An episode in a church from the story The Fate of a Man. Episodes most important for revealing the character of Andrei Sokolov “The Fate of a Man”
Evgenia Grigorievna Levitskaya
member of the CPSU since 1903
The first post-war spring on the Upper Don was unusually friendly and assertive. At the end of March, warm winds blew from the Azov region, and within two days the sands of the left bank of the Don were completely exposed, snow-filled ravines and gullies in the steppe swelled up, breaking the ice, steppe rivers leaped madly, and the roads became almost completely impassable.
During this bad time of no roads, I had to go to the village of Bukanovskaya. And the distance is small - only about sixty kilometers - but overcoming them was not so easy. My friend and I left before sunrise. A pair of well-fed horses, pulling the lines to a string, could barely drag the heavy chaise. The wheels sank to the very hub into the damp sand mixed with snow and ice, and an hour later, on the horses’ sides and whips, under the thin belts of the harnesses, white fluffy flakes of soap appeared, and in the fresh morning air there was a sharp and intoxicating smell of horse sweat and warmed tar generously oiled horse harness.
Where it was especially difficult for the horses, we got off the chaise and walked. The soaked snow squelched under the boots, it was hard to walk, but along the sides of the road there was still crystal ice glistening in the sun, and it was even more difficult to get through there. Only about six hours later we covered a distance of thirty kilometers and arrived at the crossing over the Elanka River.
A small river, drying up in places in summer, opposite the Mokhovsky farm in a swampy floodplain overgrown with alders, overflowed for a whole kilometer. It was necessary to cross on a fragile punt that could carry no more than three people. We released the horses. On the other side, in the collective farm barn, an old, well-worn “Jeep” was waiting for us, left there in the winter. Together with the driver, we boarded the dilapidated boat, not without fear. The comrade remained on the shore with his things. They had barely set sail when water began to gush out in fountains from the rotten bottom in different places. Using improvised means, they caulked the unreliable vessel and scooped water out of it until they reached it. An hour later we were on the other side of Elanka. The driver drove the car from the farm, approached the boat and said, taking the oar:
If this damned trough doesn’t fall apart on the water, we’ll arrive in two hours, don’t wait earlier.
The farm was located far to the side, and near the pier there was such silence as only happens in deserted places in the dead of autumn and at the very beginning of spring. The water smelled of dampness, the tart bitterness of rotting alder, and from the distant Khoper steppes, drowned in a lilac haze of fog, a light breeze carried the eternally youthful, barely perceptible aroma of land recently freed from under the snow.
Not far away, on the coastal sand, lay a fallen fence. I sat down on it, wanted to light a cigarette, but, putting my hand into the right pocket of the cotton quilt, to my great chagrin, I discovered that the pack of Belomor was completely soaked. During the crossing, a wave lashed over the side of a low-slung boat and doused me waist-deep in muddy water. Then I had no time to think about cigarettes, I had to abandon the oar and quickly bail out the water so that the boat would not sink, and now, bitterly annoyed at my mistake, I carefully took the soggy pack out of my pocket, squatted down and began to lay it out one by one on the fence damp, browned cigarettes.
It was noon. The sun was shining hotly, like in May. I hoped that the cigarettes would dry out soon. The sun was shining so hotly that I already regretted wearing military cotton trousers and a quilted jacket for the journey. It was the first truly warm day after winter. It was good to sit on the fence like this, alone, completely submitting to silence and loneliness, and, taking off the old soldier’s earflaps from his head, drying his hair, wet after heavy rowing, in the breeze, mindlessly watching the white busty clouds floating in the faded blue.
Soon I saw a man come out onto the road from behind the outer courtyards of the farm. He was leading a little boy by the hand; judging by his height, he was no more than five or six years old. They walked wearily towards the crossing, but when they caught up with the car, they turned towards me. A tall, stooped man, coming close, said in a muffled basso:
Hello, brother!
Hello. - I shook the large, callous hand extended to me.
The man leaned towards the boy and said:
Say hello to your uncle, son. Apparently, he is the same driver as your dad. Only you and I drove a truck, and he drives this little car.
Looking straight into my eyes with eyes as bright as the sky, smiling slightly, the boy boldly extended his pink, cold little hand to me. I shook her lightly and asked:
Why is it, old man, that your hand is so cold? It's warm outside, but you're freezing?
With touching childish trust, the baby pressed himself against my knees and raised his whitish eyebrows in surprise.
What kind of old man am I, uncle? I’m not a boy at all, and I don’t freeze at all, but my hands are cold - because I was rolling snowballs.
Taking the skinny duffel bag off his back and wearily sitting down next to me, my father said:
I'm in trouble with this passenger! It was through him that I got involved. If you take a wide step, he will already break into a trot, so please adapt to such an infantryman. Where I need to step once, I step three times, and we walk with him separately, like a horse and a turtle. But here he needs an eye and an eye. You turn away a little, and he’s already wandering across the puddle or breaking off an ice cream and sucking it instead of candy. No, it’s not a man’s business to travel with such passengers, and at a leisurely pace at that. “He was silent for a while, then asked: “What are you, brother, waiting for your superiors?”
It was inconvenient for me to dissuade him that I was not a driver, and I answered:
We have to wait.
Will they come from the other side?
Don't know if the boat will arrive soon?
In two hours.
In order. Well, while we rest, I have nowhere to rush. And I walk past, I look: my brother, the driver, is sunbathing. Let me, I think, I’ll come in and have a smoke together. One is sick of smoking and dying. And you live richly and smoke cigarettes. Damaged them, then? Well, brother, soaked tobacco, like a treated horse, is no good. Let's smoke my strong drink instead.
He took out a worn raspberry silk pouch rolled into a tube from the pocket of his protective summer pants, unfolded it, and I managed to read the inscription embroidered on the corner: “To a dear fighter from a 6th grade student at Lebedyansk Secondary School.”
We lit a strong cigarette and were silent for a long time. I wanted to ask where he was going with the child, what need was driving him into such muddiness, but he beat me to it with a question:
What, you spent the entire war behind the wheel?
Almost all of it.
At the front?
Well, there I had to, brother, take a sip of bitterness up the nostrils and up.
He placed his large dark hands on his knees and hunched over. I looked at him from the side, and I felt something uneasy... Have you ever seen eyes, as if sprinkled with ashes, filled with such an inescapable mortal melancholy that it is difficult to look into them? These were the eyes of my random interlocutor.
Having broken out a dry, twisted twig from the fence, he silently moved it along the sand for a minute, drawing some intricate figures, and then spoke:
Sometimes you don’t sleep at night, you look into the darkness with empty eyes and think: “Why, life, did you cripple me like that? Why did you distort it like that?” I don’t have an answer, either in the dark or in the clear sun... No, and I can’t wait! - And suddenly he came to his senses: gently pushing his little son, he said: - Go, dear, play near the water, there is always some kind of prey for the children near the big water. Just be careful not to get your feet wet!
While we were still smoking in silence, I, furtively examining my father and son, noted with surprise one circumstance that was strange in my opinion. The boy was dressed simply, but well: in the way he was wearing a long-brimmed jacket lined with a light, worn tsigeyka, and in the fact that the tiny boots were sewn with the expectation of putting them on a woolen sock, and the very skillful seam on the once torn sleeve of the jacket - everything betrayed feminine care, skillful motherly hands. But the father looked different: the padded jacket, burnt in several places, was carelessly and roughly darned, the patch on his worn-out protective trousers was not sewn on properly, but rather sewn on with wide, masculine stitches; he was wearing almost new soldier's boots, but his thick woolen socks were eaten away by moths and were not touched female hand... Even then I thought: “Either he’s a widower, or he’s at odds with his wife.”
But then he, following his little son with his eyes, coughed dully, spoke again, and I became all ears.
At first my life was ordinary. I myself am a native of the Voronezh province, born in 1900. During the civil war he was in the Red Army, in the Kikvidze division. In the hungry year of twenty-two, he went to Kuban to fight the kulaks, and that’s why he survived. And the father, mother and sister died of hunger at home. One left. Rodney - even if you roll a ball - nowhere, no one, not a single soul. Well, a year later he returned from Kuban, sold his little house, and went to Voronezh. At first he worked in a carpentry artel, then he went to a factory and learned to be a mechanic. Soon he got married. The wife was brought up in an orphanage. Orphan. I got a good girl! Quiet, cheerful, obsequious and smart, no match for me. Since childhood, she learned how much a pound is worth, maybe this affected her character. Looking from the outside, she wasn’t all that distinguished, but I wasn’t looking at her from the side, but point-blank. And for me there was no one more beautiful and desirable than her, there was not in the world and there never will be!
You come home from work tired, and sometimes angry as hell. No, she will not be rude to you in response to a rude word. Affectionate, quiet, doesn’t know where to sit you, struggles to prepare a sweet piece for you even with little income. You look at her and move away with your heart, and after a little you hug her and say: “Sorry, dear Irinka, I was rude to you. You see, my work isn’t going well these days.” And again we have peace, and I have peace of mind. Do you know, brother, that
Once in a while after payday I had to have a drink with my friends. Sometimes it happened that you went home and made such pretzels with your feet that, from the outside, it was probably scary to look at. The street is too small for you, and even the coven, not to mention the alleys. I was a healthy guy then and strong as the devil, I could drink a lot, and I always got home on my own two feet. But it also happened sometimes that the last stage was at first speed, that is, on all fours, but he still got there. And again, no reproach, no shouting, no scandal. My Irinka only chuckles, and then carefully, so that I don’t get offended when I’m drunk. He takes me off and whispers: “Lie down against the wall, Andryusha, otherwise you’ll fall out of bed sleepy.” Well, I’ll fall like a sack of oats, and everything will float before my eyes. I only hear in my sleep that she is quietly stroking my head with her hand and whispering something affectionate, she is sorry, that means...
In the morning, she will get me up on my feet about two hours before work so that I can warm up. He knows that I won’t eat anything when I’m hungover, well, he’ll get a pickled cucumber or something else light and pour a cut glass of vodka. “Have a hangover, Andryusha, but no more, my dear.” But is it possible not to justify such trust? I’ll drink it, thank her without words, with just my eyes, kiss her and go to work like a sweetheart. But if she had said a word against me when I was drunk, shouted or cursed, and I, like God, would have gotten drunk on the second day. This is what happens in other families where the wife is a fool; I've seen enough of such sluts, I know.
Soon our children left. First the little son was born, a year later
In 1929 I was attracted by cars. I studied the car business and sat behind the wheel of a truck. Then I got involved and no longer wanted to return to the plant. I thought it was more fun behind the wheel. He lived like that for ten years and didn’t notice how they passed. They passed as if in a dream. Why ten years! Ask any elderly person, did he notice how he lived his life? He didn't notice a damn thing! The past is like that distant steppe in the haze. In the morning I walked along it, everything was clear all around, but I walked twenty kilometers, and now the steppe was covered in haze, and from here you can no longer distinguish the forest from the weeds, the arable land from the grass cutter...
For these ten years I worked day and night. I made good money, and we lived no worse than other people. And the children were happy: all three studied with excellent marks, and the eldest, Anatoly, turned out to be so capable of mathematics that even central newspaper wrote. Where he got such a huge talent for this science, I myself, brother, don’t know. But it was very flattering to me, and I was proud of him, so passionately proud!
Over the course of ten years, we saved up a little money and before the war we built ourselves a house with two rooms, a storage room and a corridor. Irina bought two goats. What more do you need? The children eat porridge with milk, have a roof over their heads, are dressed, have shoes, so everything is in order. I just lined up awkwardly. They gave me a plot of six acres not far from the aircraft factory. If my shack were in a different place, maybe life would have turned out differently...
And here it is, war. On the second day there is a summons from the military registration and enlistment office, and on the third - welcome to the train. All four of my friends saw me off: Irina, Anatoly and my daughters Nastenka and Olyushka. All the guys behaved well. Well, the daughters, not without that, had sparkling tears. Anatoly just shrugged his shoulders as if from the cold, by that time he was already seventeen years old, and Irina is mine... I have never seen her like this in all the seventeen years of our life together. At night, the shirt on my shoulder and chest did not dry out from her tears, and in the morning the same story... We came to the station, but I couldn’t look at her out of pity: my lips were swollen from tears, my hair had come out from under my scarf, and my eyes were cloudy , meaningless, like those of a person touched by the mind. The commanders announced the landing, and she fell on my chest, clasped her hands around my neck and was trembling all over, like a felled tree... And the kids tried to persuade her, and so did I - nothing helps! Other women are talking to their husbands and sons, but mine clung to me like a leaf to a branch, and only trembles all over, but cannot utter a word. I tell her: “Pull yourself together, my dear Irinka! Tell me at least a word goodbye." She says and sobs behind every word: “My dear... Andryusha... we won’t see you... you and I... anymore... in this... world”...
Here my heart breaks to pieces out of pity for her, and here she is with these words. I should have understood that it’s not easy for me to part with them either; I wasn’t going to my mother-in-law’s for pancakes. Evil got me here! I forcibly separated her hands and lightly pushed her on the shoulders. It seemed like I pushed lightly, but my strength was stupid; she backed away, took three steps back and again walked towards me in small steps, holding out her hands, and I shouted to her: “Is this really how they say goodbye? Why are you burying me alive ahead of time?!” Well, I hugged her again, I see that she’s not herself...
He abruptly stopped his story mid-sentence, and in the ensuing silence I heard something bubbling and gurgling in his throat. Someone else's excitement was transmitted to me. I looked sideways at the narrator, but did not see a single tear in his seemingly dead, extinct eyes. He sat with his head bowed dejectedly, only his large, limply lowered hands trembled slightly, his chin trembled, his hard lips trembled...
No, friend, don’t remember! “I said quietly, but he probably didn’t hear my words and, by some huge effort of will, overcoming his excitement, he suddenly said in a hoarse, strangely changed voice:
Until my death, until my last hour, I will die, and I will not forgive myself for pushing her away then!..
He fell silent again for a long time. I tried to roll a cigarette, but the newsprint was torn and the tobacco fell onto my lap. Finally, he somehow made a twist, took several greedy puffs and, coughing, continued:
I broke away from Irina, took her face in my hands, kissed her, and her lips were like ice. I said goodbye to the kids, ran to the carriage, and already on the move jumped onto the step. The train took off quietly; I should pass by my own people. I look, my orphaned children are huddled together, waving their hands at me, trying to smile, but it doesn’t come out. And Irina pressed her hands to her chest; her lips are white as chalk, she whispers something with them, looks at me, doesn’t blink, and she leans all forward, as if she wants to step against a strong wind... That’s how she remained in my memory for the rest of my life: her hands pressed to her chest, white lips and wide open eyes, full of tears... For the most part, this is how I always see her in my dreams... Why did I push her away then? I still remember that my heart feels like it’s being cut with a dull knife...
We were formed near Bila Tserkva, in Ukraine. They gave me a ZIS-5. I rode it to the front. Well, you have nothing to tell about the war, you saw it yourself and you know how it was at first. I often received letters from my friends, but rarely sent lionfish myself. It happened that you would write that everything was fine, we were fighting little by little, and although we were retreating now, we would soon gather our strength and then let the Fritz have a light. What else could you write? It was a sickening time; there was no time for writing. And I must admit, I myself was not a fan of playing on plaintive strings and could not stand these slobbering ones that every day, to the point and not to the point, they wrote to their wives and sweethearts, smearing their snot on the paper. It’s hard, they say, it’s hard for him, and at any moment he’ll be killed. And here he is, a bitch in his pants, complaining, looking for sympathy, slobbering, but he doesn’t want to understand that these unfortunate women and children had it no worse than ours in the rear. The whole state relied on them! What kind of shoulders did our women and children have to have so as not to bend under such a weight? But they didn’t bend, they stood! And such a whip, a wet little soul, will write a pitiful letter - and a working woman will be like a ripple at her feet. After this letter, she, the unfortunate one, will give up, and work is not her job. No! That's why you're a man, that's why you're a soldier, to endure everything, to endure everything, if need calls for it. And if you have more of a woman’s streak in you than a man’s, then put on a gathered skirt to cover your skinny butt more fully, so that at least from behind you look like a woman, and go weed beets or milk cows, but at the front you are not needed like that, there there's a lot of stink without you!
But I didn’t even have to fight for a year... I was wounded twice during this time, but both times only lightly: once in the flesh of the arm, the other in the leg; the first time - with a bullet from an airplane, the second - with a shell fragment. The German made holes in my car both from the top and from the sides, but, brother, I was lucky at first. I was lucky, and I got to the very end... I was captured near Lozovenki in May of '42 in such an awkward situation: the Germans were advancing strongly at that time, and one of our one hundred and twenty-two-millimeter howitzer batteries turned out to be almost without shells; They loaded my car to the brim with shells, and while loading I myself worked so hard that my tunic stuck to my shoulder blades. We had to hurry because the battle was approaching us: on the left someone’s tanks were thundering, on the right there was shooting, there was shooting ahead, and it was already starting to smell like something was fried...
The commander of our company asks: “Will you get through, Sokolov?” And there was nothing to ask here. My comrades may be dying there, but I’ll be sick here? “What a conversation! - I answer him. “I have to get through and that’s it!” “Well,” he says, “blow!” Push all the hardware!”
I blew it. I’ve never driven like this in my life! I knew that I wasn’t carrying potatoes, that with this load, caution was needed when driving, but how could there be any caution when there were empty-handed guys fighting, when the entire road was being shot through by artillery fire. I ran about six kilometers, soon I was about to turn onto a dirt road to get to the ravine where the battery stood, and then I looked - holy mother - our infantry was pouring across the open field to the right and left of the grader, and mines were already exploding in their formations. What should I do? Shouldn't you turn back? I'll push with all my might! And there was only a kilometer left to the battery, I had already turned onto a dirt road, but I didn’t have to get to my people, bro... Apparently, he placed a heavy one near the car for me from a long-range one. I didn’t hear a burst or anything, it was just as if something had burst in my head, and I don’t remember anything else. I don’t understand how I stayed alive then, and I can’t figure out how long I lay about eight meters from the ditch. I woke up, but I couldn’t get to my feet: my head was twitching, I was shaking all over, as if I had a fever, there was darkness in my eyes, something was creaking and crunching in my left shoulder, and the pain in my whole body was the same as, say, for two days in a row. They hit me with whatever they got. For a long time I crawled on the ground on my stomach, but somehow I stood up. However, again, I don’t understand anything, where I am and what happened to me. My memory has completely disappeared. And I'm afraid to go back to bed. I'm afraid that I'll lie down and never get up again, I'll die. I stand and sway from side to side, like a poplar in a storm.
When I came to my senses, I came to my senses and looked around properly - it was as if someone had squeezed my heart with pliers: there were shells lying around, the ones I was carrying, nearby my car, all beaten to pieces, was lying upside down, and battle, battle already is coming behind me... How's that?
It’s no secret, it was then that my legs gave way on their own, and I fell as if I had been cut off, because I realized that I was already surrounded, or rather, captured by the Nazis. This is how it happens in war...
Oh, brother, it’s not an easy thing to understand that you are not in captivity of your own free will. For those who have not experienced this on their own skin, it will not immediately penetrate into their souls so that they can understand in a human way that
Well, so, I’m lying there and I hear: the tanks are thundering. Four German medium tanks at full throttle passed me to where I had left with the shells... What was it like to experience it? Then the tractors with guns pulled up, the field kitchen passed by, then the infantry came, not too many, so, no more than one beaten company. I’ll look, I’ll look at them out of the corner of my eye and again I’ll press my cheek to the ground, I’ll close my eyes: I’m sick of looking at them, and my heart is sick...
I thought that everyone had passed, I raised my head, and there were six of them machine gunners - there they were, walking about a hundred meters away from me. I look, they turn off the road and come straight towards me. They walk in silence. “Here,” I think, “my death is approaching.” I sat down, reluctant to lie down and die, then stood up. One of them, a few steps short, jerked his shoulder and took off his machine gun. And this is how funny a person is: I had no panic, no timidity of heart at that moment. I just look at him and think: “Now he’ll fire a short burst at me, but where will he hit? In the head or across the chest? As if it’s not a damn thing to me, what place will he sew in my body.
A young guy, so good-looking, dark-haired, with thin, thread-like lips and squinted eyes. “This one will kill and not think twice,” I think to myself. That’s how it is: he raised his machine gun - I looked him straight in the eye, remained silent - and the other one, a corporal or something, older than him in age, one might say, elderly, shouted something, pushed it aside, came up to me, babbling in its own way, it bends my right arm at the elbow, which means it feels the muscle. He tried it and said: “Oh-oh-oh!” - and points to the road, to the sunset. Stomp, you little working beast, to work for our Reich. The owner turned out to be a son of a bitch!
But the dark one took a closer look at my boots, and they looked good, and he gestured with his hand: “Take them off.” I sat down on the ground, took off my boots, and handed them to him. He literally snatched them out of my hands. I unwound the footcloths, handed them to him, and looked up at him. But he screamed, swore in his own way, and again grabbed the machine gun. The rest are laughing. With that, they departed peacefully. Only this dark-haired guy, by the time he reached the road, looked back at me three times, his eyes sparkling like a wolf cub, he was angry, but why? It was as if I took his boots off, and not he took them off me.
Well, brother, I had nowhere to go. I went out onto the road, cursed with a terrible, curly, Voronezh obscenity and walked west, into captivity!.. And then I was a useless walker, no more than a kilometer an hour. You want to step forward, but you are rocked from side to side, driven along the road like a drunk. I walked a little, and a column of our prisoners, from the same division in which I was, caught up with me. They are being chased by about ten German machine gunners. The one who was walking in front of the column caught up with me and, without saying a bad word, backhanded me with the handle of his machine gun and hit me on the head. If I had fallen, he would have pinned me to the ground with a burst of fire, but our men caught me in flight, pushed me into the middle and held me by the arms for half an hour. And when I came to my senses, one of them whispered: “God forbid you fall! Go with all your strength, otherwise they will kill you.” And I tried my best, but I went.
As soon as the sun set, the Germans strengthened the convoy, threw another twenty machine gunners onto the cargo truck, and drove us on an accelerated march. Our seriously wounded could not keep up with the rest, and they were shot right on the road. Two tried to escape, but they did not take into account that in moonlit night You're in an open field as far as you can see, well, of course, they shot at them too. At midnight we arrived at some half-burnt village. They forced us to spend the night in a church with a broken dome. There is not a scrap of straw on the stone floor, and we are all without overcoats, wearing only tunics and trousers, so there is nothing to lay down. Some of them weren’t even wearing tunics, just calico undershirts. Most of them were junior commanders. They wore their tunics so that they could not be distinguished from the rank and file. And the artillery servants were without tunics. As they worked near the guns, spread out, they were captured.
At night it rained so hard that we all got wet through. Here the dome was blown away by a heavy shell or bomb from an airplane, and here the roof was completely damaged by shrapnel; you couldn’t even find a dry place in the altar. So we loitered all night in this church, like sheep in a dark coil. In the middle of the night I hear someone touching my hand and asking: “Comrade, are you wounded?” I answer him: “What do you need, brother?” He says: “I’m a military doctor, maybe I can help you with something?” I complained to him that my left shoulder was creaking and swollen and hurt terribly. He firmly says: “Take off your tunic and undershirt.” I took all this off of me, and he began to probe my shoulder with his thin fingers, so much so that I didn’t see the light. I grind my teeth and tell him: “You are obviously a veterinarian, not a human doctor. Why are you pressing so hard on a sore spot, you heartless person?” And he probes everything and angrily answers: “It’s your job to keep quiet! Me too, he started talking. Hold on, it will hurt even more now.” Yes, as soon as my hand was jerked, red sparks began to fall from my eyes.
I came to my senses and asked: “What are you doing, you unfortunate fascist? My hand is smashed to pieces, and you jerked it like that.” I heard him laugh quietly and say: “I thought that you would hit me with your right, but it turns out you are a quiet guy. But your hand was not broken, but knocked out, so I put it back in its place. Well, how are you now, do you feel better?” And in fact, I feel within myself that the pain is going away somewhere. I thanked him sincerely, and he walked further in the darkness, quietly asking: “Are there any wounded?” This is what a real doctor means! He did his great work both in captivity and in the dark.
It was a restless night. They didn’t let us in until it was windy, the senior guard warned us about this even when they herded us into the church in pairs. And, as luck would have it, one of our pilgrims felt the urge to go out to relieve himself. He strengthened himself and strengthened himself, and then began to cry. “I can’t,” he says, “desecrate the holy temple! I am a believer, I am a Christian! What should I do, brothers?” And do you know what kind of people we are? Some laugh, others swear, others give him all sorts of funny advice. He amused us all, but this mess ended very badly: he started knocking on the door and asking to be let out. Well, he was interrogated: the fascist sent a long line through the door, its entire width, and killed this pilgrim, and three more people, and seriously wounded one; he died by morning.
We put the dead in one place, we all sat down, became quiet and thoughtful: the beginning was not very cheerful... And a little later we started talking in low voices, whispering: who was from where, what region, how they were captured; in the darkness, comrades from the same platoon or acquaintances from the same company became confused and began to slowly call out to each other. And I hear such a quiet conversation next to me. One says: “If tomorrow, before driving us further, they line us up and call out commissars, communists and Jews, then, platoon commander, don’t hide! Nothing will come of this matter. Do you think that if you took off your tunic, you can pass for a private? Will not work! I don't intend to answer for you. I'll be the first to point you out! I know that you are a communist and encouraged me to join the party, so be responsible for your affairs.” This is said by the person closest to me, who is sitting next to me, to the left, and on the other side of him, someone’s young voice answers: “I always suspected that you, Kryzhnev, are a bad person. Especially when you refused to join the party, citing your illiteracy. But I never thought that you could become a traitor. After all, you graduated from the seven-year school?” He lazily answers his platoon commander: “Well, I graduated, so what of this?” They were silent for a long time, then, in his voice, the platoon commander quietly said: “Don’t give me away, Comrade Kryzhnev.” And he laughed quietly. “Comrades,” he says, “remained behind the front line, but I’m not your comrade, and don’t ask me, I’ll point you out anyway. Your own shirt is closer to your body.”
They fell silent, and I got chills from such subversiveness. “No,” I think, “I won’t let you, son of a bitch, betray your commander! You won’t leave this church, but they’ll pull you out by the legs like a bastard!” It has just dawned a little - I see: next to me, a big-faced guy is lying on his back, with his hands behind his head, and sitting next to him in his undershirt, hugging his knees, is such a thin, snub-nosed guy, and very pale. “Well,” I think, “this guy won’t be able to cope with such a fat gelding. I’ll have to finish it.”
I touched him with my hand and asked in a whisper: “Are you a platoon leader?” He didn’t answer, he just nodded his head. “Does this one want to give you away?” - I point to the lying guy. He nodded his head back. “Well,” I say, “hold his legs so he doesn’t kick!” Come live!” - and I fell on this guy, and my fingers froze on his throat. He didn't even have time to shout. I held it under me for a few minutes and stood up. The traitor is ready, and his tongue is on his side!
Before that, I felt unwell after that, and I really wanted to wash my hands, as if I was not a person, but some kind of creeping reptile... For the first time in my life, I killed, and then my own... But what kind of one is he? He is worse than a stranger, a traitor. I stood up and said to the platoon commander: “Let’s get out of here, comrade, the church is great.”
As this Kryzhnev said, in the morning we were all lined up near the church, surrounded by machine gunners, and three SS officers began to select people who were harmful to them. They asked who the communists were, the commanders, the commissars, but there were none. There wasn’t even a bastard who could betray us, because almost half of us were communists, there were commanders, and, of course, there were commissars. Only four were taken from two hundred superfluous person. One Jew and three Russian privates. The Russians got into trouble because all three were dark-haired and had curly hair. So they come up to this and ask: “Yude?” He says that he is Russian, but they don’t want to listen to him. “Come out” - that’s all.
You see, what a deal, brother, from the first day I planned to go to my people. But I definitely wanted to leave. Until Poznan, where we were placed in a real camp, I never had a suitable opportunity. And in the Poznan camp, such a case was found: at the end of May, they sent us to a forest near the camp to dig graves for our own dead prisoners of war, then many of our brothers were dying of dysentery; I’m digging Poznan clay, and I’m looking around and I noticed that two of our guards sat down to have a snack, and the third was dozing in the sun. I threw the shovel and quietly walked behind the bush... And then I ran, heading straight for the sunrise...
Apparently, they didn’t realize it soon, my guards. But where I, so skinny, got the strength to walk almost forty kilometers in a day - I don’t know. But nothing came of my dream: on the fourth day, when I was already far from the damned camp, they caught me. The detection dogs followed my trail, and they found me in the uncut oats.
At dawn, I was afraid to walk through an open field, and the forest was at least three kilometers away, so I lay down in the oats for the day. I crushed the grains in my palms, chewed them a little and poured them into my pockets as reserves, and then I heard a dog barking, and a motorcycle was cracking... My heart sank, because the dogs were getting closer and closer. I lay down flat and covered myself with my hands so that they wouldn’t gnaw my face. Well, they ran up and in one minute they took off all my rags. I was left in what my mother gave birth to. They rolled me around in the oats as they wanted, and in the end one male stood on my chest with his front paws and aimed for my throat, but didn’t touch me yet.
The Germans arrived on two motorcycles. At first they beat me freely, and then they set the dogs on me, and only my skin and meat fell off in shreds. Naked, covered in blood, they brought him to the camp. I spent a month in a punishment cell for escaping, but still alive... I remained alive!..
It’s hard for me, brother, to remember, and even harder to talk about what I experienced in captivity. As you remember the inhuman torment that you had to endure there in Germany, as you remember all the friends and comrades who died and were tortured there in the camps - your heart is no longer in your chest, but in your throat, and it becomes difficult to breathe...
They beat you because you are Russian, because you still look at the world, because you work for them, the bastards. They also beat you for looking the wrong way, stepping the wrong way, or turning the wrong way. They beat him simply, in order to someday kill him to death, so that he would choke on his last blood and die from the beatings. There probably weren’t enough stoves for all of us in Germany.
And they fed us everywhere, as it was, the same way: one hundred and fifty grams of ersatz bread, half and half with sawdust, and liquid rutabaga gruel. Boiling water - where they gave it and where they didn’t. What can I say, judge for yourself: before the war I weighed eighty-six kilograms, and by the fall I was no longer weighing more than fifty. Only the skin remained on the bones, and it was impossible for them to carry their own bones. And give me work, and don’t say a word, but such work that it’s not the time for a draft horse.
At the beginning of September, we, one hundred and forty-two Soviet prisoners of war, were transferred from a camp near the city of Küstrin to camp B-14, not far from Dresden. By that time there were about two thousand of us in this camp. Everyone worked in a stone quarry, manually chiseling, cutting, and crushing German stone. The norm is four cubic meters per day per soul, mind you, for such a soul, which was already barely hanging on by one thread in the body. That’s where it began: two months later, from the one hundred and forty-two people of our echelon, there were fifty-seven of us left. How's that, bro? Famously? Here you don’t have time to bury your own, and then rumors spread around the camp that the Germans have already taken Stalingrad and are moving on to Siberia. One grief after another, and they bend you so much that you can’t raise your eyes from the ground, as if you were asking to go there, to a foreign, German land. And the camp guards drink every day, sing songs, rejoice, rejoice.
And then one evening we returned to the barracks from work. It rained all day, it was enough to wring out our rags; We were all chilled like dogs in the cold wind, a tooth wouldn’t touch a tooth. But there is nowhere to dry off, to warm up - the same thing, and besides, they are hungry not only to death, but even worse. But in the evening we were not supposed to have food.
I took off my wet rags, threw them on the bunk and said: “They need four cubic meters of production, but for the grave of each of us, one cubic meter through the eyes is enough.” That’s all I said, but some scoundrel was found among his own people and reported to the camp commandant about these bitter words of mine.
Our camp commandant, or, in their words, Lagerführer, was the German Müller. He was short, thick-set, blond, and he was all sort of white: the hair on his head was white, his eyebrows, his eyelashes, even his eyes were whitish and bulging. He spoke Russian like you and me, and even leaned on the “o” like a native Volga native. And he was a terrible master at swearing. And where the hell did he learn this craft? It used to be that he would line us up in front of the block - that’s what they called the barracks - he would walk in front of the line with his pack of SS men, holding his right hand in flight. He has it in a leather glove, and there is a lead gasket in the glove so as not to damage his fingers. He goes and hits every second person in the nose, drawing blood. He called this “flu prevention.” And so every day. There were only four blocks in the camp, and now he’s giving “prevention” to the first block, tomorrow to the second, and so on. He was a neat bastard, he worked seven days a week. There was only one thing he, a fool, could not figure out: before going to lay hands on him, in order to inflame himself, he cursed for ten minutes in front of the line. He swears in vain, and this makes us feel better: it’s like our words are ours, natural, like the wind is blowing from our native side... If only he knew that his swearing gives us great pleasure, he wouldn’t swear in Russian, but only in your own language. Only one of my Muscovite friends was terribly angry with him. “When he swears,” he says, “I close my eyes and it’s like I’m sitting in a pub in Moscow, on Zatsepa, and I want beer so much that even my head is spinning.”
So this same commandant, the day after I said about cubic meters, calls me. In the evening, a translator and two guards come to the barracks. “Who is Andrey Sokolov?” I responded. “March behind us, Herr Lagerführer himself demands you.” It’s clear why he demands it. On spray. I said goodbye to my comrades, they all knew that I was going to my death, I sighed and went. I walk through the camp yard, look at the stars, say goodbye to them, and think: “So you have suffered, Andrei Sokolov, and in the camp - number three hundred and thirty-one.” I somehow felt sorry for Irinka and the kids, and then this sadness subsided and I began to gather my courage to look into the hole of the pistol fearlessly, as befits a soldier, so that the enemies would not see at my last minute that I had to give up my life after all. difficult…
In the commandant's room there are flowers on the windows, it is clean, like in our good club. At the table are all the camp authorities. Five people are sitting, drinking schnapps and snacking on lard. On the table they have an open huge bottle of schnapps, bread, lard, soaked apples, open jars with various canned goods. I instantly looked at all this grub, and - you won’t believe it - I was so sick that I couldn’t vomit. I’m hungry like a wolf, I’m unaccustomed to human food, and here there’s so much goodness in front of you... Somehow I suppressed the nausea, but through great force I tore my eyes away from the table.
A half-drunk Muller sits right in front of me, playing with a pistol, throwing it from hand to hand, and he looks at me and doesn’t blink, like a snake. Well, my hands are at my sides, my worn-out heels click, and I report loudly: “Prisoner of war Andrei Sokolov, on your orders, Herr Commandant, has appeared.” He asks me: “So, Russian Ivan, is four cubic meters of output a lot?” “That’s right,” I say, “Herr Commandant, a lot.” - “Is one enough for your grave?” - “That’s right, Herr Commandant, it’s quite enough and will even remain.”
He stood up and said: “I will do you a great honor, now I will personally shoot you for these words. It’s inconvenient here, let’s go into the yard and sign there.” “Your will,” I tell him. He stood there, thought, and then threw the pistol on the table and poured a full glass of schnapps, took a piece of bread, put a slice of bacon on it and gave it all to me and said: “Before you die, Russian Ivan, drink to the victory of German weapons.”
I took the glass and the snack from his hands, but as soon as I heard these words, it was as if I was burned by fire! I think to myself: “So that I, a Russian soldier, would drink German weapons for the victory?!” Is there something you don't want, Herr Commandant? Damn it, I’m dying, so you’ll go to hell with your vodka!”
I put the glass on the table, put down the snack and said: “Thank you for the treat, but I don’t drink.” He smiles: “Would you like to drink to our victory? In that case, drink to your death.” What did I have to lose? “I will drink to my death and deliverance from torment,” I tell him. With that, I took the glass and poured it into myself in two gulps, but didn’t touch the appetizer, politely wiped my lips with my palm and said: “Thank you for the treat. I’m ready, Herr Commandant, come and sign me.”
But he looks attentively and says: “At least have a bite before you die.” I answer him: “I don’t have a snack after the first glass.” He pours a second one and gives it to me. I drank the second one and again I don’t touch the snack, I’m trying to be brave, I think: “At least I’ll get drunk before I go out into the yard and give up my life.” The commandant raised his white eyebrows high and asked: “Why aren’t you having a snack, Russian Ivan? Do not be shy!" And I told him: “Sorry, Herr Commandant, I’m not used to having a snack even after the second glass.” He puffed out his cheeks, snorted, and then burst into laughter and through his laughter said something quickly in German: apparently, he was translating my words to his friends. They also laughed, moved their chairs, turned their faces towards me and already, I noticed, they were looking at me differently, seemingly softer.
The commandant pours me a third glass, and his hands are shaking with laughter. I drank this glass, took a small bite of bread, and put the rest on the table. I wanted to show them, the damned one, that although I was perishing from hunger, I was not going to choke on their handouts, that I had my own, Russian dignity and pride, and that they did not turn me into a beast, no matter how hard they tried.
After this, the commandant became serious in appearance, adjusted two iron crosses on his chest, came out from behind the table unarmed and said: “That’s what, Sokolov, you are a real Russian soldier. You are a brave soldier. I am also a soldier, and I respect worthy opponents. I won't shoot you. In addition, today our valiant troops reached the Volga and completely captured Stalingrad. This is a great joy for us, and therefore I generously give you life. Go to your block, and this is for your courage,” and from the table he hands me a small loaf of bread and a piece of lard.
I pressed the bread to me with all my might, I was holding the lard in my left hand, and I was so confused by such an unexpected turn that I didn’t even say thank you, I turned around to the left, I’m going to the exit, and I myself thought: “He’s going to shine between my shoulder blades now, and I won’t bring this grub to the guys.” No, it worked out. And this time death passed me by, only a chill came from it...
I left the commandant's office on firm feet, but in the yard I was carried away. He fell into the barracks and fell onto the cement floor without memory. Our guys woke me up in the dark: “Tell me!” Well, I remembered what happened in the commandant’s room and told them. “How are we going to share the food?” - my bunk neighbor asks, and his voice is trembling. “Equal share for everyone,” I tell him. We waited for dawn. Bread and lard were cut with a harsh thread. Everyone got a piece of bread the size of a matchbox, every crumb was taken into account, well, and lard, you know, just to anoint your lips. However, they shared without offense.
Soon we were transferred, about three hundred of the strongest people, to drain the swamps, then to the Ruhr region to work in the mines. I stayed there until the year forty-four. By this time, ours had already turned Germany’s cheekbone to one side and the Nazis stopped disdaining prisoners. Somehow they lined us up, the entire day shift, and some visiting chief lieutenant said through an interpreter: “Whoever served in the army or worked as a driver before the war is a step forward.” Seven of us, the former driver, stepped in. They gave us worn overalls and sent us under escort to the city of Potsdam. They arrived there and shook us all apart. I was assigned to work at Todt - the Germans had such a sharashka office for the construction of roads and defensive structures.
I drove a German engineer with the rank of army major in the Oppel Admiral. Oh, and he was a fat fascist! Small, pot-bellied, the same in width and length, and broad-shouldered in the back, like a good woman. In front of him, three chins hang above the collar of his uniform, and three thick folds on the back of his neck. On it, as I determined, there were at least three pounds of pure fat. He walks, puffs like a steam locomotive, and sits down to eat - just hold on! He used to chew and sip cognac from a flask all day. Sometimes he gave me something to do: stop on the road, cut sausages, cheese, have a snack and drink; when he’s in a good spirit, he’ll throw me a piece, like a dog. I never gave it to anyone, no, I considered it low for myself. But be that as it may, there’s no comparison with the camp, and little by little I began to look like a person, little by little, but I began to get better.
For two weeks I drove my major from Potsdam to Berlin and back, and then he was sent to the front line to build defensive lines against ours. And then I finally forgot how to sleep: all night long I thought about how I could escape to my people, to my homeland.
We arrived in the city of Polotsk. At dawn, for the first time in two years, I heard our artillery thunder, and, do you know, brother, how my heart began to beat? The single man still went on dates with Irina, and even then it didn’t knock like that! The fighting was already about eighteen kilometers east of Polotsk. The Germans in the city became angry and nervous, and my fat man began to get drunk more and more often. During the day we go outside the city with him, and he decides how to build fortifications, and at night he drinks alone. All swollen, bags hanging under the eyes...
“Well,” I think, “there’s nothing more to wait for, my time has come!” And I shouldn’t run away alone, but take my fat man with me, he’ll be good for ours!”
I found a two-kilogram weight in the ruins, wrapped it in a cleaning cloth, in case I had to hit it so that there would be no blood, picked up a piece of telephone wire on the road, diligently prepared everything I needed, and buried it under the front seat. Two days before I said goodbye to the Germans, in the evening I was driving from a gas station, I saw a German non-commissioned officer walking, drunk as dirt, holding onto the wall with his hands. I stopped the car, led him into the ruins, shook him out of his uniform, and took the cap off his head. He also put all this property under the seat and was gone.
On the morning of June twenty-ninth, my major orders him to be taken out of town, in the direction of Trosnitsa. There he supervised the construction of fortifications. We left. The major is quietly dozing in the back seat, and my heart is almost jumping out of my chest. I was driving fast, but outside the city I slowed down the gas, then I stopped the car, got out, and looked around: far behind me there were two freight trucks. I took out the weight and opened the door wider. The fat man leaned back in his seat, snoring as if he had his wife at his side. Well, I hit him in the left temple with a weight. He dropped his head too. To be sure, I hit him again, but I didn’t want to kill him to death. I had to deliver him alive, he had to tell our people a lot of things. I took the Parabellum out of his holster, put it in my pocket, drove the crowbar behind the back of the back seat, threw the telephone wire around the major’s neck and tied it with a blind knot on the crowbar. This is so that it does not fall on its side or fall when driving fast. He quickly put on a German uniform and cap, and drove the car straight to where the earth was humming, where the battle was going on.
The German front line slipped between two bunkers. The machine gunners jumped out of the dugout, and I deliberately slowed down so that they could see that the major was coming. But they started shouting, waving their arms, saying you can’t go there, but I didn’t seem to understand, I threw on the gas and went at full eighty. Until they came to their senses and began firing machine guns at the car, and I was already in no man’s land between the craters, weaving like a hare.
Here the Germans are hitting me from behind, and here their outlines are firing towards me from machine guns. The windshield was pierced in four places, the radiator was flogged by bullets... But now there was a forest above the lake, our guys were running towards the car, and I jumped into this forest, opened the door, fell to the ground and kissed it, and I couldn’t breathe...
A young guy, wearing protective shoulder straps on his tunic, the likes of which I have never seen, is the first to run up to me, baring his teeth: “Yeah, damn Fritz, got lost?” I tore off my German uniform, threw my cap at my feet and said to him: “My dear lip-slapper! Dear son! What kind of Fritz do you think I am when I am a natural Voronezh resident? I was a prisoner, okay? Now untie this hog sitting in the car, take his briefcase and take me to your commander.” I handed over the pistol to them and went from hand to hand, and by the evening I found myself with the colonel - the division commander. By this time, I was fed, taken to the bathhouse, interrogated, and given uniforms, so I showed up at the colonel’s dugout, as expected, clean in body and soul and in full uniform. The colonel got up from the table and walked towards me. In front of all the officers, he hugged me and said: “Thank you, soldier, for the dear gift I brought from the Germans. Your major and his briefcase are worth more than twenty “languages” to us. I will petition the command to nominate you for a government award.” And from these words of his, from his affection, I was very worried, my lips trembled, did not obey, all I could squeeze out of myself was: “Please, Comrade Colonel, enlist me in the rifle unit.”
But the colonel laughed and patted me on the shoulder: “What kind of warrior are you if you can barely stand on your feet? I'll send you to the hospital today. They’ll treat you there, feed you, after that you’ll go home to your family for a month’s vacation, and when you return to us, we’ll see where to place you.”
And the colonel and all the officers he had in the dugout soulfully said goodbye to me by the hand, and I left completely agitated, because in two years I had become unaccustomed to human treatment. And note, brother, that for a long time, as soon as I had to talk to the authorities, out of habit, I involuntarily pulled my head into my shoulders, as if I was afraid that they might hit me. This is how we were educated in the fascist camps...
From the hospital I immediately wrote a letter to Irina. He described everything briefly, how he was in captivity, how he escaped with the German major. And, pray tell, where did this childhood boast come from? I couldn’t resist saying that the colonel had promised to nominate me for an award...
I slept and ate for two weeks. They fed me little by little, but often, otherwise, if they had given me enough food, I could have died, that’s what the doctor said. I've gained quite a bit of strength. And after two weeks I couldn’t take a piece of food into my mouth. There was no answer from home, and I must admit, I felt sad. Food doesn’t even come to my mind, sleep escapes me, all sorts of bad thoughts creep into my head... In the third week I receive a letter from Voronezh. But it’s not Irina who writes, but my neighbor, carpenter Ivan Timofeevich. God forbid anyone receives such letters!.. He reports that back in June of 1942, the Germans bombed an aircraft factory and one heavy bomb hit my little house. Irina and her daughters were just at home... Well, she writes that they didn’t find a trace of them, and in the place of the hut there was a deep hole... I didn’t read the letter to the end this time. My vision darkened, my heart clenched into a ball and wouldn’t unclench. I lay down on the bed, lay down for a while, and finished reading. A neighbor writes that Anatoly was in the city during the bombing. In the evening he returned to the village, looked at the pit and went into the city again at night. Before leaving, he told his neighbor that he would ask to volunteer for the front. That's all.
When my heart unclenched and the blood began to roar in my ears, I remembered how hard it was for my Irina to part with me at the station. This means that even then a woman’s heart told her that we would no longer see each other in this world. And then I pushed her away... I had a family, my own home, all this had been put together for years, and everything collapsed in a single moment, I was left alone. I think: “Didn’t I just dream about my awkward life?” But in captivity, almost every night I talked to myself, of course, and with Irina and the children, encouraged them, they say, I will return, my family, do not worry about me, I am strong, I will survive, and again we will all together... So I've been talking to the dead for two years?!
The narrator fell silent for a minute, and then said in a different, intermittent and quiet voice:
Come on, brother, let's have a smoke, otherwise I'm feeling suffocated.
We started smoking. In a forest flooded with hollow water, a woodpecker was tapping loudly. The warm wind still lazily stirred the dry earrings on the alder tree; The clouds still floated in the high blue, as if under tight white sails, but the vast world, preparing for the great accomplishments of spring, for the eternal affirmation of the living in life, seemed different to me in these moments of mournful silence.
It was hard to remain silent, so I asked:
What's next? - the narrator reluctantly responded. “Then I received a month’s leave from the colonel, and a week later I was already in Voronezh. I walked on foot to the place where my family once lived. A deep crater filled with rusty water, waist-deep weeds all around... Wilderness, cemetery silence. Oh, it was hard for me, brother! He stood there, grieved at heart, and went back to the station. I couldn’t stay there for an hour; on the same day I went back to the division.
But three months later, joy flashed through me, like the sun from behind a cloud: Anatoly was found. He sent a letter to me at the front, apparently from another front. I learned my address from a neighbor, Ivan Timofeevich. It turns out that he first ended up in an artillery school; This is where his talents for mathematics came in handy. A year later he graduated from college with honors, went to the front and now writes that he received the rank of captain, commands a battery of “forty-fives”, has six orders and medals. In a word, he darned the parent from all over. And again I was terribly proud of him! Whatever one may say, my own son is the captain and commander of the battery, this is not a joke! And even with such orders. It’s okay that his father carries shells and other military equipment in a Studebaker. My father’s business is outdated, but for him, the captain, everything is ahead.
And at night I began to dream like an old man: how the war would end, how I would marry my son and live with the young people, work as a carpenter and nurse my grandchildren. In a word, all sorts of old man stuff. But even here I had a complete misfire. During the winter we advanced without respite, and we had no time to write to each other very often, but towards the end of the war, already near Berlin, I sent Anatoly a letter in the morning, and the next day I received an answer. And then I realized that my son and I approached the German capital by different routes, but we were close to each other. I can’t wait, I really can’t wait to have tea when we meet him. Well, we met... Exactly on the ninth of May, in the morning, on Victory Day, a German sniper killed my Anatoly...
In the afternoon the company commander calls me. I saw an artillery lieutenant colonel, unfamiliar to me, sitting with him. I entered the room, and he stood up as if in front of a senior man. The commander of my company says: “To you, Sokolov,” and he turned to the window. It pierced me like an electric current, because I sensed something bad. The lieutenant colonel came up to me and quietly said: “Take courage, father! Your son, captain Sokolov, was killed today at the battery. Come with me!"
I swayed, but stayed on my feet. Now, as if in a dream, I remember how I was driving with the lieutenant colonel in a large car, how we made our way through streets littered with rubble, I vaguely remember the soldier formation and the coffin upholstered in red velvet. And I see Anatoly like you, brother. I approached the coffin. My son lies in it and is not mine. Mine is always a smiling, narrow-shouldered boy, with a sharp Adam's apple on his thin neck, and here lies a young, broad-shouldered, handsome man, his eyes are half-closed, as if he is looking somewhere past me, into a distant distance unknown to me. Only in the corners of his lips remained forever the smile of the old son, Tolka, whom I once knew... I kissed him and stepped aside. The lieutenant colonel made a speech. My Anatoly’s comrades and friends are wiping away their tears, but my unshed tears have apparently dried up in my heart. Maybe that's why it hurts so much?..
I buried my last joy and hope in a foreign, German land, my son’s battery struck, seeing off his commander on a long journey, and it was as if something broke in me... I arrived at my unit not myself. But then I was soon demobilized. Where to go? Is it really in Voronezh? Never! I remembered that my friend lived in Uryupinsk, demobilized in the winter due to injury - he once invited me to his place - I remembered and went to Uryupinsk.
My friend and his wife were childless and lived in their own house on the edge of the city. Although he had a disability, he worked as a driver in an auto company, and I got a job there too. I stayed with a friend and they gave me shelter. We transported various cargoes to the regions, and in the fall we switched to exporting grain. It was at this time that I met my new son, this one who plays in the sand.
It used to be that when you returned to the city from a flight, of course, the first thing you did was go to the teahouse: grab something, and, of course, drink a hundred grams from what was left. I must say, I’m already quite addicted to this harmful activity... And then one time I see this guy near the teahouse, and the next day I see him again. A sort of little ragamuffin: his face is covered in watermelon juice, covered with dust, dirty as dust, unkempt, and his eyes are like stars at night after the rain! And I fell in love with him so much that, miraculously, I already began to miss him, and I was in a hurry to get off the flight to see him as soon as possible. He fed himself near the tea shop - whoever would give what.
On the fourth day, straight from the state farm, loaded with bread, I turned up to the teahouse. My boy is sitting there on the porch, chattering with his little legs and, apparently, hungry. I leaned out the window and shouted to him: “Hey, Vanyushka! Get in the car quickly, I’ll take you to the elevator, and from there we’ll come back here and have lunch.” He flinched at my shout, jumped off the porch, climbed onto the step and quietly said: “How do you know, uncle, that my name is Vanya?” And he opened his eyes wide, waiting for me to answer him. Well, I tell him that I am an experienced person and know everything.
He came in from the right side, I opened the door, sat him next to me, and off we went. Such a smart guy, but suddenly he became quiet for something, lost in thought, and no, no, and looked at me from under his long, upward-curved eyelashes, and sighed. Such a small bird, but he has already learned to sigh. Is it his business? I ask: “Where is your father, Vanya?” Whispers: “He died at the front.” - “And mom?” - “Mom was killed by a bomb on the train while we were traveling.” - “Where were you coming from?” - “I don’t know, I don’t remember...” - “And you don’t have anyone relatives here?” - “Nobody.” - “Where are you spending the night?” - “Where necessary.”
A burning tear began to boil inside me, and I immediately decided: “We mustn’t disappear separately! I’ll take him as my child.” And immediately my soul felt light and somehow light. I leaned towards him and quietly asked: “Vanyushka, do you know who I am?” He asked as he exhaled: “Who?” I tell him just as quietly. "I am your father".
My God, what happened here! He rushed to my neck, kissed me on the cheeks, on the lips, on the forehead, and he, like a waxwing, screamed so loudly and thinly that even in the booth it was muffled: “Dear folder! I knew! I knew you would find me! You'll find it anyway! I’ve been waiting so long for you to find me!” He pressed himself close to me and trembled all over, like a blade of grass in the wind. And there’s a fog in my eyes, and I’m also trembling all over, and my hands are shaking... How I didn’t lose the steering wheel then, you can wonder! But he still accidentally slid into a ditch and turned off the engine. Until the fog in my eyes passed, I was afraid to drive, lest I run into someone. I stood like that for about five minutes, and my son kept huddling closer to me with all his might, silent, shuddering. I hugged him with my right hand, slowly pressed him to me, and with my left I turned the car around and drove back to my apartment. What kind of elevator is there for me, then I had no time for the elevator.
I left the car near the gate, took my new son in my arms, and carried him into the house. And he wrapped his arms around my neck and didn’t tear himself away all the way. He pressed his cheek against my unshaven cheek, as if stuck. So I brought it in. The owner and hostess were exactly at home. I walked in, blinked both my eyes, and said cheerfully: “So I found my Vanyushka! Welcome us good people! They, both of whom were childless, immediately realized what was going on, they started fussing and running around. But I can’t tear my son away from me. But somehow I persuaded him. I washed his hands with soap and sat him down at the table. The hostess poured cabbage soup into his plate, and when she saw how greedily he was eating, she burst into tears. He stands by the stove, crying into his apron. My Vanya saw that she was crying, ran up to her, tugged at her hem and said: “Auntie, why are you crying? Dad found me near the tea shop, everyone here should be happy, but you’re crying.” And that one - God forbid, it spills even more, it’s literally all wet!
After lunch, I took him to the hairdresser, cut his hair, and at home I bathed him in a trough and wrapped him in a clean sheet. He hugged me and fell asleep in my arms. He carefully laid it on the bed, drove to the elevator, unloaded the bread, drove the car to the parking lot - and ran to the shops. I bought him cloth pants, a shirt, sandals and a cap made from a washcloth. Of course, all this turned out to be worthless in terms of growth and quality. The hostess even scolded me for my pants. “You,” he says, “are crazy, to dress a child in cloth pants in such heat!” And immediately - I put the sewing machine on the table, rummaged through the chest, and an hour later my Vanyushka had his satin panties and a white shirt with short sleeves ready. I went to bed with him and for the first time in a long time fell asleep peacefully. However, at night I got up four times. I’ll wake up, and he’ll be nestled under my arm, like a sparrow under cover, quietly snoring, and my soul will feel so happy that I can’t even express it in words! You try not to stir, so as not to wake him, but still you can’t resist, you slowly get up, light a match and admire him...
I woke up before dawn, I don’t understand why I felt so stuffy? And it was my son who crawled out of the sheet and lay down across me, spread out and pressed his little leg against my throat. And it’s restless to sleep with him, but I’m used to it, I’m bored without him. At night, you stroke him sleepily, or smell the hairs on his cowlicks, and his heart moves away, becomes softer, otherwise it has turned to stone from grief...
At first, he went on trips with me by car, then I realized that it wouldn’t do. What do I need alone? A piece of bread and an onion with salt, and the soldier was fed for the whole day. But with him, it’s a different matter: he needs to get milk, then boil an egg, and again, he can’t live without something hot. But things don't wait. I gathered my courage, left him in the care of his mistress, and he shed tears until the evening, and in the evening he ran off to the elevator to meet me. I waited there until late at night.
It was difficult for me with him at first. Once we went to bed before dark, I was very tired during the day, and he was always chirping like a sparrow, and then he kept silent. I ask: “What are you thinking about, son?” And he asks me, looking at the ceiling himself: “Dad, where are you going with your leather coat?” I've never owned a leather coat in my life! I had to dodge: “It’s left in Voronezh,” I tell him. “Why did you look for me for so long?” I answer him: “Son, I was looking for you in Germany, in Poland, and all over Belarus, but you ended up in Uryupinsk.” - “Is Uryupinsk closer to Germany? How far is it from our home to Poland?” So we chat with him before bed.
Do you think, brother, that he was wrong to ask about the leather coat? No, all this is not without reason. This means that once upon a time his real father wore such a coat, so he remembered it. After all, a child’s memory is like a summer lightning: it will flare up, briefly illuminate everything, and then go out. So his memory, like lightning, works in flashes.
Maybe we could have lived with him for another year in Uryupinsk, but in November a sin happened to me: I was driving through the mud, in one farm my car skidded, and then a cow turned up, and I knocked her down. Well, as you know, the women started screaming, people came running, and the traffic inspector was right there. He took my driver’s book from me, no matter how much I asked him to have mercy. The cow got up, lifted her tail and started galloping along the alleys, and I lost my book. I worked as a carpenter for the winter, and then got in touch with a friend, also a colleague - he works as a driver in your region, in the Kasharsky district - and he invited me to his place. He writes that if you work for six months in carpentry, then in our region they will give you a new book. So my son and I are going on a business trip to Kashary.
Yes, how can I tell you, and if I hadn’t had this accident with the cow, I would still have left Uryupinsk. Melancholy does not allow me to stay in one place for a long time. When my Vanyushka grows up and I have to send him to school, then maybe I’ll calm down and settle down in one place. And now we are walking with him on Russian soil.
It’s hard for him to walk,” I said.
So he doesn’t walk much on his own feet at all, he rides more and more on me. I’ll put him on my shoulders and carry him, but if he wants to get lost, he gets off me and runs to the side of the road, kicking like a kid. All this, brother, would have been fine, somehow we would have lived with him, but my heart was swaying, the piston needs to be changed... Sometimes it grabs and presses so hard that the white light in my eyes fades. I'm afraid that someday I'll die in my sleep and scare my little son. And here’s another problem: almost every night I see my dear dead in my dreams. And it’s increasingly like I’m behind the barbed wire, and they’re free, on the other side... I talk about everything with Irina and the kids, but I just want to push the wire with my hands - they walk away from me, as if they’re melting before my eyes... And Here’s an amazing thing: during the day I always hold myself tightly, you can’t squeeze a “ooh” or a sigh out of me, but at night I wake up, and the whole pillow is wet with tears...
A stranger, but who had become close to me, stood up and extended a large hand, hard as a tree:
Goodbye brother, happy life to you!
And you are happy to reach Kashar.
Thank you. Hey son, let's go to the boat.
The boy ran up to his father, positioned himself on the right and, holding onto the hem of his father’s quilted jacket, trotted next to the man who was striding widely.
Two orphaned people, two grains of sand, thrown into foreign lands by a military hurricane of unprecedented force... What awaits them ahead? And I would like to think that this Russian man, a man of unbending will, will endure and grow up next to his father’s shoulder, one who, having matured, will be able to endure everything, overcome everything on his way, if his homeland calls him to do so.
With heavy sadness I looked after them... Maybe everything would have turned out well if we parted, but Vanyushka, walking away a few steps and braiding his scanty legs, turned to face me as he walked and waved his pink little hand. And suddenly, as if a soft but clawed paw squeezed my heart, I hastily turned away. No, it’s not only in their sleep that elderly men, who have turned gray during the years of war, cry. They cry in reality. The main thing here is to be able to turn away in time. The most important thing here is not to hurt the child’s heart, so that he doesn’t see a burning and stingy man’s tear running down your cheek...
Mikhail Aleksandrovich Sholokhov is the author of famous stories about the Cossacks, the Civil War, and the Great Patriotic War. In his works, the author talks not only about the events that took place in the country, but also about people, very aptly characterizing them. Such is Sholokhov’s famous story “The Fate of a Man.” will help the reader to gain respect for the main character of the book, to know the depth of his soul.
A little about the writer
M. A. Sholokhov - Soviet writer who lived in 1905-1984. He witnessed many historical events that took place at that time in the country.
Started my creative activity writer from feuilletons, then the author creates more serious works: “ Quiet Don", "Virgin Soil Upturned". Among his works about the war one can highlight: “They Fought for the Motherland,” “Light and Darkness,” “The Fight Continues.” Sholokhov’s story “The Fate of a Man” is on the same topic. Analysis of the first lines will help the reader mentally transport himself to that setting.
Meeting Andrei Sokolov, who had a real prototype
The work begins with an introduction to the narrator. He was traveling on a chaise to the village of Bukhanovskaya. Swam across the river with the driver. The narrator had to wait 2 hours for the driver to return. He positioned himself not far from a Willys car and wanted to smoke, but the cigarettes turned out to be damp.
A man with a child saw the narrator and approached him. It was main character narration - Andrey Sokolov. He thought that the person trying to smoke was a driver, like him, so he went up to talk to his colleague.
This begins Sholokhov’s short story “The Fate of a Man.” Analysis of the meeting scene will tell the reader that the story is based on real events. Mikhail Alexandrovich was hunting in the spring of 1946 and there he got into a conversation with a man who told him his fate. Ten years later, remembering this meeting, Sholokhov wrote a story in a week. Now it is clear that the narration is conducted on behalf of the author.
Biography of Sokolov
After Andrei treated the person he met to dry cigarettes, they started talking. Or rather, Sokolov began to talk about himself. He was born in 1900 in During Civil War fought in the Red Army.
In 1922, he left for Kuban in order to somehow feed himself during this time of hunger. But his entire family died - his father, sister and mother died of hunger. When Andrei returned to his homeland from Kuban, he sold the house and went to the city of Voronezh. He first worked here as a carpenter and then as a mechanic.
Next he talks about a significant event in the life of his hero M. A. Sholokhov. “The Fate of Man” continues with the young man marrying a good girl. She had no relatives, and she was brought up in an orphanage. As Andrei himself says, Irina was not particularly beautiful, but it seemed to him that she was better than all the girls in the world.
Marriage and children
Irina had a wonderful character. When the newlyweds got married, sometimes the husband would come home from work angry from fatigue, so he would lash out at his wife. But the smart girl did not respond to offensive words, but was friendly and affectionate with her husband. Irina tried to feed him better and greet him well. Having been in such a favorable environment, Andrei realized that he was wrong and asked his wife for forgiveness for his incontinence.
The woman was very flexible and did not scold her husband for sometimes drinking too much with friends. But soon he stopped even occasionally abusing alcohol, as the young couple had children. First a son was born, and a year later two twin girls were born. My husband began to bring his entire salary home, only occasionally allowing himself a bottle of beer.
Andrei learned to be a driver, began driving a truck, earning good money - the family’s life was comfortable.
War
So 10 years passed. The Sokolovs set themselves new house, Irina bought two goats. Everything was fine, but the war began. It is she who will bring a lot of grief to the family and make the main character lonely again. M. A. Sholokhov spoke about this in his almost documentary work. “The Fate of Man” continues with a sad moment - Andrei was called to the front. Irina seemed to feel that a big disaster was about to happen. Seeing off her beloved, she cried on her husband’s chest and said that they would not see each other again.
In captivity
After some time, 6 German machine gunners approached him and took him prisoner, but not him alone. First, the prisoners were taken to the west, then they were ordered to stop for the night in a church. Here Andrey was lucky - the doctor set his arm. He walked among the soldiers, asked if there were any wounded and helped them. These were the kind of people among Soviet soldiers and officers. But there were others too. Sokolov heard one man named Kryzhnev threatening another, saying that he would hand him over to the Germans. The traitor said that in the morning he would tell his opponents that there were communists among the prisoners, and they shot members of the CPSU. What did Mikhail Sholokhov talk about next? “The Fate of a Man” helps to understand how indifferent Andrei Sokolov was, even to the misfortune of others.
The main character could not bear such injustice; he told the communist, who was a platoon commander, to hold Kryzhnev’s legs and strangle the traitor.
But the next morning, when the Germans lined up the prisoners and asked if there were commanders, communists, or commissars among them, no one handed anyone over, since there were no more traitors. But the Nazis shot four who looked very much like Jews. They mercilessly exterminated the people of this nation in those difficult times. Mikhail Sholokhov knew about this. “The Fate of Man” continues with stories about Sokolov’s two captive years. During this time, the main character was in many areas of Germany, he had to work for the Germans. He worked in a mine, at a silicate plant and in other places.
Sholokhov, “The Fate of Man.” Excerpt showing the heroism of a soldier
When, not far from Dresden, together with other prisoners, Sokolov was extracting stones at a quarry, arriving at his barracks, he said that the output was equal to three cubes, and one was enough for each person’s grave.
Someone conveyed these words to the Germans, and they decided to shoot the soldier. He was called to the command, but even here Sokolov showed himself to be a real hero. This is clearly visible when you read about the tense moment in Sholokhov’s story “The Fate of a Man.” Analysis of the following episode shows the fearlessness of the ordinary Russian person.
When camp commandant Müller said that he would personally shoot Sokolov, he was not afraid. Müller invited Andrei to drink German weapons for the victory, the Red Army soldier did not, but agreed for his death. The prisoner drank a glass of vodka in two sips and did not eat, which surprised the Germans. He drank the second glass in the same way, the third more slowly and bit off quite a bit of bread.
The amazed Müller said that he was giving such a brave soldier life and rewarded him with a loaf of bread and lard. Andrei took the treat to the barracks so that the food could be divided equally. Sholokhov wrote about this in detail.
“The Fate of Man”: a soldier’s feat and irreparable losses
Since 1944, Sokolov began working as a driver - he drove a German major. When an opportunity presented itself, Andrei rushed to his people in a car and brought the major with valuable documents as a trophy.
The hero was sent to the hospital for treatment. From there he wrote a letter to his wife, but received an answer from a neighbor that Irina and her daughters died back in 1942 - a bomb hit the house.
One thing now only warmed the head of the family - his son Anatoly. He graduated from the artillery school with honors and fought with the rank of captain. But fate was willing to take away the soldier and his son; Anatoly died on Victory Day - May 9, 1945.
Named son
After the end of the war, Andrei Sokolov went to Uryupinsk - his friend lived here. By chance, in a tea shop, I met a grimy, hungry orphan boy, Vanya, whose mother had died. After thinking, after some time Sokolov told the child that he was his dad. Sholokhov talks about this very touchingly in his work (“The Fate of Man”).
The author described the heroism of a simple soldier, talking about his military exploits, the fearlessness and courage with which he met the news of the death of his loved ones. He will certainly raise his adopted son to be as unbending as himself, so that Ivan can endure and overcome everything on his way.
Mikhail Sholokhov's story “The Fate of a Man” tells the story of the life of a Great Patriotic War soldier, Andrei Sokolov. The coming war took everything from the man: family, home, faith in a bright future. Strong-willed character and the strength of spirit did not allow Andrey to break. A meeting with the orphaned boy Vanyushka brought new meaning to Sokolov’s life.
This story is included in the 9th grade literature curriculum. Before you get acquainted with the full version of the work, you can read online summary“The Fate of Man” by Sholokhov, which will introduce the reader to the most important episodes of “The Fate of Man.”
Main characters
Andrey Sokolov- the main character of the story. Worked as a driver in war time until the Krauts took him prisoner, where he spent 2 years. In captivity he was listed as number 331.
Anatoly- the son of Andrei and Irina, who went to the front during the war. Becomes battery commander. Anatoly died on Victory Day, he was killed by a German sniper.
Vanyushka- orphan, adopted son of Andrei.
Other characters
Irina- Andrey's wife
Kryzhnev- traitor
Ivan Timofeevich- Andrey's neighbor
Nastenka and Olyushka- Sokolov's daughters
The first spring after the war has arrived on the Upper Don. The hot sun touched the ice on the river and a flood began, turning the roads into a washed-out, impassable slurry.
The author of the story at this time of impassability needed to get to the Bukanovskaya station, which was about 60 km away. He reached the crossing of the Elanka River and, together with the driver accompanying him, swam on a boat full of holes from old age to the other side. The driver sailed away again, and the narrator remained waiting for him. Since the driver promised to return only after 2 hours, the narrator decided to take a smoke break. He took out the cigarettes that had gotten wet during the crossing and laid them out to dry in the sun. The narrator sat down on the fence and became thoughtful.
Soon he was distracted from his thoughts by a man and a boy who were moving towards the crossing. The man approached the narrator, greeted him and asked how long it would take to wait for the boat. We decided to have a smoke together. The narrator wanted to ask his interlocutor where he was going with his little son in such off-road conditions. But the man got ahead of him and started talking about the past war.
This is how the narrator met a brief retelling the life story of a man whose name was Andrei Sokolov.
Life before the war
Andrei had a hard time even before the war. As a young boy, he went to the Kuban to work for the kulaks (wealthy peasants). It was a harsh period for the country: it was 1922, a time of famine. So Andrei’s mother, father and sister died of hunger. He was left completely alone. He returned to his homeland only a year later and sold parents' house and married the orphan Irina. Andrey got a good wife, obedient and not grumpy. Irina loved and respected her husband.
Soon the young couple had children: first a son, Anatoly, and then daughters Olyushka and Nastenka. The family settled down well: they lived in abundance, they rebuilt their house. If earlier Sokolov would drink with friends after work, now he was in a hurry home to his beloved wife and children. In 1929, Andrei left the factory and began working as a driver. Another 10 years flew by unnoticed for Andrey.
The war came unexpectedly. Andrei Sokolov received a summons from the military registration and enlistment office, and he is leaving for the front.
War time
The whole family accompanied Sokolov to the front. A bad feeling tormented Irina: as if last time she sees her husband.
During the distribution, Andrei received a military truck and went to the front to get its steering wheel. But he didn’t have to fight for long. During the German offensive, Sokolov was given the task of delivering ammunition to soldiers in a hot spot. But it was not possible to bring the shells to their own - the Nazis blew up the truck.
When Andrei, who miraculously survived, woke up, he saw an overturned truck and exploded ammunition. And the battle was already going on somewhere behind. Then Andrei realized that he was directly surrounded by the Germans. The Nazis immediately noticed the Russian soldier, but did not kill him - they needed labor. This is how Sokolov ended up in captivity along with his fellow soldiers.
The prisoners were driven into a local church to spend the night. Among those arrested was a military doctor who made his way in the dark and questioned each soldier about the presence of wounds. Sokolov was very worried about his arm, which was dislocated during the explosion when he was thrown out of the truck. The doctor set Andrei's limb, for which the soldier was very grateful to him.
The night turned out to be restless. Soon one of the prisoners began to ask the Germans to let him out to relieve himself. But the senior guard forbade anyone from leaving the church. The prisoner could not stand it and cried: “I can’t,” he says, “desecrate the holy temple! I’m a believer, I’m a Christian!” . The Germans shot the annoying pilgrim and several other prisoners.
After this, the arrested became quiet for a while. Then conversations began in whispers: they began to ask each other where they were from and how they were captured.
Sokolov heard a quiet conversation next to him: one of the soldiers threatened the platoon commander that he would tell the Germans that he was not an ordinary private, but a communist. The threat, as it turned out, was called Kryzhnev. The platoon commander begged Kryzhnev not to hand him over to the Germans, but he stood his ground, arguing “that his own shirt is closer to his body.”
After hearing what Andrei heard, he began to shake with rage. He decided to help the platoon commander and kill the vile party member. For the first time in his life, Sokolov killed a person, and he felt so disgusted, as if he was “strangling some creeping reptile.”
Camp work
In the morning, the fascists began to find out which of the prisoners were communists, commissars and Jews in order to shoot them on the spot. But there were no such people, as well as traitors who could betray them.
When the arrested were driven to the camp, Sokolov began to think about how he could break out to his own people. Once such an opportunity presented itself to the prisoner, he managed to escape and break away from the camp by 40 km. Only the dogs followed Andrei's tracks, and he was soon caught. The poisoned dogs tore all his clothes and bit him until he bled. Sokolov was placed in a punishment cell for a month. After the punishment cell followed 2 years of hard work, hunger, and abuse.
Sokolov ended up working in a stone quarry, where the prisoners “manually chiseled, cut, and crushed German stone.” More than half of the workers died from hard work. Andrei somehow could not stand it, and uttered rash words towards the cruel Germans: “They need four cubic meters of production, but for the grave of each of us, one cubic meter through the eyes is enough.”
A traitor was found among his own, and he reported this to the Fritz. The next day, Sokolov was asked by the German authorities. But before leading the soldier to be shot, the block commandant Müller offered him a drink and snack for the German victory.
Almost looking death in the eye, the brave fighter refused such an offer. Muller just smiled and ordered Andrei to drink for his death. The prisoner had nothing left to lose, and he drank to escape his torment. Despite the fact that the fighter was very hungry, he never touched the Nazis’ snack. The Germans poured a second glass for the arrested man and again offered him a snack, to which Andrei replied to the German: “Sorry, Herr Commandant, I’m not used to having a snack even after the second glass.” The Nazis laughed, poured Sokolov a third glass and decided not to kill him, because he showed himself to be a real soldier loyal to his homeland. He was released to the camp, and for his courage he was given a loaf of bread and a piece of lard. Provisions in the block were divided equally.
The escape
Soon Andrei ends up working in the mines in the Ruhr region. It was 1944, Germany began to lose ground.
By chance, the Germans learn that Sokolov is a former driver, and he enters the service of the German Todte office. There he becomes the personal driver of a fat Fritz, an army major. After some time, the German major is sent to the front line, and Andrei with him.
Once again the prisoner began to have thoughts of escaping to his own people. One day Sokolov noticed a drunken non-commissioned officer, took him around the corner and took off all his uniform. Andrey hid the uniform under the seat in the car, and also hid a weight and a telephone wire. Everything was ready to carry out the plan.
One morning the major ordered Andrey to take him out of town, where he was in charge of the construction. On the way, the German dozed off, and as soon as we left the city, Sokolov took out a weight and stunned the German. Afterwards, the hero took out his hidden uniform, quickly changed clothes and rode at full speed towards the front.
This time the brave soldier managed to reach his own people with a German “gift”. They greeted him as a real hero and promised to present him with a state award.
They gave the fighter a month off to get medical treatment, rest, and see his family.
Sokolov was first sent to the hospital, from where he immediately wrote a letter to his wife. 2 weeks have passed. An answer comes from home, but not from Irina. The letter was written by their neighbor, Ivan Timofeevich. This message turned out to be not joyful: Andrei’s wife and daughters died back in 1942. The Germans blew up the house where they lived. All that was left of their hut was a deep hole. Only the eldest son, Anatoly, survived, who after the death of his relatives asked to go to the front.
Andrei came to Voronezh, looked at the place where his house used to stand, and now a pit filled with rusty water, and on the same day he went back to the division.
Waiting to meet my son
For a long time Sokolov did not believe his misfortune and grieved. Andrei lived only with the hope of meeting his son. Correspondence began between them from the front and the father learns that Anatoly became the division commander and received many awards. Andrei was filled with pride for his son, and in his thoughts he already began to imagine how he and his son would live after the war, how he would become a grandfather and nurse his grandchildren, having met a calm old age.
At this time, Russian troops were rapidly advancing and pushing the Nazis back to the German border. Now it was no longer possible to correspond, and only towards the end of spring did my father receive news from Anatoly. The soldiers came close to the German border - on May 9 the end of the war came.
Excited, happy Andrei was looking forward to meeting his son. But his joy was short-lived: Sokolov was informed that the battery commander was shot by a German sniper on May 9, 1945, Victory Day. Anatoly's father saw him off on his last journey, burying his son on German soil.
Post-war time
Soon Sokolov was demobilized, but he did not want to return to Voronezh because of difficult memories. Then he remembered a military friend from Uryupinsk, who invited him to his place. The veteran headed there.
A friend lived with his wife on the outskirts of the city; they had no children. A friend of Andrei’s got him a job as a driver. After work, Sokolov often went to the teahouse to have a glass or two. Near the teahouse, Sokolov noticed a homeless boy about 5-6 years old. Andrei learned that the homeless child's name was Vanyushka. The child was left without parents: his mother died during a bombing, and his father was killed at the front. Andrey decided to adopt a child.
Sokolov brought Vanya to the house where he lived with a married couple. The boy was washed, fed and dressed. The child began to accompany his father on every flight and never agreed to stay at home without him.
So the little son and his father would have lived for a long time in Uryupinsk, if not for one incident. Once Andrei was driving a truck in bad weather, the car skidded and he knocked over a cow. The animal remained unharmed, but Sokolov was deprived of his driver's license. Then the man signed up with another colleague from Kashara. He invited him to work with him and promised that he would help him get new licenses. So they are now on their way with their son to the Kashar region. Andrei admitted to the narrator that he still couldn’t stand it in Uryupinsk for long: the melancholy does not allow him to sit in one place.
Everything would be fine, but Andrei’s heart began to play pranks, he was afraid he couldn’t stand it, and his little son would be left alone. Every day, the man began to see his deceased relatives as if they were calling him to them: “I talk about everything with Irina and with the kids, but as soon as I want to push the wire with my hands, they leave me as if they are melting before my eyes... And here’s an amazing thing: During the day I always hold myself tightly, you can’t squeeze a single “ooh” or a sigh out of me, but at night I wake up and the whole pillow is wet with tears...”
Then a boat appeared. This is where the story of Andrei Sokolov ended. He said goodbye to the author, and they moved towards the boat. With sadness, the narrator looked after these two close, orphaned people. He wanted to believe in the best, in the better future fate of these strangers who had become close to him in a couple of hours.
Vanyushka turned and waved goodbye to the narrator.
Conclusion
In the work, Sholokhov raises the problem of humanity, loyalty and betrayal, courage and cowardice in war. The conditions in which Andrei Sokolov’s life placed him did not break him as a person. And the meeting with Vanya gave him hope and purpose in life.
Having become acquainted with the short story “The Fate of Man”, we recommend that you read full version works.
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Literature lesson in 9th grade.
Teacher Maskaeva Tatyana Vasilievna.
“Yes, here they are, Russian characters!” (A.N. Tolstoy)
(Image folk character in M. Sholokhov’s story “The Fate of a Man”).
The Russian man, a man of unbending will, ... will be able to overcome everything on his path if his Motherland calls him to it.
M. Sholokhov.
DURING THE CLASSES.
1 . Setting a goal.
Topic V.O. V. occupies one of the most important places in Russian literature,
Today our focus will be on M. Sholokhov’s story “The Fate of a Man.”
The fate of Andrei Sokolov, the main character of the story, is extremely
dramatic. But this is the fate of an entire people. A. Sokolov is no exception, he
One of many. I
The writer traces step by step the path of his hero in the hurricane of war, through the circles of hell of fascist concentration camps. And it is important for us to see the main thing in this person - what Sholokhov saw.
“The soul’s journey through ordeals” (Dostoevsky’s expression) could not devastate the soul of this Russian man, could not kill the humanity in him.
What character must a person have to overcome
moral tests sent by fate? What I was able to keep in my
soul? Sholokhov told about this in the story “The Fate of Man”, about this
our conversation in class.
The topic of our lesson......................................................... ................. As an epigraph, I took a quote from the work of M. Sholokhov, which, in my opinion, reflects the problem raised.
2. History of creation.
On New Year's days - December 31, 1956 and January 1, 1957, Pravda published the story "The Fate of a Man", in which the main character was a captured Soviet soldier. This was shortly after the 20th Congress of the Communist Party, when a change in attitude towards Soviet prisoners of war was already brewing, all of whom Stalin declared traitors and were sent from fascist camps straight to the “relative” camps. And although Sholokhov did not dare to say what awaited the prisoners of war at home, the very choice of the hero became an act of civil courage. The story is dedicated to Evgenia Grigorievna Levitskaya. Sholokhov had a warm friendship with her family.
3.Exchange impressions after reading the story.
The story appeared at the end of 1956. This is a rather rare occurrence in the history of literature when a short story becomes an event.
- Why do you think this story attracted so much attention?
(It describes with utmost clarity and truthfulness the feat of the people, expresses admiration for the perseverance and courage ordinary people, before the strength of character of the protagonist.)
4. Updating knowledge.
- How do you understand the word character?
-What do you think national character is?
5. Working with the text of the work.
Characteristics plan written on the board literary hero, which will help us identify the character traits of the main character of the work.
- portrait;
- actions;
Relationships with other characters;
-Even without knowing the story of his life, what can we say about this man?
(The eyes seem to be sprinkled with ashes; a lot of grief befell Andrei Sokolov; we see Sholokhov’s sympathy). .
-What parts can we divide the hero’s story about his life into?
(Pre-war life, war, post-war months).
Let's listen to the student's story about the hero's pre-war life. Think about what character traits appear in A. Sokolov during this period? Write it down.
- What does A. Sokolov see as the happiness of the pre-war era? Read it.
(Ability to love, loyalty, kindness, hard work.)
- What changes the established order in the family?
(War).
To show the character of the hero, the writer, as a rule, depicts him in unusual situations, sends difficult life trials to his lot, confronts him with a choice. Analyzing the text and the actions of A. Sokolov, we will try to identify his character traits. Don't forget to take notes. At the end of the lesson we will compare them.
- What was the military fate of Andrei Sokolov?
-In which episodes related to wartime, in your opinion, does the character of the main character of the story appear?
(Scene in the church, conversation with Muller, adoption of Vanyushka.)
EPISODE ANALYSIS (CHURCH SCENE).
For analysis, let us turn to the episode depicting prisoners of war in a church. Tell it briefly.
People behave differently in extreme situations. The prisoners in the church are no exception. M. Sholokhov portrays in this scene different variants human behavior. Which?
(Christian Soldier prefers to die rather than submit
circumstances, to retreat from your beliefs. But more people die with him
four people.
Kryzhnev trying to buy his right to life at the cost of betrayal. "Its
the shirt is closer to the body.”
Platoon leader resignedly awaiting his fate.
Doctor continues his work.)
-Which position is closest to Sokolov? Read it.
(“This is what a real doctor means! He did his great work both in captivity and in the dark.” In any conditions, remaining oneself, not betraying one’s duty is the position of Sokolov himself.)
-How did the hero behave in this situation?
-Why does he decide to kill Kryzhnev? What does the hero experience?(It’s hard on my soul, it’s difficult to kill “one of my own,” but Sokolov cannot allow one person to save his life at the cost of the death of another. Only in the unity of people does he see salvation).
-Why does the writer introduce the image of a traitor into the story?
(To show that submission to circumstances, meanness, cowardice,
hypocrisy influenced the fate of this man
EPISODE ANALYSIS (DUEL BY MUELLER)
Now let's turn to the episode of the fight with Muller.
Pay attention to the illustration. The artist managed to convey all the tension of the moment.
-What place does this episode occupy in the story?
(Climactic, central episode.)
- What can an unarmed person oppose to fascism?
(Only fortitude, personal courage.)
-Müller is a terrible person. How does he behave towards prisoners of war?
-What does Sokolov think about when preparing for death?
(About the family. He knows that he must die, but the man began to “gather his courage” in order to “fearlessly, as befits a soldier” to face death.)
-Why did Mueller need to personally execute a Russian soldier during
gala dinner?
(Müller needs not only to shoot a prisoner of war, but also to extremely humiliate the enemy. He wants a repetition of what, as it seems to him, happened at Stalingrad. He imagines that by bringing a Russian soldier to his knees, he will thereby merge with his invincible army. )
-Why, before shooting a prisoner, does he arrange a ritual with drinking?
(Humiliate.)
- What is Sokolov’s physical condition?
(Extremely exhausted, “hungry like a wolf.”)
- Why does he agree to drink, but refuse a snack?
(Drinks to his death. “At least I’ll get drunk before I go into the yard and part with my life.” “I wanted to show them damned ones... that I have my own Russian dignity and pride, and that they didn’t turn me into a beast, no matter how hard we tried.")
- Why is the culmination of the story not an armed clash between two armies, but a “peaceful” dialogue between the warring parties?
(The dialogue with Mueller is not an armed fight between two enemies, but
a psychological duel from which Sokolov emerges victorious, which
Mueller is forced to admit too.)
– What is the meaning of this victory?
(A moral victory has been won.)
Read Mueller's words.
Müller gives high marks to personal qualities
captured soldier.
-How does the Nazis’ attitude towards Sokolov change over the course of the episode?
(Interest appears, self-esteem is discovered
prisoner; refusing to drink to the victory of German weapons, he enters into
open confrontation with Müller, the camp commandant, well-fed, strong,
an armed enemy who can physically destroy the prisoner in
any moment.)
-The conversation in the commandant's room takes place at the time of the Battle of Stalingrad. Is there a connection between this event of world-historical significance and the particular episode depicted in the story?
(The camp commandant wanted a repeat of Stalingrad, and he got it in full
least. The victory of Soviet troops on the Volga and the victory of Sokolov are events of the same
order, since victory over fascism is a victory, first of all,
moral.) I
Thus, in Sholokhov’s work, an ordinary person becomes the embodiment of the people’s character. Fascism is opposed by the hero and the great power of patience, so characteristic of our people.
- In what words does Sokolov express his view of the duty of a person, a man, a soldier? Read it.
(The willingness to endure, to “endure” becomes Sokolov’s life credo. “That’s why you’re a man, that’s why you’re a soldier, to endure everything, to endure everything, if need calls for it!”).
Write down those character traits of Sokolov that you noted in this
episode.
- What did Sokolov have to endure after escaping from captivity?
(He learns about the death of his wife and daughters, loses his son on Victory Day. The war took everything from him.)
The war was cruel to the soldier. Joy flashed for a short time, like the sun from behind a cloud.
(Portrait, dead, extinct eyes. “Why have you, life, maimed me so much?
Why did you distort it like that?” The hero’s heart was “petrified with grief” so much that
He is not even capable of crying. “...and my unshed tears can be seen on
the heart is withered. Maybe that's why it hurts so much."
-How can a person who finds himself in such a situation change?
(May become bitter and hate everyone).
The character of A. Sokolov is the embodiment of not only the heroism of the Russian people,
but also his tragedies. Exactly how great tragedy the war is depicted in the story. It gives rise to general orphanhood and loneliness, destroys everything that was created with such difficulty. “I had a family, my own home, all this was put together over the years, and everything collapsed in a single moment, I was left alone,” says the main character. But even in the whirlwind of war, even after the tragedies experienced, A. Sokolov did not lose his warmth and ability to sympathize.
ANALYSIS OF THE EPISODE (ADOPTION OF VANYUSHA).
Let's turn to the episode of Vanyushka's meeting and adoption.
Here is a still from the movie of the same name, which was a huge success. Director Sergei Bondarchuk. He's in leading role. The film became a classic of Russian cinema and was awarded the Grand Gold Prize at the Moscow International Film Festival (1959), the Lenin Prize (1960) and other awards.
-How the character of A. Sokolov is revealed in his relationship with
Vanyushka?
(You cannot save the world from destruction alone. According to Sholokhov, a person is able to resist the destruction of his own personality. The hero of the story, who has lost loved ones, cannot remain indifferent to the loneliness of others.)
- Why does Sokolov decide to adopt the boy?
– Can a child reach out to every person so trustingly?
- What do their destinies have in common?
- What does Vanyushka feel when he finds his father?
- What is Sokolov himself going through?
(My soul felt light and light).
- What could the war not take away from Sokolov?
(Humanity, compassion, desire for family unity).
- Is the hero alone in his ability to sympathize?
(No, there are many examples of compassion. Mistress. This is the embodiment of the humanistic essence of the entire people.)
(Admires, sympathizes, has compassion.)
-What character traits inherent in A. Sokolov did you write down?
Compare with my notes.
Write on the back of the board:
perseverance, generosity, self-confidence, courage, loyalty, hard work, ability to love, patriotism, compassion, kindness, dedication, self-sacrifice, conscientiousness,
responsibility, breadth of soul.
These are the best features of Russian national character, the presence of which helped Andrei Sokolov withstand such difficult trials and preserve himself as a person.
6. Summing up.
- What is the meaning of the title of the story “The Fate of Man”? How do you understand the word fate?
( Working with a dictionary).
In his story, M. Sholokhov described a man capable of withstanding the blows of fate, showing truly great strength of character, the fortitude of the protagonist. A. Sokolov is depicted in different guises: husband, father, soldier. All this is united by a word that is capacious in its meaning - man.
The title, on the one hand, indicates the author’s attention to
separate human personality, and on the other hand, Sholokhov emphasizes that,
the fate of A. Sokolov is the fate of the entire people who have gone through the cruelest
trials during the bloodiest war of the 20th century and preserved
high humanistic values: kindness, mercy,
compassion.
“I would like my books to help people become better, to become purer in soul, to awaken love for people, the desire to actively fight for the ideals of humanism and the progress of mankind. If I succeeded to some extent, I am happy,” these are the words from M. Sholokhov’s Nobel lecture.
I would like to end the lesson with the words of A. Tolstoy, a quote from whose story was taken as the theme of the lesson: “Yes, here they are, Russian characters! It seems like a simple person, but a severe misfortune will come, in big or small ways, and a great power will rise in him - human beauty.” This is the kind of human beauty we find in the protagonist of M. Sholokhov’s story “The Fate of Man.”
7. Homework.
Write a review about M. Sholokhov’s story “The Fate of a Man.”
8. Lesson summary.
Assessment of student performance.
EQUIPMENT:
Portrait of M. Sholokhov;
Illustrations for the work;
Notes on the board;
Plan of characterization of a literary hero;
Dictionary.
Abstract open lesson on literature.
Platoon: 12
Date: 04/28/12
Lesson topic:
"The Destiny of Man" - incarnation tragic fate Russian people during the Great Patriotic War.
Lesson objectives:
- Introduce the biography and work of M.A. Sholokhov.
- To introduce students to military themes in the works of Soviet writers using the example of M.A. Sholokhov’s story “The Fate of a Man.”
- Develop skills to independently work with literary text, the ability to express and argue your opinion.
- To cultivate love for the Motherland, respect for its difficult history, love for the native language and literature.
Materials and equipment: presentation, portrait of I.A. Sholokhov, text, textbook, film by S. Bondarchuk “The Fate of a Man.”
During the classes.
1. Organizational moment.
2. Updating knowledge.
Many Soviet people went through the Great Patriotic War. Among them were writers and poets.
What are the names of poets and front-line writers? (Slides No. 5,6,7,8)
Nikolai Mayorov, Mikhail Lukonin, Semyon Gudzenko, Pavel Kogan, NikolaiKulchitsky - went to the front, many of them did not return from the war.
One of the works dedicated to the events of the Great Patriotic War is the story “The Fate of a Man” by Mikhail Aleksandrovich Sholokhov.
What can you tell us about Sholokhov himself, the author of the story “The Fate of a Man”? (Students speak with a pre-prepared presentation).
3. Studying new material.
Now let's move on directly to the story “The Fate of a Man.” Pay attention to the composition of the story.
What are the features of the composition and plot of this work?
(The author uses a special compositional technique- a story within a story. The plot of the work includes Andrei Sokolov's story about his fate. This is the confession of a courageous man: after all, in order to again, in the narrative, experience all the troubles, torment and suffering that befell him, enormous mental strength is needed.)
(The hero of the story, Andrei Sokolov, is an ordinary, simple person. He appears together with a little boy, whom he calls his son. The author immediately notices an incomprehensible feature: the child’s clothes, although not new, are of good quality, the torn sleeve is carefully sewn up, and the father’s clothes are sewn carelessly - it is immediately clear that the man was darning. The author assumed that his random interlocutor was either widowed or did not get along with his wife.)
Why do you think Andrei Sokolov tells his life story to a stranger?
(Probably because Sholokhov’s hero experienced a lot, and he has no close people, except for Vanyusha, who was adopted by him. But the boy is still small, and besides, he also suffered grief - he lost his parents, and his mother died when the two of them were traveling on a train, during the bombing, and his adoptive father takes care of him and takes pity on him. And such a story is not for a child. Andrei is a driver by profession. Seeing a man waiting near the car, he thought that he was also a driver - that means “his brother,” as they say. “It’s sickening to smoke and die alone,” Andrei clumsily justifies himself.)
The story "The Fate of Man" takes place shortly after the war; however, the story itself was written much later in 1956: about 10 years passed between the chance meeting with the man who became the prototype of Andrei Sokolov and the creation of the story.
Why do you think such a story could not have appeared earlier?
(There is no expressed ideological position in the story. Although Andrei Sokolov mentions that half of the prisoners were communists, this has no significance for the plot and meaning of the story. Moreover, Sholokhov’s hero was in German captivity, which was regarded as a crime under Stalin ". It is known that those who escaped from German camps often ended up in Soviet camps. In addition, only during the period of the so-called Thaw it became possible to prioritize humanistic rather than ideological values - family, mutual understanding, peaceful work, human dignity and compassion. Story " The Fate of Man" is imbued not with the pathos of a victorious hero, but with the inescapable melancholy of a man who has lost everyone who was dear to him.
“Sometimes you don’t sleep at night, you look into the darkness with empty eyes and think: “Why have you, life, maimed me so much? Why did you distort it like that?” I don’t have an answer, either in the dark or in the clear sun... There isn’t and I can’t wait!” - Andrei Sokolov complains.)
What are the main milestones in the fate of Andrei Sokolov? What helped the hero survive?
(In Sholokhov’s short story, the whole life, the whole fate of the hero, “a simple Soviet man": his pre-war life, going to the front and saying goodbye to his family, captivity, unsuccessful escape, liberation, death of the family, meeting Vanyushka, his son who became a hero. Spiritual generosity, humanity, cordiality, and a sense of responsibility help him survive.)
How does the hero manifest himself in all trials?
(Andrei Sokolov’s powers seem limitless; he has an indestructible will to live, to fight for justice: “And I was at my last strength, but I went”; “I served a month in a punishment cell for escaping, but still alive... I remained alive!” Always, in all circumstances, Andrei does not lose his sense of human dignity, does not bend in the face of troubles. Sokolov's fortitude is so great that it amazes even inveterate sadistic fascists.
The hero had to endure the most terrible test - the news of the death of his wife and daughters, the death of his son on the last day of the war. It seems that there is no strength left to live, it is impossible to survive such grief. But the hero has not lost his sensitivity, the need to give warmth and care to others; he feels his own and others’ pain with his heart.)
What is the significance of the episode "In the Church"? How do people express themselves? Which position is closest to Sokolov? How did the hero himself behave?
(In the episode “In the Church,” Sholokhov reveals possible types of human behavior in inhumane circumstances. Different characters embody different life positions here. A Christian soldier prefers to die rather than submit to circumstances and give up his beliefs, but in doing so he becomes responsible for the deaths of four people ". Kryzhnev is trying to buy his right to life, paying for it with someone else's life. The platoon commander resignedly awaits his fate. But only the position of the doctor, “who did his great work both in captivity and in the dark,” evokes sincere respect and admiration from Sokolov.
In any conditions, to remain yourself, not to betray your duty - this is the position of Sokolov himself. The hero does not accept either submission or opposition of his life to the lives of other people. That’s why he decides to kill Kryzhnev in order to save the platoon commander. Murder is not easy for Sokolov, especially the murder of “one of his own”; his soul is heavy, but he cannot allow one person to save his own life at the cost of the death of another.
The episode "In the Church" shows how the hero's character is cruelly tested. Life confronts him with the need to choose. The hero acts as his conscience tells him.)
In which scenes of the story “The Fate of Man” is “Russian dignity and pride” most fully shown? Comment on these scenes. (Showing a fragment of the film “The Fate of Man” by S. Bondarchuk)
(The dialogue with Muller is not an armed battle between two enemies, but a psychological duel from which Sokolov emerges victorious, which Muller himself is forced to admit. The victory of the Soviet troops on the Volga and the victory of Sokolov are events of the same order, since the victory over fascism is, First of all, the victory is moral).
What role does the meeting with Vanyushka play in Sokolov’s fate?
(An unexpected meeting with a child, an accidental “splinter of war,” revives the hero. Love and compassion evoke a response in the boy’s heart. Andrei Sokolov not only does not submit to fate, but also makes his own destiny, changes the orphan’s fate for the boy.)
(Sholokhov, in the image of his hero, reveals the tragedy of our entire people, their misfortunes and suffering. The author’s pain and sympathy are felt in the very tone of the story, in the choice of the hero - common man, in the vicissitudes of his fate. The main method of constructing a story - antithesis - also serves as an expression author's position: peaceful life, quiet happiness - the destructive power of war; goodness and justice - monstrous fanaticism, cruelty, inhumanity; devotion is betrayal; light - darkness. It is clear which side the author is on, what ideals he defends.)
What is the meaning of the story's title? (slide No. 11)
Let’s look at the meaning of the word “fate” according to Ozhegov’s dictionary.
- A confluence of circumstances independent of a person’s will, the course of life circumstances;
- Share, fate;
- The history of the existence of someone or something;
- The future, what will happen
Fate is a multi-meaning word.
- In what sense is it used in the title of the story? (It shows not only the history of Andrei Sokolov’s existence, but also how he was able not to submit to circumstances and was able to survive. In his battle with fate, he showed great strength of character.)
- Let's once again name those character traits that helped Andrei Sokolov withstand and overcome difficulties. (Resilience, generosity, ability to love, courage, compassion, kindness, etc.)
Sholokhov describes without embellishment the life of his hero in German captivity. Returning to his homeland, Andrei painfully experiences the loss of his family. Indeed, the fate of this man, a simple man who does not stand out in any way from the multitude of similar ordinary people, is very difficult.
How does the humanism of the story manifest itself?
(Despite everything, Andrei Sokolov has not lost the ability to empathize. He without hesitation takes care of little Vanyusha. In captivity, Andrei honestly shares the pitiful crumbs of provisions with his comrades, kills a traitor who decided to announce to the Germans that one of the prisoners was a platoon commander .
We see that Andrei's suffering heart is still capable of sincere love. As a result of the shocks he suffered, Andrei’s health suffered greatly: “...My unshed tears, apparently, have dried up in my heart. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much?” This worries Andrei, but not because of himself, but because of Vanyusha: “... Somehow we would have lived with him, but my heart swayed, the piston needs to be changed... Sometimes he grabs and presses so hard that the white light in eyes fade. I’m afraid that someday I’ll die in my sleep and scare my son.”)
What is instructive about the story of Andrei Sokolov?
(Andrei Sokolov, a simple man, soldier and father, acts as a guardian and defender of life, its foundations, moral laws that have evolved over centuries. Sholokhov’s hero defends the meaning and truth of human existence itself.)
The author does not talk about how the life of Andrei and his adopted son developed further. Sholokhov pursued a different goal - to show what he was doing with human life war. “Two orphaned people, two grains of sand, thrown into foreign lands by a military hurricane of unprecedented force... What awaits them ahead? And I would like to think that this Russian man, a man of unbending will, will endure and grow up next to his father’s shoulder, someone who, having matured, will be able to endure everything, overcome everything on his way ... "
4. Summing up.
Answer the question in writing: “How did the fate of Andrei Sokolov become an expression of the fate of the entire people?” (Slide No. 16)
(Analysis of students’ work in class, grading)
5. Homework.
Teacher of Russian language and literature Melentyeva E.A.