was wrinkled, there were large patches on the knees of his pants, and yet he seemed to be dressed cleaner and more handsome than his sons, who wore jackets, shirtfronts and silk scarves around their necks. A few days after my arrival, he forced me to learn prayers. All the other children were older and were already learning to read and write from the sexton of the Assumption Church; its golden heads were visible from the windows of the house. I was taught by the quiet, timid Aunt Natalya, a woman with a childish face and such transparent eyes that, it seemed to me, through them I could see everything behind her head. I loved to look into her eyes for a long time, without looking away, without blinking; she squinted, turned her head and asked quietly, almost in a whisper: - Well, please say: “Our Father like you...” And if I asked: “What is it like?” - She looked around timidly and advised: - Don't ask, it's worse! Just say after me: “Our Father”... Well? I was worried: why is asking worse? The word “as if” took on a hidden meaning, and I deliberately distorted it in every possible way: - “Yakov”, “I’m in leather”... But the pale, as if melting aunt patiently corrected her in a voice that kept breaking up in her voice: - No, just say: “as it is”... But she herself and all her words were not simple. This irritated me, preventing me from remembering the prayer. One day my grandfather asked: - Well, Oleshka, what did you do today? Played! I can see it by the nodule on my forehead. It's not great wisdom to make money! Have you memorized “Our Father”? The aunt said quietly: - His memory is bad. The grandfather grinned, raising his red eyebrows cheerfully. - And if so, then you need to flog! And he asked me again:- Did your father whip you? Not understanding what he was talking about, I remained silent, and my mother said: - No, Maxim didn’t beat him, and he forbade me too.- Why is this? “I said you can’t learn by beating.” - He was a fool in everything, this Maxim, a dead man, God forgive me! - the grandfather said angrily and clearly. I was offended by his words. He noticed this. - Are you pouting your lips? Look... And, stroking the silver-red hair on his head, he added: “But on Saturday I’ll flog Sashka for a thimble.” - How to flog it? - I asked. Everyone laughed, and the grandfather said: - Wait, you'll see... Hiding, I thought: flogging means embroidering dresses that have been dyed, and flogging and beating are the same thing, apparently. They beat horses, dogs, cats; In Astrakhan, guards beat Persians - I saw that. But I have never seen little children be beaten like that, and although here the uncles flicked theirs first on the forehead, then on the back of the head, the children treated it indifferently, only scratching the bruised place. I asked them more than once:- Hurt? And they always responded bravely. - No, not at all! I knew the noisy story with the thimble. In the evenings, from tea to dinner, the uncles and the master sewed pieces of colored material into one “piece” and attached cardboard labels to it. Wanting to play a joke on the half-blind Gregory, Uncle Mikhail ordered his nine-year-old nephew to heat the master’s thimble over a candle fire. Sasha clamped the thimble with tongs for removing carbon deposits from candles, heated it up very hot and, discreetly placing it under Gregory’s arm, hid behind the stove, but just at that moment the grandfather came, sat down to work and stuck his finger into the red-hot thimble. I remember when I ran into the kitchen at the noise, my grandfather grabbed his ear with his burnt fingers, jumped funny and shouted: - Whose business is it, infidels? Uncle Mikhail, bent over the table, pushed the thimble with his finger and blew on it; the master sewed calmly; shadows danced across his huge bald head; Uncle Yakov came running and, hiding behind the corner of the stove, laughed quietly there; Grandma was grating raw potatoes. - Sashka Yakovov arranged this! - Uncle Mikhail suddenly said. - You're lying! - Yakov shouted, jumping out from behind the stove. And somewhere in the corner his son was crying and shouting: - Dad, don't believe it. He taught me himself! The uncles began to quarrel. Grandfather immediately calmed down, put grated potatoes on his finger and silently left, taking me with him. Everyone said that Uncle Mikhail was to blame. Naturally, over tea I asked whether he would be whipped and flogged? “We should,” grumbled the grandfather, looking sideways at me. Uncle Mikhail, hitting the table with his hand, shouted to his mother: - Varvara, calm down your puppy, otherwise I’ll break his head! Mother said: - Try it, touch it... And everyone fell silent. She knew how to speak short words somehow, as if she pushed people away from her with them, threw them away, and they diminished. It was clear to me that everyone was afraid of their mother; even grandfather himself spoke to her differently than to others - more quietly. This pleased me, and I proudly boasted to my brothers: - My mother is the strongest! They didn't mind. But what happened on Saturday tore my relationship with my mother. Before Saturday I also managed to do something wrong. I was very interested in how cleverly adults change the colors of materials: they take yellow, soak it in black water, and the material turns deep blue - “cube”; They rinse the gray in red water, and it becomes reddish - “Bordeaux”. Simple, but incomprehensible. I wanted to color something myself, and I told Sasha Yakovov, a serious boy, about it; He always kept himself in front of adults, affectionate with everyone, ready to serve everyone in every possible way. The adults praised him for his obedience and intelligence, but grandfather looked at Sasha sideways and said: - What a sycophant! Thin, dark, with bulging, crab-like eyes, Sasha Yakovov spoke hastily, quietly, choking on his words, and always looked around mysteriously, as if about to run somewhere, to hide. His brown pupils were motionless, but when he was excited, they trembled along with the whites. He was unpleasant to me. I liked the inconspicuous hulk Sasha Mikhailov much more, a quiet boy, with sad eyes and a good smile, very similar to his meek mother. He had ugly teeth; they protruded from the mouth and grew in two rows in the upper jaw. This occupied him greatly; he constantly kept his fingers in his mouth, swinging them, trying to pull out the teeth of the back row, and dutifully allowed everyone who wanted to feel them. But I didn’t find anything more interesting in it. In a house crowded with people, he lived alone, loved to sit in dim corners, and in the evening by the window. It was good to be silent with him - to sit by the window, pressed closely against it, and be silent for a whole hour, watching how in the red evening sky around the golden bulbs of the Assumption Church black jackdaws hovered and darted, soared high up, fell down and, suddenly covering the fading sky like a black network, disappear somewhere, leaving emptiness behind them. When you look at this, you don’t want to talk about anything, and pleasant boredom fills your chest. And Uncle Yakov’s Sasha could talk a lot and respectably about everything, like an adult. Having learned that I wanted to take up the craft of a dyer, he advised me to take a white festive tablecloth from the closet and dye it blue. - White is the easiest to paint, I know! - he said very seriously. I pulled out a heavy tablecloth and ran out into the yard with it, but when I lowered the edge of it into a vat of “pot”, Gypsy flew at me from somewhere, tore out the tablecloth and, wringing it out with his wide paws, shouted to his brother, who was watching my work from the entryway: - Call grandma quickly! And, ominously shaking his black shaggy head, he said to me: - Well, you’ll get hit for this! My grandmother came running, groaned, even cried, cursing me funny: - Oh, you Perm, your ears are salty! May they be lifted and slapped! Then Gypsy began to persuade: - Don’t tell grandpa, Vanya! I’ll hide the matter; maybe it will work out somehow... Vanka spoke worriedly, wiping his wet hands with a multi-colored apron: - What do I need? I won't tell; Look, Sashutka wouldn’t tell lies! “I’ll give him seventh grade,” my grandmother said, taking me into the house. On Saturday, before the all-night vigil, someone led me into the kitchen; it was dark and quiet there. I remember tightly closed doors to the hallway and to the rooms, and outside the windows the gray haze of an autumn evening, the rustle of rain. In front of the black forehead of the stove, on a wide bench, sat an angry Gypsy, unlike himself; Grandfather, standing in the corner by the tub, selected long rods from a bucket of water, measured them, stacking them one with the other, and swung them through the air with a whistle. Grandmother, standing somewhere in the dark, loudly sniffed tobacco and grumbled: - Ra-ad... tormentor... Sasha Yakovov, sitting on a chair in the middle of the kitchen, rubbed his eyes with his fists and, in a voice that was not his own, like an old beggar, drawled: - Forgive me for Christ's sake... Uncle Mikhail’s children, brother and sister, stood behind the chair like wooden ones, shoulder to shoulder. “If I whip you, I’ll forgive you,” said the grandfather, passing a long wet rod through his fist. - Come on, take off your pants!.. He spoke calmly, and neither the sound of his voice, nor the boy's fidgeting on the creaky chair, nor the shuffling of his grandmother's feet - nothing disturbed the memorable silence in the gloom of the kitchen, under the low, smoky ceiling. Sasha stood up, unbuttoned his pants, lowered them to his knees and, supporting him with his hands, bent over and stumbled towards the bench. Watching him walk was not good, my legs were shaking too. But it got even worse when he obediently lay down on the bench face down, and Vanka, tying him to the bench under his arms and around his neck with a wide towel, bent over him and grabbed his legs at the ankles with his black hands. “Lexei,” the grandfather called, “come closer!.. Well, who am I telling?.. Look at how they flog... Once!..” With a low wave of his hand, he slammed the rod on his naked body. Sasha squealed. “You’re lying,” said the grandfather, “it doesn’t hurt!” But this way it hurts! And he hit him so hard that the body immediately caught fire, a red stripe swelled, and the brother howled protractedly. - Isn’t it sweet? - the grandfather asked, raising and lowering his hand evenly. - Don't you like it? This is for a thimble! When he waved his hand, everything in my chest rose along with it; the hand fell, and I seemed to fall all over. Sasha squealed terribly thinly, disgustingly: - I won’t... After all, I said about the tablecloth... After all, I said... Calmly, as if reading the Psalter, the grandfather said: - Denunciation is not an excuse! The informer gets his first whip. Here's a tablecloth for you! Grandmother rushed to me and grabbed me in her arms, shouting: - I won’t give you Lexey! I won't give it to you, you monster! She began kicking the door, calling: - Varya, Varvara!.. Grandfather rushed to her, knocked her down, grabbed me and carried me to the bench. I struggled in his arms, pulled his red beard, bit his finger. He screamed, squeezed me and finally threw me onto the bench, smashing my face. I remember his wild cry: - Tie it up! I'll kill you!.. I remember my mother’s white face and her huge eyes. She ran along the bench and wheezed: - Dad, don’t!.. Give it back... My grandfather clocked me until I lost consciousness, and for several days I was ill, lying with my back upside down on a wide, hot bed in a small room with one window and a red, unquenchable lamp in the corner in front of a case with many icons. The days of being unwell were the big days of my life. During them I must have grown a lot and felt something special. From those days, I developed a restless attention to people, and, as if the skin had been torn from my heart, it became unbearably sensitive to any insult and pain, my own and that of others. First of all, I was very struck by the quarrel between my grandmother and my mother: in the cramped room, the grandmother, black and big, climbed on her mother, pushing her into the corner, towards the images, and hissed: “You didn’t take it away, did you?”- I was scared. - Such a hefty one! Shame on you, Varvara! I'm an old woman, but I'm not afraid! Be ashamed!.. - Leave me alone, mother: I’m sick... - No, you don’t love him, you don’t feel sorry for the orphan! The mother said heavily and loudly: - I myself am an orphan for the rest of my life! Then they both cried for a long time, sitting on a chest in the corner, and the mother said: “If it weren’t for Alexei, I would have left, I would have left!” I can’t live in this hell, I can’t, mother! No strength... “You are my blood, my heart,” my grandmother whispered. I remember: mother is not strong; She, like everyone else, is afraid of her grandfather. I'm stopping her from leaving the house where she can't live. It was very sad. Soon the mother really disappeared from the house. I went somewhere to visit. One day, suddenly, as if jumping from the ceiling, grandfather appeared, sat down on the bed, touched my head with his hand as cold as ice: - Hello, sir... Yes, answer me, don’t be angry!.. Well, or what?.. I really wanted to kick him, but it hurt to move. He seemed even redder than before; his head shook restlessly; bright eyes were looking for something on the wall. Taking out of his pocket a gingerbread goat, two sugar cones, an apple and a branch of blue raisins, he placed it all on the pillow, close to my nose. - You see, I brought you a gift! He bent down and kissed my forehead; then he spoke, quietly stroking my head with a small, hard hand, painted yellow, especially noticeable on the curved, bird-like nails. “I’ll kill you then, brother.” Got very excited; you bit me, scratched me, well, and I got angry too! However, it doesn’t matter that you endured too much - it will count! You know: when your loved one hits you, it’s not an insult, it’s science! Don’t give in to someone else’s, but don’t give in to yours! Do you think they didn't beat me? Olesha, they beat me so much that you wouldn’t even see it in your worst nightmare. They offended me so much that, go figure, God himself looked and cried! What happened? An orphan, the son of a beggar mother, I have now reached my place - I was made a shop foreman, a leader of the people. Leaning against me with his dry, folded body, he began to talk about his childhood days in strong and heavy words, putting them together easily and deftly. His green eyes flared up brightly and, cheerfully bristling with golden hair, thickening his high voice, he trumpeted in my face: “You arrived by steamship, the steam was carrying you, and in my youth I, with my own strength, pulled barges across the Volga. The barge is on the water, I am along the shore, barefoot, on sharp stones, on scree, and so on from sunrise to night! The sun is heating up the back of your head, your head is boiling like cast iron, and you, bent over, your bones are creaking, you keep walking and you can’t see the way, then your eyes are flooded, but your soul is crying, and a tear is rolling , - ehma, Olesha, shut up! You walk and walk, and then you fall out of the strap, face down on the ground - and you’re glad of that; therefore, all the strength has left, at least rest, at least die! This is how they lived before the eyes of God, before the eyes of the merciful Lord Jesus Christ!.. Yes, this is how I measured the Mother Volga three times: from Simbirsk to Rybinsk, from Saratov to Syudov and from Astrakhan to Makaryev, to the fair - there are many thousands of miles in this ! And in the fourth year he became a water-drinker and showed his master his intelligence!.. He spoke and - quickly, like a cloud, he grew before me, turning from a small, dry old man into a man of fabulous strength - he alone leads a huge gray barge against the river... Sometimes he would jump out of bed and, waving his arms, show me how barge haulers walked in their straps and how they pumped out water; he sang some songs in a bass voice, then again youngly jumped onto the bed and, all amazing, said even more loudly and firmly: - Well, on the other hand, Olesha, at a rest stop, on vacation, on a summer evening in Zhiguli, somewhere, under a green mountain, we used to set up fires - cook some gruel, and when the grief-stricken barge hauler starts a heartfelt song, and when they stand up, the whole artel bursts out. , - the frost will ripple through your skin, and it’s as if the Volga is going faster, - so, tea, it would rear up on its hind legs, right up to the clouds! And every sorrow is like dust in the wind; People started singing so much that sometimes the porridge would run out of the cauldron; here you have to hit the cook on the forehead with a ladle: play as you like, but remember the point! Several times they looked at the door and called him, but I asked:- Don't go! He grinned and waved people away: -Wait there... He talked until the evening, and when he left, bidding me affectionately, I knew that grandfather was not evil and not scary. It was hard for me to cry to remember that it was he who beat me so brutally, but I couldn’t forget about it. A visit to my grandfather opened the door wide for everyone, and from morning to evening someone sat by the bed, trying in every possible way to amuse me; I remember that it was not always fun and funny. My grandmother visited me more often than others; she slept in the same bed with me; but the most vivid impression of these days was given to me by Gypsy. Square, broad-chested, with a huge curly head, he appeared in the evening, festively dressed in a golden silk shirt, corduroy pants and creaky harmonica boots. His hair shone, his slanted, cheerful eyes sparkled under thick eyebrows and white teeth under the black stripe of a young mustache, his shirt burned, softly reflecting the red fire of an unquenchable lamp. “Look at that,” he said, lifting his sleeve, showing me his bare arm up to the elbow covered in red welts, “it’s so smashed!” Yes, it was even worse, a lot has healed! - Do you feel how grandfather went into a rage, and I see that he will flog you, so I began to put this hand out, waiting for the rod to break, grandfather to go for another, and your grandmother or mother will drag you away! Well, the rod didn’t break, it’s flexible and soaked! And yet you got hit less—see how much? I, brother, am a rogue!.. He laughed a silky, affectionate laugh, again looking at his swollen hand, and, laughing, said: “I feel so sorry for you, I can feel it in my throat!” Trouble! And he whips... Snorting like a horse, shaking his head, he began to say something about business; immediately close to me, childishly simple. I told him that I loved him very much, and he unforgettably simply replied: “Well, I love you too, and that’s why I mistook the pain for love!” Who would I marry someone else? I don't care... Then he taught me quietly, often looking back at the door: “When they suddenly flog you in a row, look, don’t cower, don’t squeeze your body, do you hear it?” It’s doubly painful when you squeeze your body, but you release it freely, so that it is soft - lie there like jelly! And don’t pout, breathe with all your might, shout good obscenities - remember this, it’s good! I asked: “Will they still flog you?” - What about it? - Gypsy said calmly. - Of course they will! Guess what, they'll beat you up often...- For what? - Grandfather will find... And again he began to teach with concern: - If he cuts from a canopy, he simply places a vine on top - well, lie there calmly, softly; and if he whips with a drawbar - he hits and pulls the rod towards himself to remove the skin - then you wiggle your body towards him, behind the rod, do you understand? It's easier! Winking his dark sideways eye, he said: “I’m smarter in this matter than even the police officer!” My brother, I have necks made of leather! I looked at his cheerful face and remembered my grandmother’s fairy tales about Tsarevich Ivan, about Ivan the Fool.