LITMIR.BIZ

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gave to drink the greedy steppe. Streams on the dirty road ran, wide pools on each side it spread, the rain bubbles similar to jingles jumped and burst. Lightnings continuously lit the steppe, and fiery eyes of angry Ilya seemed in them. The flaring wheels roared on the heavenly road, on clouds rushed and deafeningly winged fiery horses neighed. Noise of a rain and juicy explosions of a thunder merged in fine and terrible music.

      The bear from karakovy turned in black, its wet wool shone, hoofs champed, spraying liquid dirt. Behind the frequent grid of a rain, fog which drew the sky and the steppe it was not visible going ahead.

      Children shivered under become wet chapany. The rain through punched its rough prickly sackcloth. To wheels dirt stuck, drenching with fat lumps the cart. Tired horses, kneading pool hoofs, slowly pulled the creaking carts.

      Thunder, being removed, calmed down, the lightning sparkled more and more seldom, the thunder-storm reconciled, grew weak, the rain ran low, the broken-off clouds left for the horizon, and the sun suddenly looked out: the washed, become green steppe began to sparkle in millions of splashes, was lit by warm fog as if sighed a full breast.

      Native, familiar places Zavidnetsya: a lonely brittle willow on a hillock and flat, similar to the stiffened wave, the mountain which from time immemorial it is unknown in whose memory called the Zhadayevy mountain. Further a barn zaserela from ometa of sheaves and straw, gardens, kitchen gardens, straw and board roofs of log huts.

      Here the road turned out almost dry, the thunder-storm passed the steppe, having touched a small village only with one of the wide wings.

      At a village fence left a straw tent shabby Rolling in a soldier’s old cap, with a tube in teeth and opened creaking gate.

      V

      The city, all timbered, except the main street, stood in deep snowdrifts. Glavnaya Street came to an end in a market and a push with the wrapped-up dealers sitting at the trays at the bottom of a high osmiugolny tower.

      From a tower the street abruptly turned downhill to the bridge through the small river. Closely shops with market goods – with buckets, pots, shovels, valenoks nested. In a smithy knocked hammers, the horn breathed.

      Here new dwelling of parents of Vukol. In the depth of the yard of the gloomy brick house with an inscription on a column of gate: “Kolchina’s house” there was a superstructure over the coach maker, in the form of a svetelka, the external wooden ladder conducted there.

      In a svetelka there were three small rooms from which Elizar’s family occupied one.

      Elizar worked at foundry, did models of difficult mechanisms. He usually stayed at home at a table and wrote with a pencil on the sheet of paper, sometimes taking compasses in hand, measuring something in the drawing developed before it. Work it demanded the accuracy of calculations and special technical knowledge.

      Vukol climbed on a chair, laid down on a table all breast. The pencil left ranks of interesting, various signs on paper.

      – What is it? – the son asked once.

      – Figures! – absent-mindedly the father answered. Having looked at the son, thought and added: – You want, I will teach you to figures?

      – I want! – Vukol was joyfully delivered on a chair.

      Elizar put work aside.

      – Well, look: this stick – one, here with a head and a tail – two, and this big-bellied – the three!

      The father densely and largely drew figures, and Vukol remembered them at once. It seemed to it that they as people, everyone has the person: the three – thick, with a pointed nose – is similar to a duck, the five – cheerful, six – with a pot-belly and a small head, eight – as the dealer on a market, and the nine – the same six, only down a head – ridiculous.

      Having examined the pupil, the teacher was surprised.

      – Э, the brother and you are retentive? And you want to know letters?.

      Letters were even more entertaining: the father drew them and shaded as though cut out from a tree, such Vukol saw on signs. The artist drew long, lovingly trimming with a soft pencil each drawing. While drew, Vukol remembered all alphabet.

      – Well, it is enough for today! tomorrow I will ask you – as call each letter if you do not forget – I will learn you to read.

      And then told mother:

      – I will try on new, by a sound method which began to be applied only recently! much easier and leaves rather!

      Thus Vukol’s training in the diploma began. Soon he already read magic fairy tales.

      And here at Vukol desire with own hand to draw heroes, athletes, supernatural beauties such by what they were presented to it for the first time was.

      Model of picturesque art the picture printed in paints, hanging on a wall of their room in a frame under glass seemed to it: “The Bay of Naples has a family of fishermen”. There everything was fine: the azure waves running on the sandy coast, a bright sun and in particular the reclining fisherman’s daughter. Hair at it dense, black, on hair a scarlet bandage, a dark face, thinly and gently outlined, fine and proud. Vukol represented it as live, and she seemed to him one of those beauties because of whom in basten fairy tales knights and heroes made the surprising feats. Someone forgot this picture at Elizar when he lived in Siberia.

      There passed two more years.

      Behind a partition there lived the mail carrier with the krivoglazy wife, a young soldatka and the master of musical instruments – it and the musician: the man of huge growth, with a big fair-haired beard, doing violins. Will make, will play and will sell, then begins to make new. In the evenings the master went to theater to play in orchestra. Often it played and at home. Vukol listened to his game for hours and hours. The musician showed it receptions of a game. Then announced Elizara:

      – At your fellow perfect ear appeared! Give I позаймусь with it! Yes, here still that: children it is necessary on the stage! There is “The Russian wedding”! Release with me Vukol: the fifty-kopeck piece on gingerbreads or on books will receive and start up orchestra listens. Who knows? Perhaps bread will be for it later.

      Vukol had no concept about theater and went there mainly because of an opportunity to earn a fifty-kopeck piece.

      The building was theater old, a strange look. Got together with the musician illegally there and came to be behind the scenes. There was a turmoil, narrowness, noise and abuse.

      The scene which it was visible between the scenes represented an interior of very strange room with stranger people: boyars and boyars in bright suits of country breed talked unnaturally loudly, and from the underground doghouse someone prompted to them loud whisper.

      Vukol with greed watched at all this from the scenes waiting, what will be farther. It together with other children was dressed in a color kosovorotka with a corbel, by wide trousers and yellow boots, with a hare soft pad spread and powdered cheeks and prepared all for an exit.

      On the stage it was noisy: boyars drank from empty wooden gilded ladles, the striped clown in a yellow cap with bells played a balalaika without strings, and actually played violins in orchestra, then on a scene at the opened door pushed out children and Vukol together with them. All of them sat down on a floor along a linen wall which began to hesitate when Vukol tried to lean against it a back, strong holding an own cap in hand.

      Directly against a scene the enormous dark hole filled with the audience blackened. Vukol very much was embarrassed, feeling awkwardly before such big confluence of people.

      Bright light of a set of the lamps throwing the light only on the stage blinded him. Heart is disturbing fought for nervousness, hands and legs grew cold.

      Nothing could be understood from this what boyars shouted of and

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