“Meeting”, analysis of Zoshchenko’s story. Pleasant meeting M Zoshchenko meeting read summary

Zoshchenko's story "Meeting" was published in 1928 in the book "Days of Our Lives", published in the library of the magazine "Behemoth".

Literary direction and genre

Mikhail Zoshchenko is a realist writer. His tiny stories reveal the characters of simple, unsophisticated Soviet people, whom the writer treats very warmly. In this story, the hero-narrator is subjected to satirical ridicule: he is selfish and cowardly, does not believe in the best human qualities. Of course, criticism is directed not at the “little man”, but at the system that cripples souls. On the other hand, using the example of a hero-fellow traveler, the writer shows that a person cannot be spoiled if he does not want it.

Issues

In the story “Meeting” Zoshchenko raises the problem of human unselfishness. His hero doubts the existence of such a thing, but the author himself does not doubt it. For the author, the problem is that others are suspected of bad qualities by those who themselves have them.

In the story, Zoshchenko explores the nature of the appearance of complexes in “little people”, tries to understand why bad and good people “turn out”, how positive and negative qualities are formed.

Heroes of the story

The narrator in this work is not identical to the author. Moreover, the author does not sympathize with his hero. The personality of the narrator should have aroused disgust and indignation in the reader. But the author awakens this feeling gradually.

The narrator's first statement about love for people should have endeared him to the reader. The statement that the narrator has not seen selfless people is controversial and requires proof. At the beginning of the story, the narrator behaves naturally: he admires the Crimean beauties and languishes from the heat.

The reader is even ready to forgive the narrator for his reluctance to meet a passerby on a deserted road. And yet, there is already something unattractive in this fact: the narrator is somehow overly cautious. First of all, he thinks: “You never know what happens. There’s a lot of temptation.” It seems that the narrator himself is afraid of being tempted. Later, he shows cowardice by running away from a lonely person. The narrator stops from exhaustion, and not at all because he hears a word that a robber would hardly have used: “Stop! Comrade!"

The second hero of the story is truly an altruist, a selfless person. The reader does not doubt this, unlike the hero-narrator. The reader sees the fellow traveler through the eyes of the narrator. This man is dressed sparsely, he has sandals on his feet, and “a net instead of a shirt.” Later it turns out that the narrator’s interlocutor is a “food worker,” that is, he works in the food industry. Apparently he's local, which is why he uses netting as clothing. He contrasts himself with tourists who “always get confused here.”

The only benefit that the “food worker” gets when he catches up with the narrator on the hot highway is a cigarette. There is also an intangible benefit - it’s more fun to go together.

Both of these benefits are obviously not considered by the disinterested food traveler who runs after a stranger only because it is “hard to watch” him going the wrong way.

But the narrator is able to evaluate a person only from the point of view of benefit. After all, the runner suffered a loss, not to mention the fact that he was going the wrong way: he ran, was out of breath, and tore his sandals.

The main character has not yet seen a selfless person, so this thought torments him later, when he returns to Leningrad.

Both heroes are simple people, “little people,” as evidenced by their speech, which is equally incorrect, full of vernacular: the dog knows him, the bastard, has become attached, instead, shashe (highway), always, whole, shoot a cigarette. But the narrator treats his fellow traveler with some disdain. He already knows the word “highway” and other smart words - “panorama”, “sympathies”.

The narrator's speech is poor, there are not enough words even to describe the Crimean nature: the blue sea, damn mountains, eagles fly, ships sail, unearthly beauty.

Plot and composition

The story describes one event in the hero’s life - a meeting with the only, from his point of view, unselfish person, a “bright personality.” About a third of the short story is devoted to discussions about this meeting.

The story begins with the narrator declaring: “I’ll tell you frankly: I love people very much.” The reader assumes that the narrator is an open and sincere person. But the entire subsequent narrative contradicts this assumption. Some researchers even believe that the author’s own voice is heard in the first sentence.

The narrator, vacationing in Crimea, meets a random passer-by on the road from Yalta to Alupka. He runs away, afraid of running into a stranger in a desert area. A passerby persistently pursues the narrator with one goal: to report on a shorter and shady road.

The story ends, as it began, with discussions about selflessness, in which the narrator does not fully believe.

Artistic originality

In a tiny story, the hero managed to fit three voices at once - the author, the narrator and the fellow traveler. Each of them is recognizable. The author represents the highest justice, he is a questioning voice, looking for selfless people. The narrator strives with all his might to be good, as he understands it. But his aspirations seem insincere. So, the beautiful landscape quickly ceases to interest him. The narrator discovers fears and doubts that torment him and destroy his spiritual harmony. The “foodie” is more harmonious. Despite poverty and illiteracy, he is internally free. This is Zoshchenko’s favorite type of people who maintain nobility and remain “bright personalities” regardless of the circumstances.

A very funny story happened to me on transport this fall.

I was going to Moscow. From Rostov. The mail and passenger train is approaching at six forty-five in the evening.

I'm getting on this train.

There aren't too many people. Even in extreme cases, you can sit down.

Please make room. I sit down.

And now I look at my fellow travelers.

And it’s time, I say, in the evening. Not that dark, but a little dark. Generally twilight. And they still don’t give fire. Wires are saved.

So, I look at the surrounding passengers and see that the company they have chosen is quite nice. I see they are all nice, not pompous people.

One of them is without a hat, a long-maned fellow, but not a priest. He's such an intellectual in a black jacket.

Next to him is wearing Russian boots and a uniform cap. So mustachioed. Not an engineer. Maybe he is a zookeeper or an agronomist. Only, apparently, a very sympathetic soul. He holds a penknife with his hands and with this knife he cuts the Antonov apple into pieces and feeds it to his other neighbor - the armless one. So next to him, I see an armless citizen riding. Such a young proletarian guy. Without both hands. Probably a disabled worker. It's very sad to see.

But he eats with such gusto. And, since he has no hands, he cuts it into slices for him and feeds it into his mouth at the tip of a knife.

This, I see, is a humane picture. A plot worthy of Rembrandt.

And opposite them sits an elderly, gray-haired man in a black cap. And he, this man, grins.

Maybe they had some funny conversation before me. Only apparently, this passenger still can’t cool down and keeps laughing from time to time: “he-e” and “he-e.”

And I was very intrigued not by this gray-haired one, but by the one with no arms.

And I look at him with civil sorrow, and I am very tempted to ask how he went so crazy and how he lost his limbs. But it’s awkward to ask.

I think I’ll get used to the passengers, talk to them and then ask.

I began to ask the mustachioed subject extraneous questions as he was more responsive, but he answered gloomily and reluctantly.

Only suddenly the first intelligent man with long hair gets involved in a conversation with me.

For some reason he reached out to me, and we started talking about various light topics: where are you going, how much is cabbage, and whether you have a housing crisis today.

He says: “We don’t have a housing crisis.” Moreover, we live on our estate, on an estate.

“And what,” I say, “do you have a room or a doghouse there?” “No,” he says, “why a room?” Take it higher. I have nine rooms, not counting, of course, the people's rooms, sheds, latrines, and so on.

I say: “Maybe you’re lying?” Well, I say, you weren’t evicted during the revolution or is this a state farm? “No,” he says, “this is my family estate, a mansion.” “Yes,” he says, “come to me.” I sometimes host evenings. There are fountains splashing all around me. Symphony orchestras play waltzes.

What are you, - I say, - I'm sorry, will you be a tenant or are you a private person? “Yes,” he says, “I’m a private person.” By the way, I am a landowner.

That is, - I say, - how, may I understand you? Are you a former landowner? That is, I say, the proletarian revolution swept away your category. “I,” I say, “I’m sorry, I can’t figure anything out in this matter.” We have, I say, a social revolution, socialism - what kind of landowners we can have.

But, he says, they can. “Here,” he says, “I’m a landowner.” “I,” he says, “managed to survive through your entire revolution.” And,” he says, “I don’t care about everyone - I live like a god.” And I don’t care about your social revolutions.

I look at him in amazement and really don’t understand what’s what. He says: “Yes, you come and you’ll see.” Well, if you want, we’ll come to my place now. “You will meet a very luxurious lordly life,” he says. Let's go. You'll see.

“What the hell,” I think. Should I go and see how it survived through the proletarian revolution? Or he's lying."

Moreover, I see that the gray-haired man is laughing. Everyone laughs: “heh” and “heh.”

Only I wanted to reprimand him for inappropriate laughter, and the mustachioed man, who had been slicing an apple earlier, put his penknife on the table, finished the rest and said to me quite loudly: - Stop talking to him. These are mental. Don't you see, or what? Then I looked at the whole honest company and saw - my fathers! But these are really crazy people traveling with a watchman. And the one with long hair is abnormal. And who laughs all the time. And armless too. He's just wearing a straitjacket - his hands are twisted. And you can’t immediately tell what he’s doing with his hands. In a word, crazy people are coming. And this mustachioed one is their watchman. He transports them.

I look at them with concern and am nervous - I also think, damn them, they will strangle them, since they are mental and are not responsible for their actions.

Only suddenly I see one crazy guy with a black beard, my neighbor, looking with his cunning eye at a penknife and suddenly carefully taking it into his hand.

Then my heart skipped a beat and a chill went through my skin. In one second I jumped up, fell on the bearded man and began to take the knife away from him.

And he puts up desperate resistance to me. And he tries to bite me with his crazy teeth.

Only suddenly the mustachioed guard pulls me back. He says: “Why did you fall on them, really, you’re not ashamed.” This is their knife. This is not a psychic passenger. These three are, yes, my mental ones. And this passenger is just driving, just like you. We borrowed a knife from them - we asked. This is their knife. Shame on you! The one I crushed says: “I gave them a knife, and they attack me.” They choke you by the throat. Thank you thank you. What strange actions on their part. Yes, maybe it's mental too. Then, if you are a watchman, you keep a better eye on him. Avon pounces and strangles him by the throat.

The watchman says: “Or maybe he’s also psychic.” The dog will figure it out. Only he is not from my party. Why should I watch him in vain? There is nothing to tell me. I know mine.

I say to the strangled man: “I’m sorry, I thought you were crazy too.”

“You,” he says, “thought.” Indian roosters are thinking... The bastard almost strangled him by the throat. Don't you see that their crazy look and mine are natural?

No, I say, I don’t see it. On the contrary, I say, you also have some kind of cloudiness in your eyes, and your beard is growing like an abnormal person’s.

One psychic - this same landowner - says: - If you pull his beard, he will stop talking abnormally.

The bearded man wanted to shout guard, but then we arrived at the Igren station, and our psychics and their guide came out.

And they came out in a fairly strict order. Just now the armless man had to be pushed slightly.

And then the conductor told us that at this Igren station there is a home for the mentally ill, where such mental patients are often taken. So, how else to transport them? Not in a dog warmer. There's nothing to be offended about.

Yes, I’m actually not offended. It was stupid, of course, that I started talking like a fool, but nothing! But the one I crushed was really offended. He looked at me gloomily for a long time and watched my movements with fear. And then, not expecting anything good from me, he moved with his things to another department.

Please.

I'll tell you frankly: I love people very much.

Others, you know, waste their sympathy on dogs. They bathe them and lead them on chains. But somehow the person is nicer to me.

However, I can’t lie: with all my ardent love, I have never seen selfless people.

There was one boy who flashed through my life as a bright personality. And even now I’m in deep thought about him. I can’t decide what he was thinking then. The dog knows him - what thoughts he had when he did his selfless deed.

And I was walking, you know, from Yalta to Alupka. On foot. Along the highway. I was in Crimea this year. At the holiday home.

So I walk. I admire the Crimean nature. To the left, of course, is the blue sea. Ships float. To the right are the damn mountains. Eagles flutter. The beauty is, one might say, unearthly.

The only bad thing is that it's impossibly hot. Through this heat, even beauty does not come to mind. You turn away from the panorama. And the dust on my teeth creaks.

He walked seven miles and stuck out his tongue. And it’s still God knows how long to Alupka. Maybe ten miles. I'm really not glad that I left.

I walked another mile. I'm tired. I sat down on the road. Sitting. Resting. And I see a man walking behind me. Maybe five hundred steps.

And all around, of course, it’s deserted. Not a soul. Eagles are flying.

I didn’t think anything bad then. But still, with all my love for people, I don’t like meeting them in a deserted place. You never know what happens. There is a lot of temptation.

He got up and went. I walked a little, turned around - a man was following me. Then I walked faster,” he seemed to be pushing too.

I walk and don’t look at the Crimean nature. If only I could reach Alupka alive, I think. I turn around. I look - he waves his hand at me. I also waved my hand at him. They say, leave me alone, do me a favor.

I hear someone shouting. Here, I think, the bastard has become attached! Khodko went forward. I hear screaming again. And he runs behind me.

Despite the fatigue, I also ran. I ran a little - I was out of breath.

I hear him shouting:

- Stop! Stop! Comrade!

I leaned against the rock. I'm standing.

A poorly dressed man runs up to me. In sandals. And instead of a shirt there is a net.

- What do you want, I say?

“Nothing,” he says, “no need.” But I see that you are going the wrong way. Are you in Alupka?

- To Alupka.

“Then,” he says, “you don’t need a check.” You give a huge detour along the line. Tourists always get confused here. And here you have to follow the path. There are four versts of benefits. And there's a lot of shade.

“No,” I say, “mercy, thank you.” I'll go along the highway.

“Well,” he says, “as you wish.” And I'm on the path.

He turned and walked back. Then he says:

- Is there a cigarette, comrade? Want to smoke.

I gave him a cigarette. And somehow we immediately met him and became friends. And we went together. Along the path.

He turned out to be a very nice person. Food worker. He laughed at me the whole way.

“Straight,” he says, “it was hard to look at you.” It's going the wrong way. Let me tell you, I think. And you are running. Why were you running?

“Yes,” I say, “why not run?”

Imperceptibly, along a shady path we came to Alupka and said goodbye here.

I spent the entire evening thinking about this food truck.

The man was running, out of breath, shaking his sandals. And for what? To tell me where I need to go. It was very noble of him.

Now, having returned to Leningrad, I think: the dog knows him, or maybe he really wanted to smoke? Maybe he wanted to shoot the cigarette from me. So he ran. Or maybe he was bored and was looking for a travel companion.

I'll tell you frankly: I love people very much.

Others, you know, waste their sympathy on dogs. They bathe them and lead them on chains. But somehow the person is nicer to me.

However, I can’t lie: with all my ardent love, I have never seen selfless people.

There was one boy who flashed through my life as a bright personality. And even now I’m in deep thought about him. I can’t decide what he was thinking then. The dog knows him - what thoughts he had when he did his selfless deed.

And I was walking, you know, from Yalta to Alupka. On foot. Along the highway. I was in Crimea this year. At the holiday home.

So I walk. I admire the Crimean nature. To the left, of course, is the blue sea. Ships float. To the right are the damn mountains. Eagles flutter. The beauty is, one might say, unearthly.

The only bad thing is that it’s impossibly hot. Through this heat, even beauty does not come to mind. You turn away from the panorama. And the dust on my teeth creaks.

He walked seven miles and stuck out his tongue. And it’s still God knows how long to Alupka. Maybe ten miles. I'm really not glad that I left.

I walked another mile. I'm tired. I sat down on the road. Sitting. Resting. And I see a man walking behind me. Maybe five hundred steps.

And all around, of course, it’s deserted. Not a soul. Eagles are flying.

I didn’t think anything bad then. But still, with all my love for people, I don’t like meeting them in a deserted place. You never know what happens. There is a lot of temptation.

He got up and went. I walked a little, turned around - a man was following me. Then I walked faster,” he seemed to be pushing too.

I walk and don’t look at the Crimean nature. If only I could reach Alupka alive, I think. I turn around. I look - he waves his hand at me. I also waved my hand at him. They say, leave me alone, do me a favor.

I hear someone shouting. Here, I think, the bastard has become attached! Khodko went forward. I hear screaming again. And he runs behind me.

Despite the fatigue, I also ran. I ran a little - I was out of breath.

I hear him shouting:

- Stop! Stop! Comrade!

I leaned against the rock. I'm standing.

A poorly dressed man runs up to me. In sandals. And instead of a shirt there is a net.

- What do you want, I say?

“Nothing,” he says, “no need.” But I see that you are going the wrong way. Are you in Alupka?

- To Alupka.

“Then,” he says, “you don’t need a check.” You give a huge detour along the line. Tourists always get confused here. And here you have to follow the path. There are four versts of benefits. And there's a lot of shade.

“No,” I say, “mercy, thank you.” I'll go along the highway.

“Well,” he says, “as you wish.” And I'm on the path.

He turned and walked back. Then he says:

- Is there a cigarette, comrade? Want to smoke.

I gave him a cigarette. And somehow we immediately met him and became friends. And we went together. Along the path.

He turned out to be a very nice person. Food worker. He laughed at me the whole way.

“Straight,” he says, “it was hard to look at you.” It's going the wrong way. Let me tell you, I think. And you are running. Why were you running?

“Yes,” I say, “why not run?”

Imperceptibly, along a shady path we came to Alupka and said goodbye here.

I spent the entire evening thinking about this food truck.

The man was running, out of breath, shaking his sandals. And for what? To tell me where I need to go. It was very noble of him.

Now, having returned to Leningrad, I think: the dog knows him, or maybe he really wanted to smoke? Maybe he wanted to shoot the cigarette from me. So he ran. Or maybe he was bored and was looking for a travel companion.

I'll tell you frankly: I love people very much. Others, you know, waste their sympathy on dogs. They bathe them and lead them on chains. But somehow the person is nicer to me.

However, I can’t lie: with all my ardent love, I have never seen selfless people.

One boy, a bright personality, flashed through my life. And even now I’m in deep thought about him. I can’t decide what he was thinking then. The dog knows him - what thoughts he had when he did his selfless deed.

And I was walking, you know, from Yalta to Alupka. On foot. Along the highway.

I was in Crimea this year. At the holiday home. So I walk. I admire the Crimean nature. To the left, of course, is the blue sea. Ships float. To the right are the damn mountains. Eagles flutter. The beauty is, one might say, unearthly.

The only bad thing is that it's impossibly hot. Through this heat, even beauty does not come to mind. You turn away from the panorama.

And the dust on my teeth creaks.

He walked seven miles and stuck out his tongue.

And it’s still God knows how long to Alupka. Maybe ten miles. I'm really not glad that I left.

I walked another mile. I'm tired. I sat down on the road. Sitting. Resting. And I see a man walking behind me. Maybe five hundred steps.

And all around, of course, it’s deserted. Not a soul. Eagles are flying.

I didn’t think anything bad then. But still, with all my love for people, I don’t like meeting them in a deserted place. You never know what happens. There is a lot of temptation.

He got up and went. I walked a little, turned around - a man was following me.

Then I walked faster,” he seemed to be pushing too.

I walk and don’t look at the Crimean nature. If only I could reach Alupka alive, I think.

I turn around. I look - he waves his hand at me. I also waved my hand at him. They say, leave me alone, do me a favor.

I hear someone shouting.

Here, I think, the bastard has become attached!

Khodko went forward. I hear him screaming again. And he runs behind me.

Despite the fatigue, I also ran.

I ran a little - I was out of breath.

I hear him shouting:

- Stop! Stop! Comrade!

I leaned against the rock. I'm standing.

A poorly dressed man runs up to me. In sandals. And instead of a shirt there is a net.

- What do you want, I say?

“Nothing,” he says, “no need.” But I see that you are going the wrong way. Are you in Alupka?

- To Alupka.

“Then, he says, you don’t need a check.” You give a huge detour along the line. Tourists always get confused here. And here you have to follow the path. There are four versts of benefits. And there's a lot of shade.

- No, I say, thank you, merci. I'll go along the highway.

- Well, he says as you wish. And I'm on the path. He turned and walked back. Then he says:

- Is there a cigarette, comrade? Want to smoke.

I gave him a cigarette. And somehow we immediately met him and became friends. And we went together. Along the path.

He turned out to be a very nice person. Food worker. He laughed at me the whole way.

“It was hard to look at you straight,” he says. It's going the wrong way. Let me tell you, I think. And you are running. Why were you running?

- Yes, I say, why not run.

Imperceptibly, along a shady path we came to Alupka and said goodbye here.

I spent the entire evening thinking about this food truck.

The man was running, out of breath, shaking his sandals. And for what? To tell me where I need to go. It was very noble of him.

And now, having returned to Leningrad, I think: the dog knows him, or maybe he really wanted to smoke? Maybe he wanted to shoot the cigarette from me. So he ran. Or maybe he was bored walking - he was looking for a travel companion. I don’t know.