Vasilyev the magnificent six read on one page. Magnificent six. Boris Vasiliev. Reading by role exposition of a story

Are you here: Clothes and shoes

The Magnificent Six
Boris Lvovich Vasiliev

A sad story about indifference and callousness.

Boris Vasiliev

The Magnificent Six

Hello, Val!

Hello, Stas!

Spur your steed, Rocky! Chase, chase, chase! Is your hard drive charged, Dan? Forward, forward, just forward! Go, Whit, go, Eddie! Get your Colt ready and put your spurs in your sides: we must get away from the sheriff!

What could be better than the stomping of hooves and a mad dash to nowhere? And what does it matter if it hurts a boy’s thin buttocks to hit the bony backbones of bareback horses? So what if the horse's gallop is heavy and uncertain? So what if horses' hearts break out their ribs, an annoying wheeze erupts from their parched throats, and the foam turns pink with blood? They shoot driven horses, don't they?

Stop! Stop, mustang, whoa!.. Guys, from here - through the ravine. The hole behind the reading room, and we are home.

Well done, Rocky.

Yes, cool business.

What to do with the horses?

We'll ride again tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the end of the shift, Eddie.

so what? The buses will probably arrive after lunch!

Buses from the city came for the second camp shift after breakfast. The drivers hurried to get ready, honking their horns demonstratively. The team leaders were nervous, cursing, counting the children. And they sighed with great relief when the buses, barking their horns, set off.

“It’s a wonderful shift,” noted the head of the camp, Kira Sergeevna. - Now you can rest. How are we doing with kebabs?

Kira Sergeevna did not speak, but noted, did not smile, but expressed approval, did not scold, but educated. She was an experienced leader: she knew how to select workers, feed her children well, and avoid trouble. And I always fought. She fought for first place, for the best amateur performance, for visual propaganda, for the purity of the camp, purity of thoughts and purity of bodies. She was focused on the fight, like a piece of brick in a aimed slingshot, and, apart from the fight, did not want to think about anything: this was the meaning of her whole life, her real, personally tangible contribution to the national cause. She did not spare either herself or the people, she demanded and convinced, insisted and approved, and considered the highest award the right to report to the district committee bureau as the best leader of the pioneer camp of the past season. She achieved this honor three times and, not without reason, believed that this year would not disappoint her hopes. And the “wonderful shift” rating meant that the children didn’t break anything, didn’t do anything, didn’t spoil anything, didn’t run away and didn’t catch any diseases that could have caused her camp’s performance to decline. And she immediately threw this “wonderful shift” out of her head, because a new, third shift arrived and her camp entered the last round of tests.

A week after the start of this final stage, the police arrived at the camp. Kira Sergeevna was checking the catering unit when they reported. And it was so incredible, so wild and absurd in relation to her camp that Kira Sergeevna got angry.

“Probably because of some trifles,” she said on the way to her own office. “And then they will mention for a whole year that the police visited our camp.” This is how they bother people in passing, sow rumors, and create a stain.

Yes, yes,” the senior pioneer leader faithfully assented with a bust, which by nature itself was intended for awards, but for now wore a scarlet tie parallel to the ground. - You are absolutely right, absolutely. Breaking into a child care facility...

Invite the physical education teacher,” Kira Sergeevna ordered. - Just in case.

Shaking his tie, he rushed to perform the “bust”, and Kira Sergeevna stopped in front of her own office, writing a rebuke to the tactless guards of order. Having prepared her theses, she straightened her perfectly closed, uniform-shaped dark dress and decisively opened the door.

What's the matter, comrades? - she began sternly. - You break into a child care facility without telephone warning...

Sorry.

Standing at the window was a police lieutenant of such a youthful appearance that Kira Sergeevna would not have been surprised to see him as part of the first link of the senior detachment. The lieutenant bowed uncertainly, glancing at the sofa. Kira Sergeevna looked in the same direction and with bewilderment discovered a small, thin, shabby old man in a synthetic shirt buttoned up with all the buttons. The heavy Order of the Patriotic War looked so ridiculous on this shirt that Kira Sergeevna closed her eyes and shook her head in the hope of still seeing a jacket on the old man, and not just wrinkled pants and a light shirt with a weighty military order. But even at a second glance, nothing in the old man had changed, and the head of the camp hastily sat down in her own chair in order to regain her suddenly lost balance of spirit.

Are you Kira Sergeevna? - asked the lieutenant. - I’m a district inspector, I decided to get acquainted. Of course, I should have done it before, but I put it off, but now...

The lieutenant diligently and quietly outlined the reasons for his appearance, and Kira Sergeevna, hearing him, caught only a few words: honored front-line soldier, written off property, education, horses, children. She looked at the old disabled man with an order on his shirt, not understanding why he was here, and felt that this old man, looking point-blank with his incessantly blinking eyes, did not see her, just as she herself did not hear the policeman. And this irritated her, unsettled her, and therefore frightened her. And now she was afraid not of something specific - not the police, not the old man, not the news - but that she was afraid. Fear grew from the knowledge that it had arisen, and Kira Sergeevna was confused and even wanted to ask who this old man was, why he was here and why he was looking like that. But these questions would have sounded too feminine, and Kira Sergeevna immediately suppressed the words that timidly fluttered within her. And she relaxed with relief when the senior pioneer leader and physical education teacher entered the office.

Repeat,” she said sternly, forcing herself to look away from the medal hanging from her nylon shirt. - The very essence, short and accessible.

The lieutenant was confused. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his forehead, and turned over his uniform cap.

As a matter of fact, he’s a war invalid,” he said confusedly.

Kira Sergeevna immediately felt this confusion, this alien fear, and her own fear, her own confusion immediately disappeared without a trace. From now on everything fell into place, and she was now in control of the conversation.

You express your thoughts poorly.

The policeman looked at her and grinned.

Now I’ll explain it more clearly. An honorary collective farm pensioner and war hero, Pyotr Dementievich Prokudov, had six horses stolen. And according to all data, the pioneers of your camp stole it.

He fell silent, and everyone was silent. The news was stunning, it threatened serious complications, even trouble, and the camp leaders were now thinking about how to dodge, deflect the accusation, prove someone else’s mistake.

Of course, there is no need for horses now,” the old man suddenly muttered, moving his large feet with every word. - Cars are now available by air, by air and on TV. Of course, we've lost the habit. Previously, the little boy over there was not eating enough of his own food - he carried it to the horse. He crunches your bread, and your stomach growls. From hunger. But what about it? Everyone wants to eat. The cars don’t want it, but the horses do. Where will they get it? They eat what you give.

The lieutenant listened to this muttering calmly, but the women felt uneasy - even the physical education teacher noticed. And he was a cheerful man, he firmly knew that two and two are four, and therefore he maintained a healthy mind in a healthy body. And he was always eager to protect women.

What are you talking about, old man? - He said, smiling good-naturedly. - “Shashe”, “shashe”! I should have learned to speak first.

“He’s shell-shocked,” the lieutenant explained quietly, looking to the side.

We are not a medical commission, Comrade Lieutenant. “We are a children’s health complex,” the physical education teacher said impressively. - Why do you think that our guys stole the horses? Our children today are interested in sports, electronics, cars, and not at all in your bedsides.

Six of them went to see their grandfather more than once. They called each other foreign names, which I wrote down from the words of the collective farm guys... - The lieutenant took out a notebook and leafed through it. - Rocky, Vel, Eddie, Dan. There are such?

For the first time... - the physical education teacher began impressively.

“Yes,” the counselor quietly interrupted, starting to blush violently. - Igorek, Valera, Andrey, Deniska. These are our magnificent six, Kira Sergeevna.

This cannot be,” the boss firmly determined.

Of course it's nonsense! - the physical education teacher immediately picked up, addressing the collective farm pensioner directly. - Are you tired of the hangover, father? So where you sit down with us is where you get off, understand?

Stop yelling at him,” the lieutenant said quietly.

Look, you've drunk your horses, and you want to take it out on us? I saw through you right away!

The old man suddenly began to shake and began to roll his legs. The policeman rushed towards him, not very politely pushing the counselor away.

Where is your restroom? Where is the restroom, I ask, is he having cramps?

“In the corridor,” said Kira Sergeevna. - Take the key, this is my personal toilet.

The lieutenant took the key and helped the old man up.

There was a wet spot left on the sofa where the disabled person was sitting. The old man trembled, slowly moved his legs and repeated:

Give me three rubles for the wake, and God bless them. Give me three rubles to remember...

I'm not giving it! - the policeman snapped sternly, and both left.

“He’s an alcoholic,” the counselor said with disgust, carefully turning her back to the wet spot on the sofa. “Of course, before there was a hero, no one is belittling, but now...” She sighed sadly. - Now an alcoholic.

“But the guys really took the horses,” the physical education teacher quietly admitted. - Valera told me before leaving. He was still saying something about horses, but they called me back. Cook kebabs.

Maybe we should confess? - Kira Sergeevna asked in an icy tone. - We'll fail the competition, we'll lose the banner. - The subordinates fell silent, and she considered it necessary to explain: - Understand, it’s a different matter if the boys stole public property, but they didn’t steal it, did they? They rode and let go, therefore it was just a prank. An ordinary boyish prank, our common flaw, and the stain on the team cannot be washed away. And goodbye banner.

“I see, Kira Sergeevna,” the physical education teacher sighed. - And you can’t prove that you’re not a camel.

We need to explain to them what kind of guys these are,” said the counselor. - It was not for nothing that you called them the magnificent six, Kira Sergeevna.

Good idea. Get reviews, protocols, certificates of honor. Organize quickly.

When the lieutenant and the silent disabled man returned to the office, the desk was laden with open folders, Certificates of Merit, charts and diagrams.

Sorry, grandfather,” the lieutenant said guiltily. - His contusion is severe.

“Nothing,” Kira Sergeevna smiled generously. - We have exchanged here for now. And we believe that you, comrades, simply do not know what kind of guys we have. We can safely say: they are the hope of the twenty-first century. And, in particular, those who, due to a complete misunderstanding, ended up on your shameful list, Comrade Lieutenant.

Kira Sergeevna paused so that the police officer and, for some unknown reason, the disabled person he brought with the medal that irritates her so much could fully understand that the main thing is a wonderful future, and not those unfortunate exceptions that are still found here and there among individual citizens. But the lieutenant patiently waited for what would follow, and the old man, having sat down, again fixed his melancholy gaze somewhere through the boss, through the walls and, it seems, through time itself. This was unpleasant, and Kira Sergeevna allowed herself to joke:

There are stains on marble, you know. But noble marble remains noble marble even when a shadow falls on it. Now we will show you, comrades, who they are trying to cast a shadow on. - She rustled the papers laid out on the table. - For example... For example, Valera. Excellent mathematical data, multiple winner of mathematical Olympiads. Here you can find copies of his Certificates of Honor. Next, let's say Slavik...

Second Karpov! - the physical education teacher interrupted decisively. - Brilliant depth of analysis, and as a result - first category. The hope of the region, and perhaps the entire Union - I tell you as a specialist.

And Igorek? - the counselor timidly inserted. - Amazing technical sense. Amazing! It was even shown on TV.

And our amazing polyglot Deniska? - Kira Sergeevna picked up, involuntarily becoming infected with the enthusiasm of her subordinates. - He has already mastered three languages. How many languages do you speak, comrade policeman?

The lieutenant looked seriously at the boss, coughed modestly into his fist and quietly asked:

How many “languages” have you mastered, grandfather? They gave the sixth one an order, so it seems?

The old man nodded thoughtfully, and the weighty order swayed on his sunken chest, reflecting the golden ray of sunlight. And again there was an uncomfortable pause, and Kira Sergeevna clarified in order to interrupt it:

Is a fellow front-line soldier your grandfather?

“He’s everyone’s grandfather,” the lieutenant explained somehow reluctantly. - Old people and children are relatives to everyone: my grandmother taught me this even in my infancy.

It’s strange how you explain things,” Kira Sergeevna remarked sternly. - We understand who is sitting in front of us, don’t worry. No one is forgotten and nothing is forgotten.

Every shift we hold a ceremonial line-up at the obelisk for the fallen,” the counselor hastily explained. - We lay flowers.

So this is what the event is?

Yes, an event! - the physical education teacher said sharply, deciding to defend women again. - I don’t understand why you mock the means of instilling patriotism.

I, this... I'm not being ironic. - The lieutenant spoke quietly and very calmly, and therefore everyone in the room was angry. Except for the old front-line soldier. - Flowers, fireworks - that's all right, of course, but that's not what I'm talking about. You were talking about marble. Marble is good. Always clean. And it’s convenient to put flowers. But what to do with such a grandfather, who has not yet been dressed in marble? The one who can’t take care of himself, the one who’s in his pants, I’m sorry, of course... but he’s drawn to vodka, even if you tie him up! Why is it worse than those under marble? Because he didn't have time to die?

Sorry, comrade, it’s even strange to hear. What about benefits for disabled war veterans? What about honor? The state cares...

Are you, perhaps, a state? I'm not talking about the state, I'm talking about your pioneers. And about you.

And still! - Kira Sergeevna emphatically tapped the table with a pencil. - Still, I insist that you change the wording.

What did you change? - the district police officer asked.

Wording. As wrong, harmful and even apolitical, if you look at the root.

Even? - the policeman asked again and smiled unpleasantly again.

I don’t understand why you’re smiling? - the physical education teacher shrugged. - Is there evidence? No. And we have it. It turns out that you support slander, but you know what it smells like?

“It smells bad,” the lieutenant agreed. - You'll feel it soon.

He spoke with bitterness, without any threats or hints, but those to whom he spoke heard not bitterness, but hidden threats. It seemed to them that the district police officer was being dark, deliberately not telling something, and so they fell silent again, feverishly wondering what trump cards the enemy would throw and how these trump cards should be beaten.

“A horse, he’s like a man,” the old man suddenly intervened and moved his legs again. - He just doesn’t speak, he only understands. He saved me, call me Kuchum. Such a handsome bay Kuchum. Just a minute, just a minute.

The disabled man stood up and began fussily unbuttoning his shirt buttons. The heavy medal, sagging, swayed on the slippery fabric, and the grandfather, muttering “Wait, wait,” was still fiddling with the buttons
/>End of introductory fragment
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Boris Vasiliev
The Magnificent Six

- Hello, Val!

- Hello, Stas!

- Stop! Stop, mustang, whoa!.. Guys, from here - through the ravine. The hole behind the reading room, and we are home.

- You did great, Rocky.

- Yes, cool business.

– What to do with the horses?

- We'll ride again tomorrow.

“Tomorrow is the end of the shift, Eddie.”

- So what? The buses will probably arrive after lunch!

“Wonderful shift,” noted the head of the camp, Kira Sergeevna. - Now you can rest. How are we doing with kebabs?

“Yes, yes,” the senior pioneer leader faithfully assented with a bust, which by nature itself was intended for awards, but for now wore a scarlet tie parallel to the ground. – You are absolutely right, absolutely. Breaking into a child care facility...

“Invite the physical education teacher,” Kira Sergeevna ordered. - Just in case.

-What's the matter, comrades? – she began sternly. - You break into a child care facility without telephone warning...

- Sorry.

– Are you Kira Sergeevna? – asked the lieutenant. – I’m a district inspector, I decided to meet you. Of course, I should have done it before, but I put it off, but now...

“Repeat,” she said sternly, forcing herself to look away from the medal hanging from her nylon shirt. – The very essence, short and accessible.

The lieutenant was confused. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his forehead, and turned over his uniform cap.

“As a matter of fact, he’s a war invalid,” he said confusedly.

– You express your thoughts poorly.

The policeman looked at her and grinned.

– Now I’ll explain it more richly. An honorary collective farm pensioner and war hero, Pyotr Dementievich Prokudov, had six horses stolen. And according to all data, the pioneers of your camp stole it.

“Of course, there’s no need for horses now,” the old man suddenly muttered, moving his large feet with every word. – Cars are now available by air, by air and on TV. Of course, we've lost the habit. Previously, the little boy over there was not eating enough of his own food - he carried it to the horse. He crunches your bread, and your stomach growls. From hunger. But what about it? Everyone wants to eat. The cars don’t want it, but the horses do. Where will they get it? They eat what you give.

-What are you talking about, old man? – he said, smiling good-naturedly. - “Shashe”, “shashe”! I should have learned to speak first.

“He’s shell-shocked,” the lieutenant explained quietly, looking to the side.

– We are not a medical commission, Comrade Lieutenant. “We are a children’s health complex,” the physical education teacher said impressively. – Why do you think that our guys stole the horses? Our children today are interested in sports, electronics, cars, and not at all in your bedsides.

– Six of us went to see our grandfather more than once. They called each other foreign names, which I wrote down from the words of the collective farm children... - The lieutenant took out a notebook and leafed through it. – Rocky, Val, Eddie, Dan. There are such?

“For the first time...” the physical education teacher began impressively.

“Yes,” the counselor quietly interrupted, starting to blush violently. – Igorek, Valera, Andrey, Deniska. These are our magnificent six, Kira Sergeevna.

“This cannot be,” the boss firmly determined.

- Of course, nonsense! – the physical education teacher immediately picked up, addressing the collective farm pensioner directly. - Are you hungover, father? So where you sit down with us is where you get off, understand?

“Stop yelling at him,” the lieutenant said quietly.

- Come on, you drank your horses, and you want to get even on us? I saw through you right away!

The old man suddenly began to shake and began to roll his legs. The policeman rushed towards him, not very politely pushing the counselor away.

-Where is your restroom? Where is the restroom, I ask, is he having cramps?

“In the corridor,” said Kira Sergeevna. - Take the key, this is my personal toilet.

The lieutenant took the key and helped the old man up. There was a wet spot left on the sofa where the disabled person was sitting. The old man trembled, slowly moved his legs and repeated:

“Give me three rubles for the wake, and God bless them.” Give me three rubles to remember...

- I'm not giving it! – the policeman cut off sternly, and both left.

“But the guys really took the horses,” the physical education teacher admitted quietly. – Valera told me before leaving. He was still saying something about horses, but they called me back. Cook kebabs.

- Maybe we should confess? – Kira Sergeevna asked in an icy tone. “We’ll fail the competition and lose the banner.” “The subordinates fell silent, and she considered it necessary to explain: “Understand, it’s a different matter if the boys stole public property, but they didn’t steal it, did they?” They rode and let go, therefore it was just a prank. An ordinary boyish prank, our common flaw, and the stain on the team cannot be washed away. And goodbye, banner.

“I see, Kira Sergeevna,” the physical education teacher sighed. - And you can’t prove that you’re not a camel.

“We need to explain to them what kind of guys these are,” said the counselor. – It’s not for nothing that you called them the magnificent six, Kira Sergeevna.

- Good idea. Get reviews, protocols, certificates of honor. Organize quickly.

When the lieutenant and the silent invalid returned to the office, the desk was full of open folders, certificates of honor, graphs and diagrams.

“Sorry, grandfather,” the lieutenant said guiltily. - He has a severe concussion.

“Nothing,” Kira Sergeevna smiled generously. – We have exchanged here for now. And we believe that you, comrades, simply do not know what kind of guys we have. We can safely say: they are the hope of the twenty-first century. And in particular, those who, due to a complete misunderstanding, ended up on your shameful list, Comrade Lieutenant.

Kira Sergeevna paused so that the police officer and, for some unknown reason, the disabled person he had brought with the medal that irritates her so much could fully understand that the main thing is a wonderful future, and not those unfortunate exceptions that are still found here and there among individual citizens. But the lieutenant patiently waited for what would follow, and the old man, having sat down, again fixed his melancholy gaze somewhere through the boss, through the walls and, it seems, through time itself. This was unpleasant, and Kira Sergeevna allowed herself to joke:

– There are stains on marble, you know. But noble marble remains noble marble even when a shadow falls on it. Now we will show you, comrades, who they are trying to cast a shadow on. “She rustled the papers laid out on the table. – For example... For example, Valera. Excellent mathematical data, multiple winner of mathematical Olympiads. Here you can find copies of his certificates of honor. Next, let's say Slavik...

- Second Karpov! – the physical education teacher decisively interrupted. – Brilliant depth of analysis, and as a result – first category. The hope of the region, and perhaps the entire Union - I tell you as a specialist.

- And Igorek? – the counselor timidly inserted. – Amazing technical sense. Amazing! It was even shown on TV.

– And our amazing polyglot Deniska? – Kira Sergeevna picked up, involuntarily becoming infected with the enthusiasm of her subordinates. – He has already mastered three languages. How many languages do you speak, comrade policeman?

The lieutenant looked seriously at the boss, coughed modestly into his fist and quietly asked:

– How many “languages” have you mastered, grandfather? They gave the sixth one an order, so it seems?

- Is a fellow front-line soldier your grandfather?

“He’s everyone’s grandfather,” the lieutenant explained somehow reluctantly. - Old people and children are relatives to everyone: my grandmother taught me this even in my infancy.

“It’s strange how you explain things,” Kira Sergeevna remarked sternly. – We understand who is sitting in front of us, don’t worry. No one is forgotten and nothing is forgotten.

“Every shift we hold a ceremonial line-up at the obelisk for the fallen,” the counselor hastily explained. - We lay flowers.

– So this is what the event is?

- Yes, an event! – the physical education teacher said sharply, deciding to protect the women again. – I don’t understand why you mock the means of instilling patriotism.

- I, this... I'm not being ironic. “The lieutenant spoke quietly and very calmly, and that’s why everyone in the room was angry. Except for the old front-line soldier. – Flowers, fireworks – that’s all right, of course, but that’s not what I’m talking about. You were talking about marble. Marble is good. Always clean. And it’s convenient to put flowers. But what to do with such a grandfather, who has not yet been dressed in marble? The one who can’t take care of himself, the one who’s in his pants, I’m sorry, of course... but he’s drawn to vodka, even if you tie him up! Why is it worse than those under marble? Because he didn't have time to die?

- Sorry, comrade, it’s even strange to hear. What about benefits for disabled war veterans? What about honor? The state cares...

– Are you, perhaps, a state? I'm not talking about the state, I'm talking about your pioneers. And about you.

- And still! – Kira Sergeevna emphatically tapped the table with a pencil. – Still, I insist that you change the wording.

- What did you change? – the district police officer asked.

- Formulation. As wrong, harmful and even apolitical, if you look at the root.

- Even? – the policeman asked again and smiled unpleasantly again.

– I don’t understand why you’re grinning? – the physical education teacher shrugged. – Is there any evidence? No. And we have it. It turns out that you support slander, but you know what it smells like?

“It smells bad,” the lieutenant agreed. - You'll feel it soon.

“A horse is like a person,” the old man suddenly intervened and moved his legs again. “He just doesn’t speak, he only understands.” He saved me, call me Kuchum. Such a handsome bay Kuchum. Just a minute, just a minute.

- Is he undressing? – the senior pioneer leader asked in a whisper. - Tell him to stop.

“He will show you the second order,” said the lieutenant. - On the back.

Unable to manage all the buttons, the old man pulled the shirt over his head and, without taking it off his hands, turned around.

On his thin, bony back, under his left shoulder, a brown semicircular scar was visible.

“These are his teeth, teeth,” the grandfather said, still standing with his back to them. - Kuchuma, that is. I was shell-shocked at the crossing, and they both fell into the water. I had no idea about this, but Kuchum did. With your teeth for your tunic and along with the meat, so that it’s stronger. And dragged him out. And he fell himself. A shrapnel broke his ribs, and his intestines were trailing behind him.

“What disgusting,” said the counselor, turning as crimson as a tie. – Kira Sergeevna, what is this? This is some kind of mockery, Kira Sergeevna.

“Get dressed, grandfather,” the lieutenant sighed, and again no one felt his pain and care: everyone was afraid of their own pain. “If you catch a cold, no Kuchum will get you out anymore.”

- Oh, there was a konik, ah, a konik! “The old man put on his shirt and turned around, buttoning it up. “They don’t live long, that’s the problem.” They still can’t live to see good things. They don't have time.

Mumbling, he stuffed his shirt into his wrinkled pants, smiled, and tears flowed down his wrinkled face covered with gray stubble. Yellow, non-stop, like a horse.

“Get dressed, grandfather,” the policeman said quietly. - Let me fasten your button.

He began to help, and the disabled man gratefully buried himself in his shoulder. He rubbed himself and sighed, like an old, tired horse that had never lived to see good things.

- Oh, Kolya, Kolya, if only you could give me three rubles...

- Relative! – Kira Sergeevna suddenly shouted triumphantly and sharply slammed her palm on the table. “They hid it, confused it, and then they brought in a foolish relative. For what purpose? Are you looking under a street lamp to clear away the guilty party?

- Of course this is your own grandfather! – the physical education teacher immediately picked up. - It’s obvious. With the naked eye, as they say.

“My grandfather is lying in a brotherhood near Kharkov,” said the district police officer. - And this is not mine, this is the collective farm grandfather. And the horses that your magnificent six stole were his horses. The collective farm gave them, these horses, to him, Pyotr Dementievich Prokudov.

“As for “stolen,” as you used, we still have to prove it,” Kira Sergeevna noted impressively. – I will not allow the children’s team entrusted to me to be denigrated. You can officially open a “case”, you can, but now leave my office immediately. I report directly to the region and will not talk to you or this collective farm grandfather, but to the appropriate competent comrades.

“So we met,” the lieutenant smiled sadly. He put on his cap and helped the old man get up. - Let's go, grandfather, let's go.

- I would give three rubles...

- I'm not giving it! – the district police officer snapped and turned to the boss. – Don’t worry, there won’t be any “business.” The horses were written off from the collective farm balance sheet, and there was no one to sue. The horses were nobody's.

“Oh, horses, horses,” sighed the old man. “Now cars are caressed and horses are beaten.” And now they will never live to see their lives.

- Allow me. – Kira Sergeevna was confused almost for the first time in her management practice, since the interlocutor’s action did not fit into any framework. “If there is no “business”, then why...” She slowly stood up, towering over her own desk. - How dare you? This is an unworthy suspicion, this... I have no words, but I won’t leave it like this. I will notify your boss immediately, do you hear? Immediately.

“Let me know,” agreed the lieutenant. - And then send someone to bury the horse corpses. They are behind the ravine, in the grove.

- Oh, horses, horses! – the old man whined again, and tears dripped onto his nylon shirt.

“Does that mean they... died?” – the counselor asked in a whisper.

“Fire,” the lieutenant corrected sternly, looking into hitherto so serene eyes. - From hunger and thirst. Your guys, having had a good time, tied them to trees and left. Home. The horses ate everything they could reach: foliage, bushes, tree bark. And they were tied high and short, so that they couldn’t even fall: they hung there on the bridles. “He took several photographs out of his pocket and put them on the table. - Tourists brought it to me. And I - to you. For memory.

The women and the physical education teacher looked in horror at the bared, dead horses' muzzles raised to the sky with tears frozen in their eye sockets. A gnarled, trembling finger entered their field of vision and gently ran over the photographs.

- Here he is, Greyback. It was an old gelding, sick, but look, only the right side had gnawed everything off. And why? But because Pulka was tied to the left, such an ancient filly. So he left it to her. Horses, they know how to feel sorry...

The door slammed, the old man's muttering and the creaking of police boots died down, and they still could not take their eyes off the fly-covered muzzles of the horses with forever frozen eyes. And only when a large tear fell from her eyelashes and hit the glossy paper, Kira Sergeevna woke up.

“These,” she poked at the photographs, “should be hidden... that is, buried as soon as possible, there is no need to traumatize the children.” – She rummaged in her purse, took out a ten, and handed it to the physical education teacher without looking. - Tell the disabled person, he wanted to remember him, he needs to be respected. Just so that the policeman doesn’t notice, otherwise... And hint more gently, so that he doesn’t chat in vain.

“Don’t worry, Kira Sergeevna,” the physical education teacher assured and hurriedly left.

“I’ll go too,” the counselor said without raising her head. - Can?

- Yes, of course, of course.

Kira Sergeevna waited until the footsteps died down, went into the private toilet, locked herself there, tore up the photographs, threw the scraps into the toilet and flushed the water with great relief.

And the honorary pensioner of the collective farm, Pyotr Dementievich Prokudov, a former intelligence officer in the cavalry corps of General Belov, died that same evening. He bought two bottles of vodka and drank them in the winter stables, where until now there was such a wonderful smell of horses.