Science fiction in children's literature 4. Fantastic stories. "Island of Inexperienced Physicists", Kirill Dombrovsky

Zheleznikov Vladimir

Good Morning to Good People

Vladimir Karpovich Zheleznikov

Good Morning to Good People

The book of the famous children's writer, laureate of the USSR State Prize, includes the stories "The Life and Adventures of an Eccentric", "The Last Parade", "Scarecrow" and others. What happens to the heroes of the stories can happen to any modern schoolchild. And yet they can teach their peers to pay attention to people, to the environment. The author portrays adolescents in such life situations when it is necessary to make a decision, to make a choice to recognize evil and indifference, that is, it shows how children are morally tempered, learn to serve good and justice.

Published in connection with the 60th anniversary of the writer.

For middle age.

Today is our holiday. Mom and I always have a holiday when Uncle Nikolai, an old friend of my father's, arrives. They once studied at school, sat on the same desk and fought against the Nazis: they flew in heavy bombers.

I have never seen my dad. He was at the front when I was born. I only saw him in photographs. They hung in our apartment. One, large, in the dining room above the sofa on which I slept. Her dad was in military uniform, with the shoulder straps of a senior lieutenant. And two other photographs, quite ordinary, civilian, hung in my mother's room. Papa is there - a boy of eighteen years old, but for some reason my mother loved these papa's photographs most of all.

Dad often dreamed of me at night. And maybe because I did not know him, he looked like Uncle Nikolai.

Uncle Nikolai's plane arrived at nine o'clock in the morning. I wanted to meet him, but my mother did not allow me, she said that you cannot leave the lessons. And she herself tied a new scarf on her head to go to the airfield. It was an extraordinary scarf. It's not about the material. I don't know much about materials. And the fact that dogs of different breeds were painted on the scarf: shepherd dogs, shaggy terriers, pomeranians, mastiffs. So many dogs can be seen at once only at the exhibition.

In the center of the shawl was a huge bulldog. His mouth was open, and for some reason musical signs flew out of it. Musical bulldog. Wonderful bulldog. Mom bought this scarf a long time ago, but never put it on. And then she put it on. One might have thought that she was specially taking care of the arrival of Uncle Nikolai. I tied the ends of a handkerchief on the back of my neck, they barely reached, and immediately became like a girl. I don’t know how anyone, but I liked that my mother looked like a girl. It’s very, in my opinion, nice when my mother is so young. She was the youngest mom in our class. And one girl from our school, I myself heard, asked her mother to make herself a coat like my mother's. Funny. Moreover, my mother's coat is old. I don't even remember when she sewed it. His sleeves were frayed this year, and my mother folded them up. “Short sleeves are fashionable now,” she said. And the handkerchief was very good for her. He even made a new coat. In general, I do not pay any attention to things. I am ready to walk for ten years in one uniform, just so that my mother can dress more beautifully. I liked it when she bought herself new clothes.

At the corner of the street we went our separate ways. Mom hurried to the airfield, and I went to school. Five steps later, I looked around, and my mother looked around. We always, when we part, after walking a little, look around. Surprisingly, we look back almost simultaneously. Let's look at each other and move on. And today I looked around again and from a distance I saw a bulldog on the very top of my mother's head. Oh, how I liked him, that bulldog! Musical bulldog. I immediately thought of a name for him: Jazz.

I barely waited until the end of class and rushed home. He pulled out the key - my mother and I have separate keys and slowly opened the door.

My heart thumped. Go to Moscow with Uncle Nikolai! I have secretly dreamed about it for a long time. To go to Moscow and live there three of us, never parting: me, my mother and my uncle Nikolai. Walk with him by the hand to the envy of all the boys, seeing him off on his next flight. And then tell how he flies on the Il-18 turboprop passenger liner. Six thousand meters above the clouds. Isn't this life? But my mother replied:

I did not decide yet. We need to talk to Tolya.

“Oh my God, she hasn't decided yet!” I protested. “Of course, I agree.”

Really, it's funny to me. Why is he so engraved in your memory? - It was Uncle Nikolai who spoke about my father. I was about to enter, but then I stopped. - So many years have passed. You only knew him for six months.

They are remembered forever. He was kind, strong and very honest. Once we sailed with him to the Adalary, in the Gurzuf Bay. We climbed onto the rock, and I dropped the beads into the sea. He jumped into the water without hesitation, and the rock was twenty meters high. Brave.

Well, it's just boyishness, - said Uncle Nikolai.

And he was a boy, and he died as a boy. At twenty-three.

You idealize him. He was ordinary, like all of us. By the way, he liked to boast.

You're angry, ”Mom said. - I did not even imagine that you are evil.

I am telling the truth, and it is unpleasant for you, - answered Uncle Nikolai. “You don’t know, but he didn’t die on the plane, as they wrote to you. He was taken prisoner.

Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?

I recently found out myself. Found new documents, fascist. And there it was written that the Soviet pilot, senior lieutenant Nashchokov, surrendered without resistance. And you say brave. Maybe he turned out to be a coward.

Shut up! - shouted mom. - Now shut up! You don't dare think so of him!

I don’t think, but I suppose, ”answered Uncle Nikolai. - Well, calm down, it's long gone and has nothing to do with us.

It has. The Nazis wrote, but did you believe it? Since you think so of him, you have nothing to come to us. You and Tolya won't understand me.

I had to go in and kick out Uncle Nikolai for his words about dad. I had to go in and say something to him so that he rolled out of our apartment. But I could not, I was afraid that when I saw my mother and him, I would just burst into tears of resentment. Before Uncle Nikolai had time to answer my mother, I ran out of the house.

It was warm outside. Spring was beginning. Familiar guys were standing near the entrance, but I turned my back on them. Most of all I was afraid that they saw Uncle Nikolai and would start asking me about him. I walked, walked and kept thinking about Uncle Nikolai and could not think of why he had said so badly about dad. After all, he knew that my mother and I love dad. Finally I returned home. Mom was sitting at the table and scratching the tablecloth with her fingernail.

I didn’t know what to do and took my mother’s handkerchief in my hands. I began to examine it. A small eared dog was drawn at the very corner. Not a purebred, an ordinary mongrel. And the artist regretted paints for him: he was gray with black spots. The dog put his muzzle on his paws and closed his eyes. Sad doggie, not like Jazz the bulldog. I felt sorry for him, and I decided to come up with a name for him too. I named him the Foundling. I don't know why, but it seemed to me that the name suited him. He was somehow random and lonely on this scarf.

You know, Tolya, let's go to Gurzuf. - Mom started crying. - To the Black Sea. Grandfather has been waiting for us for a long time.

Okay, Mom, I replied. - Let's go, but don't cry.

Two weeks passed. One morning I opened my eyes, and above my sofa, on the wall where my father's portrait in military uniform hung, it was empty. All that remained of it was a square, dark spot. I got scared: "Suddenly mom believed Uncle Nikolai and that's why she took Dad's portrait? Suddenly she believed it?" He jumped up and ran to her room. An open suitcase sat on the table. And in it were neatly packed my father's photographs and his old flying cap, which we have preserved from the pre-war period. Mom was packing up for the trip. I really wanted to go to Gurzuf, but for some reason I felt a shame that there was a dark spot on the wall instead of my father’s photo. It's sad somehow, that's all.

And then my best friend Leshka came to me. He was the smallest in our class, and sat on a high desk. Because of her, only Leshkin's head was visible. That is why he called himself "Professor Dowell's head." But Lesha has one weakness: he chatted in class. And the teacher often made comments to him. Once in class, she said: "We have girls who pay a lot of attention to their hairstyles." We turned towards Leshkina's desk, we knew that the teacher was hinting at his neighbor. And he got up and said: "Finally, it seems that does not apply to me." Silly, of course, and not at all witty. But it turned out terribly funny. After that I just fell in love with Leshka. Many laughed at him that he was small and had a thin, girlish voice. But not me.

Leshka handed me a letter.

I picked it up from the postman, ”he said. - And then get the key and climb into the mailbox.

The letter was from Uncle Nikolai. I completely got used to it. I myself did not notice how tears came to my eyes. Leshka was confused. I never cried, even when I grabbed the hot iron and burned my hand badly. Leshka stuck to me, and I told him everything.

Answer from Casde [guru]
1.link
2. Vladimir Zheleznikov, "Good Morning to Good People". A very good piece, I advise you to read it in full! Approximate content: the boy Tolya, the hero of the work, was brought up by his mother in love for his father-pilot who died in the war. But one day he hears how his mother's acquaintance, Uncle Nikolai (a friend of his father and a colleague in the regiment), tells her that her husband did not die like a hero, but was captured by the Nazis - allegedly, German documents about him were found. The mother breaks off relations with this man - she continues to love her husband and believe in his heroic death, although she has no proof. Tolya and his mother leave for their grandfather (her father) in Gurzuf. On the way, they meet the captain of the ship, Kostya, also a former front-line soldier who knows their grandfather well. The mother starts working as a nurse in a sanatorium. Their neighbor Volokhin works there as a physical instructor (his wife, whom neighbors refused to register holiday-makers, hints in a fit of anger that their father is a traitor). Further events - the boy's escape from home, his serious conversation with Kostya on the ship; acquaintance with a girl who calls herself Jay, a clash between Kostya and Volokhin (the captain protects the boy's mother). ... Suddenly, they receive a letter from Czechoslovakia, in an envelope - leaves written in the hand of Father Tolya and a letter from his grandfather-Czech, who knew him during the war years. Grandfather Ionek searched for their family for a long time in order to convey his last letter. In it, the father tells his story - how he was shot down in an air battle, ended up in a concentration camp, fled, became a partisan. "... we blew up a railway bridge, which the Nazis really needed. They transported oil through it from Romania to Germany. The next day, the Nazis arrived in a village located near the bridge, came to a local school and arrested a whole class of children - twenty boys and girls. It was "our" village. We had our own people there. One of them was grandfather Ionek, the father of the partisan Frantisek Breihal. He brought us this news.
The Nazis gave a term of three days: if the person who blew up the bridge does not appear within three days, the children will be shot. And then I decided to go to the Gestapo. The Czechs would not let me in, they said: "Our children, we will go." But I replied that if any of them, the Czechs, came along, the Nazis could still shoot the guys out of revenge. And if a Russian comes, the children will be saved. "It becomes clear that Tolya's father died like a hero. The mother said about her love for her dead husband:" - So many years have passed. You only knew him for six months. - Such people remember forever. He was kind, strong and very honest. Once we sailed with him to the Adalary, in the Gurzuf Bay. We climbed onto the rock, and I dropped the beads into the sea. He jumped into the water without hesitation, and the rock was twenty meters high. Brave. “Well, it's just boyishness,” said Uncle Nikolai. - And he was a boy, and he died as a boy. At twenty-three. "

Year of writing: 1961

Genre of the work: story

Main characters: Tolya Nashchokov- the narrator, boy, Kate- mother, Grandfather- Katya's father

Plot

Tolya lives alone with his mother. The young father died at the front as a pilot. Uncle Nikolai comes to them and offers to move from Crimea to Moscow. He accuses Tolya's father of surrendering to his enemies without resistance. This upset the mother. She decided to go to Gurzuf to her father. He got a job as a nurse in a sanatorium. Grandfather also considered the lieutenant a traitor. The boy almost left for a friend. The same rumors circulated in the city. The family received the last letter from Prokop Nashchokov from Czechoslovakia. He died because he took the blame for the bridge destroyed by the partisans. Otherwise, the Nazis would have shot the children. Tolya and his mother went to Yalta to look for father's colleagues.

Conclusion (my opinion)

It is very important to believe in family members, like Tolya and mother Katya. Of course, like a grandfather, you can stumble, but admitting mistakes, relations with loved ones persist. The story shows that heroes are never forgotten.

Good Morning to Good People

The book of the famous children's writer, laureate of the USSR State Prize, includes the stories "The Life and Adventures of an Eccentric", "The Last Parade", "Scarecrow" and others. What happens to the heroes of the stories can happen to any modern schoolchild. And yet they can teach their peers to pay attention to people, to the environment. The author portrays adolescents in such life situations when it is necessary to make a decision, to make a choice to recognize evil and indifference, that is, it shows how children are morally tempered, learn to serve good and justice.

Published in connection with the 60th anniversary of the writer.

For middle age.

Today is our holiday. Mom and I always have a holiday when Uncle Nikolai, an old friend of my father's, arrives. They once studied at school, sat on the same desk and fought against the Nazis: they flew in heavy bombers.

I have never seen my dad. He was at the front when I was born. I only saw him in photographs. They hung in our apartment. One, large, in the dining room above the sofa on which I slept. Her dad was in military uniform, with the shoulder straps of a senior lieutenant. And two other photographs, quite ordinary, civilian, hung in my mother's room. Papa is there - a boy of eighteen years old, but for some reason my mother loved these papa's photographs most of all.

Dad often dreamed of me at night. And maybe because I did not know him, he looked like Uncle Nikolai.

Uncle Nikolai's plane arrived at nine o'clock in the morning. I wanted to meet him, but my mother did not allow me, she said that you cannot leave the lessons. And she herself tied a new scarf on her head to go to the airfield. It was an extraordinary scarf. It's not about the material. I don't know much about materials. And the fact that dogs of different breeds were painted on the scarf: shepherd dogs, shaggy terriers, pomeranians, mastiffs. So many dogs can be seen at once only at the exhibition.

In the center of the shawl was a huge bulldog. His mouth was open, and for some reason musical signs flew out of it. Musical bulldog. Wonderful bulldog. Mom bought this scarf a long time ago, but never put it on. And then she put it on. One might have thought that she was specially taking care of the arrival of Uncle Nikolai. I tied the ends of a handkerchief on the back of my neck, they barely reached, and immediately became like a girl. I don’t know how anyone, but I liked that my mother looked like a girl. It’s very, in my opinion, nice when my mother is so young. She was the youngest mom in our class. And one girl from our school, I myself heard, asked her mother to make herself a coat like my mother's. Funny. Moreover, my mother's coat is old. I don't even remember when she sewed it. His sleeves were frayed this year, and my mother folded them up. “Short sleeves are fashionable now,” she said. And the handkerchief was very good for her. He even made a new coat. In general, I do not pay any attention to things. I am ready to walk for ten years in one uniform, just so that my mother can dress more beautifully. I liked it when she bought herself new clothes.

At the corner of the street we went our separate ways. Mom hurried to the airfield, and I went to school. Five steps later, I looked around, and my mother looked around. We always, when we part, after walking a little, look around. Surprisingly, we look back almost simultaneously. Let's look at each other and move on. And today I looked around again and from a distance I saw a bulldog on the very top of my mother's head. Oh, how I liked him, that bulldog! Musical bulldog. I immediately thought of a name for him: Jazz.

I barely waited until the end of class and rushed home. He pulled out the key - my mother and I have separate keys and slowly opened the door.

My heart thumped. Go to Moscow with Uncle Nikolai! I have secretly dreamed about it for a long time. To go to Moscow and live there three of us, never parting: me, my mother and my uncle Nikolai. Walk with him by the hand to the envy of all the boys, seeing him off on his next flight. And then tell how he flies on the Il-18 turboprop passenger liner. Six thousand meters above the clouds. Isn't this life? But my mother replied:

I did not decide yet. We need to talk to Tolya.

“Oh my God, she hasn't decided yet!” I protested. “Of course, I agree.”

Really, it's funny to me. Why is he so engraved in your memory? - It was Uncle Nikolai who spoke about my father. I was about to enter, but then I stopped. - So many years have passed. You only knew him for six months.

They are remembered forever. He was kind, strong and very honest. Once we sailed with him to the Adalary, in the Gurzuf Bay. We climbed onto the rock, and I dropped the beads into the sea. He jumped into the water without hesitation, and the rock was twenty meters high. Brave.

Well, it's just boyishness, - said Uncle Nikolai.

And he was a boy, and he died as a boy. At twenty-three.

You idealize him. He was ordinary, like all of us. By the way, he liked to boast.

You're angry, ”Mom said. - I did not even imagine that you are evil.

I am telling the truth, and it is unpleasant for you, - answered Uncle Nikolai. “You don’t know, but he didn’t die on the plane, as they wrote to you. He was taken prisoner.

Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?

I recently found out myself. Found new documents, fascist. And there it was written that the Soviet pilot, senior lieutenant Nashchokov, surrendered without resistance. And you say brave. Maybe he turned out to be a coward.

Shut up! - shouted mom. - Now shut up! You don't dare think so of him!

I don’t think, but I suppose, ”answered Uncle Nikolai. - Well, calm down, it's long gone and has nothing to do with us.

It has. The Nazis wrote, but did you believe it? Since you think so of him, you have nothing to come to us. You and Tolya won't understand me.

I had to go in and kick out Uncle Nikolai for his words about dad. I had to go in and say something to him so that he rolled out of our apartment. But I could not, I was afraid that when I saw my mother and him, I would just burst into tears of resentment. Before Uncle Nikolai had time to answer my mother, I ran out of the house.

It was warm outside. Spring was beginning. Familiar guys were standing near the entrance, but I turned my back on them. Most of all I was afraid that they saw Uncle Nikolai and would start asking me about him. I walked, walked and kept thinking about Uncle Nikolai and could not think of why he had said so badly about dad. After all, he knew that my mother and I love dad. Finally I returned home. Mom was sitting at the table and scratching the tablecloth with her fingernail.

I didn’t know what to do and took my mother’s handkerchief in my hands. I began to examine it. A small eared dog was drawn at the very corner. Not a purebred, an ordinary mongrel. And the artist regretted paints for him: he was gray with black spots. The dog put his muzzle on his paws and closed his eyes. Sad doggie, not like Jazz the bulldog. I felt sorry for him, and I decided to come up with a name for him too. I named him the Foundling. I don't know why, but it seemed to me that the name suited him. He was somehow random and lonely on this scarf.

You know, Tolya, let's go to Gurzuf. - Mom started crying. - To the Black Sea. Grandfather has been waiting for us for a long time.

Okay, Mom, I replied. - Let's go, but don't cry.

Two weeks passed. One morning I opened my eyes, and above my sofa, on the wall where my father's portrait in military uniform hung, it was empty. All that remained of it was a square, dark spot. I got scared: "Suddenly mom believed Uncle Nikolai and that's why she took Dad's portrait? Suddenly she believed it?" He jumped up and ran to her room. An open suitcase sat on the table. And in it were neatly packed my father's photographs and his old flying cap, which we have preserved from the pre-war period. Mom was packing up for the trip. I really wanted to go to Gurzuf, but for some reason I felt a shame that there was a dark spot on the wall instead of my father’s photo. It's sad somehow, that's all.