Moscow

The chill of dawn blows from the window. The morning is so quiet that you can hear pigeons running on the roof and Bushui shaking herself from sleep. I lie there for a minute, stretching; I listened to the cockerels singing, Gorkin's voice from the yard, as if he were somewhere in the room: "I would like to pull up the weights, Anti-Cannon..." Yes, I wish I had an armful of hay! "You can pull it up a little. The Lord gave the weather..." "All right, it'll be hot. What a dew, the porch is all wet. Bagels, Fedya, took it?.. It's good with tea. "Eat, Michal Pankratych, just thrown out of the oven." And it seems to smell like bagels. Everything is at the porch, behind the house. And Crooked with a cart there, clinking horseshoes on the stones. I run to the window to shout that I am now. A joyful chill blows, dawn. Behind Barminikhin's garden, the sky is fiery as if on fire. The sun is not yet visible, but it is already shining somewhere. The roofs of the sheds are covered with pale fiery spots, as it happens in winter from the stove. The pink pole of the birdhouse begins to turn red and golden, and a twig has already caught fire above it. And here are the sheds that are golden. On the crest of the barn, doves sparkle with their wings, the glass under them flashes: it is the sun looking. Air... Anti-Cannon runs with an armful of hay, slams the stable with his foot. He wore black boots with tar — and they were always red — a large yellow cap and a sagging jacket made of canvas, Vasil Vasilich, "for the heat"; A rope dangles from his pocket. "I wouldn't forget the tar.. Gorkin calls out solicitously, "a drinking bowl, a bag... Nothing seemed to have been forgotten. A cup of tea - and with God. Behind Krestovskaya, at Brekhunov's, we'll get drunk properly, without haste, in the garden.And I'm ready. I am wearing a straw cap with a lacquered visor; a severe shirt, with cockerels on the sleeves and collar; Common boots, to make it easier for the leg, I will put on new ones there. Over there... If you remember, it will take your breath away. And joyful, and... I don't know what. Everything is different there, not like in the world..." - Gorkin said, - the churches are always open, the air is like clouds, incense... and everyone sings: "And out of the dungeon my soul!" We drink tea in the hall, father and I. Only four have crowed. The doors to the dining room are closed so as not to wake her up. Father is also going somewhere: he is wearing riding boots and a jacket. He drinks crimson tea from a faceted glass, counts something in a book, kisses me absentmindedly and waves sternly when I want to say that our samovar has become pink. And the front one became pink, completely different! "You'll be in time, you can't kick your feet." Smear caviar on a ball.And everyone counts: "Seven thousand trees... yes, from a new grove... well, twenty thousand trees..." A crest sways over his forehead, as if he thinks too. I gulp down hot tea, and the clock knocks and knocks. Why is there pink steam over the samovar, and the tablecloth, and the wallpaper?.. The dark hunchbacked icon of the Passion of Christ has become as if new, a crucifix is visible on it. That's why this happens... Outside the window, you can reach it with your hand, there is a pink brick wall, and on it there is a strip from the sun: that's why there is a light in the hall. Never before. I said to my father: "The sun has peeped into us!" He looked absently out of the window, and then his face brightened. "Oh... Yes, yes. He looked into the alley to us, looked and thought about something. "Yes... seven or eight days a year in total and will look here into our crack. Your grandfather used to wait for the long days to come... I always drank tea here with the sun, as you and I do now. And he showed it to me. I was little, I forgot. And now I'll tell you. And so everything goes," he says thoughtfully. "So pray for your grandfather." It is already dimming, only the icon is glowing. He looks above his head and sings his beloved without words — "To Thy Cross... we worship, Lords"... In this gliding light, in the sad melody, in the grandfather who has gone somewhere, who saw the same thing that I see now, he feels a vague thought that everything is going away... the father will also depart, like this accidental light. I bend my head, follow the gliding light... I see the sky from the crack, its blue strip between the wall and the house... And I am flooded with joy. "Well, refueled?" - says the father. "Remember, listen to Gorkin. He has a bag with change, he will give you for the poor. And we, God willing, will catch up with you at the Trinity.He baptizes me, puts me on his neck and runs down the stairs. The curve glitters as if it were waxed; The arch, and the harness, and the cart, brand new, a toy, shines. Gorkin is in a canvas undergarment, in a May cap on the side, with a sack, ruddy, cheerful, beard like silver. The anti-cannon is at Krivaya Street, with reins. Fedya is in the city style, in patent leather boots, as if he is going to mass; on his side is a bag with a tin kettle tied up. On the porch sits Domna Panferovna, in a handkerchief, with a drooping neck, so red - apparently she is very hot. She wears a gray talma robe, with hangings, and soft slippers; on her lap she wears a heavy carpet bag and a white pot-bellied umbrella. Anyuta looks out from under the handkerchief with a doll. I ask if I took a crystal ball. She looks at her grandmother and is silent, and she feels in her pocket. "The material has been handed over, deliver it completely!" My father says, putting me on the hay. "Rest easy, we won't scatter it," Gorkin answered, took off his cap and crossed himself. "Well, we have a good hour, and you are happy to stay, not to miss us. Forgive me, a sinner, in what I have been rude... He bows to his father, Maryushka the cook, the carpenters who have gathered for work, the furriers who slept in the cart in the yard, crawling out from under the patchwork quilt, scraping their heads, and the quiet courtyard at this hour. They say in different voices: "Good hour to you", "Bow to the saint for us". I'm sorry for something. Father squints, says: "I'll steal another thing with you!" - "A well-known prosecutor's office," Gorkin laughs, says goodbye to his father by the hand. They kiss. I jump off the cart. "Let him show off a little, and then we'll plant him," says Gorkin. "So it's like this: don't let the move go, me. Let's go slowly, as praying mantises walk, and we won't die. And you, Domna Panferovna, keep the style. "Don't be embarrassed yourself, father, and I'll swing like a cat." Trifonitch runs out of the hallway, barefoot, almost overslept to say good-bye, and thrusts a parcel for Sanya, granddaughter, as a novice at the Trinity. And they will visit with their grandmother in the fall, they say... The merchant, they say, cannot be left, it's time for the working day. "Well, Lord, bless... The cart rattles and rings, the hay jumps in it. Everyone pours out of the gate. Ratnikov, on the contrary, has a wide cart on the sidewalk under the windows, and hot carpets of bread are lowered into it along a tray; There is a bread spirit all over the street. Gorkin tells Fedya to grab three or four sweets in the window, and we'll refuel with tea at Krestovskaya. We walk slowly, in the cold. The street is bright and empty; The wipers sweep the pavement, the dust is golden over them. The sieves are riding on shivers: they are carrying the first berry from Vorobyovka to the Swamp - sweet Russian strawberries: the spirit is all over the street. Gorkin calls out: "How much are strawberries?" They answer: "For money! Come to the Swamp, let's say!" Gorkin is not offended: "You know, the Vorobyovites... At the market, Fedya catches up with us, puts a corner of warm "sweet" on the hay, in a piece of paper. At the pool, Crooked is thirsty. On the porch of the booth, the same gray as the pool, in the middle of the market, a barefoot old man in a pink shirt holds a burning splinter over a samovar. Could it be Gavrilov, the butoshnik! But Gavrilov always had medals, in blue trousers with a saber, with a black, stiff mustache, strict. And here was an old man, like Gorkin, in a simple shirt, with a gray moustache, and his trousers were calico, shaking, his legs were thin and veined, and he was putting down a samovar like all simple people. And his name is not Gavrilov, but Maksimych.While Antipushka is drinking, we are talking to Maksimych. He praises us that we are going to the Trinity-Sergius – "it's a good thing", he says, puts a flaming splinter into the samovar and tells us to wait a little – he will bring out a penny for candles. Gorkin waves: "Oh, let's do it!" - but Maksimych waves it off: "No, this is a special article" - and brings out two nickels. For one – to put the monk, and the other... "It turns out that on the eve ... for the repose of the soul of the warrior Maximus." Gorkin asked: "Have you ever found out?" Maksimych looked at the samovar, scratched his eye and said sadly: "Ober was passing by the other day, he called me with his finger. remembers me. He said: "Don't get your hopes up, Gavrilov, unfortunately... all the ministers have shaken up all the papers - and there is no trace!" In the month of August it will be two years. And they were waiting with the old woman. He went as a hunter. And what a place it was, the City Part... the very Rows, Ilyinka... Gorkin regrets it, says: "I put my stomach down... you need to pray." "You can't turn it back," Maksimych said into the smoke, over the samovar.And I was afraid of him before.I heard my father shouting, Kavkazka galloping at us: "Pilgrims, stop! Ah, Gorka... How I need your eye, brother! I sell groves at the Vasilchikovs, in Koralov... There are twenty plots. I don't want to be fooled! "Those times," says Gorkin in confusion, "they would have said it just now.. How can it be now... Our roads are different?.. "Crawl, I'll get by." Don't you whimper? He asked me and galloped to Krymok, to the left. "Well, I didn't tell you just now!" Gorkin throws up his hands. "I galloped to Zvenigorod. Well, hot.. I ask why now Gavrilov has a gray mustache and he is different. "It's too early, I didn't show off. Otherwise he will be brave again. Yakimanka is completely empty, bright from houses and the sun. Here are the most salesmen, from Ilyinka. The janitors, with their legs outstretched, lie on the gate benches, the plaques on them are burning. The windows at the top are open, it is quiet behind them. "Domna Panferovna, are you alive?.. "Alive... don't limp yourself," Domna Panferovna responds with shortness of breath. Next to her, like a sparrow, is Anyuta with a bundle from which a curl is looking. I am in the hay, jumping, singing to myself. There are peddlers from the Swamp, carrying young green onions, red, first, currants, green aglitsky gooseberries - for jam. The chapel of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, near the Stone Bridge, has already opened, we go in to venerate, put in a penny. Gorkin gives it to me from my bag. There are pennies and pennies. This is always the case on pilgrimage – alms are given by those who ask. On the bridge, Krivaya rests, wants to look at the Kremlin, great-grandmother Ustinya taught him so. The Moskva River is covered with a pink fog, on which fishermen in boats raise and lower their fishing rods, as if they are driving a crayfish's mustache. To the left is the golden, light, morning church of the Savior, in a dazzling golden dome: the sun beats directly into it. To the right is the high Kremlin, pink, white and golden, young lit up in the morning. The cart rolls sonorously from the bridge, Anticannon runs on the reins. Domna Panferovna, under an umbrella, as if flying through the air, overtook Fedya. The curve rushes, as if on a race, downhill, plays with its tail. Slowly pull uphill. And here is the Borovitsky Gate.Gorkin leads through the Kremlin.The oak gates in the tower are always open - day and night. A cart thunders under the arches, and here it is, the sacred Kremlin, bright and quiet, all in the air. No one is guarding him. Eagles on the towers are watching. A quiet palace, all pink, with reflections from the windows, from the sun. On the right is a cliff, in the lattice, crosses of an ancient church, domes, battlements of the Kremlin walls, Moscow and the distance. There, across the river, is Zamoskvorechye, where we are from. It's morning in the fog. The candles above it flicker - white bell towers with crosses. A rare good news is heard. And here are the cathedrals.They stand heavily with ancient white walls, with narrow windows, in domes. Puffy domes are swirling. Behind them is blue. As if it were not domes: golden clouds are standing there, swirling. The crosses on them are smoldering with dark and smoky gold. Cathedrals do not have doors, but doors. People under them are midges. They sit in heaps, here and there, on the slabs of the Cathedral Square. What are you, my cart... and that I myself! Swifts are ringing sharply, rushing in the domes, flashing. "Pilgrims," Gorkin points out, "sleep here, under the cathedrals, from all over Russia. They drink tea, change their shoes... Ok. Assumption, Annunciation, Arkhangelsk... Oh, and our good councils... Mental!.. The cart taps as if in emptiness, knocking peas in the walls. "Oh, Ivan the Great... what!.. So great... It hurts to throw your head back. He is silent.Past the old cannons, past the motley fence with the soldier who has embraced his gun and is looking, a ringing cart rolls down, under the turret. "And this is the Nikolsky Gate," Gorkin points out. "Make the sign of the cross, Nikola - to help the travelers. Turn, Anti-Cannon, to the Queen of Heaven... Iberian is open, candles are flickering. On the slippery iron porch, clear from how many feet, there were quiet pilgrims, in heaps, with knapsacks, with loud tin kettles and sacks, with sticks and sticks, with slices of bread. They pray, and chew, and doze. On a blue dome with golden stars, an iron dome with a sword, the Archangel is holding a high cross. We light candles, fall on our knees before the Lady, kiss the robe. A dark, familiar face looks over us mournfully — sees the whole soul. Gorkin said so: "Pray, and she sees her whole soul." He leads me to the candlestick, opens his mouth wide and swallows something from a spoon. I see a silver pot with a spoon in it on a chain. Isn't it sweet kutia, which is given in Khotkovo? Gorkin told me. He lifts me under the armpits, tells me to open my mouth wider. I want to spit it out, and I'm afraid. "Swallow, swallow, fool... holy oil..." he whispers. And everyone takes oil. Domna Panferovna takes three spoons, as if she were drinking tea with jam, sucks on the spoon, licks her lips and smacks. And Anyuta is like a grandmother. "I would, wouldn't he?" Domna Panferovna says to me and takes up the spoon, "it's better not to hurt your tummy, eh?" Molennoe, pure, Athonite, and?.. I don't want any more. And Gorkin warns: "A lot is not good for the road, Domna Panferovna... We pass Nikolskaya, in the cold. The benches had not yet been unlocked, with bluish shutters and bars. From the desolate, darkish alleys, we are drawn with coolness, smells of raisins and mint gingerbread: there are warehouses with all sorts of things. In the blue turret is the Great Martyr Panteleimon. Go in and take oil. We stretch for a long, long time - and that's it, Moscow. Anyuta asks for a cart, twists her legs, but Domna Panferovna does not say: "Take it up and go on foot!" We go along Meshchanskaya Street - all the gardens, gardens. Pilgrims are moving, reaching out to meet us. There are Muscovites, like us; And more distant, from the villages: brown, armyaki-sermyaga, onuchi, bast shoes, skirts, plaid skirts, shawls, ponevas, rustling and slapping of feet. Bedside tables - wooden, grass by the pavement; Shops - with dried roach, with teapots, with bast shoes, with kvass and green onions, with smoked herrings on the door, with fat "Astrakhanka" in tubs. Fedya rinses in brine, pulls an important one, by a nickel, and sniffs - not of a spiritual rank? Gorkin quacks: good! He is fasting, he is not allowed. Here are the yellow houses of the outpost, behind them is the distance. "Look at what... Ryazan! Gorkin points to the mantis. "And the ears in the back are Smolensk. And then Tambovka, legs with sledgehammers... Will you give it up, mother? "Distant ones, father... We are from Ryazan, styapny..." the old woman sings. "Moscow himself?" Is your granddaughter a good boy? What a good cap... With her comes a beautiful young woman, just like a girl, in a patterned shirt, in a red armband, looking at the ground. The beads on her are amber, she pulls them. "Your beauty?" Gorkin asks about the girl, but she doesn't look. "My granddaughter... She's sick with us," the old woman says pitifully and adjusts the beads on the beauty. "He's been silent and silent, for a year now..." The first one fell asleep, he was a boy. So we go to the saint. The carriage at the Taba is elegant, painfully good, taking away... The cart stumbles on the sidewall, rolls well, dusts. The houses are dirtier, lower, farther from the pavement. Black forges are knocking, there is a smell of carbon coal. "Goodbye, Moscow!" Gorkin crosses himself at the outpost. "Here we are behind Krestovskaya, the pilgrimage itself begins. Turn, Anti-Pushka, under the rowan trees, to Brekhunov... We'll have a snack and a cup of tea. And his kindergarten is pleasant. Ours, Rostov... He has all sorts of sentences in the tavern, it is well described... We slide down under the mountain ashes. I read on the blue sign: "Tavern "Otrada" with Mytishchi water Brekhunov and the Garden". "They bring him from the keys. Such water... You'll get drunk! And he is a sincere person. "And I'm not going to eat herring, Mikhail Pankratych," said Fedya, "I want to eat it too." Where is it?.. "It's a good thing, come on. A nickel was ruined in vain... You're rich. Give to the passer-by whom... Where to! "That's right.. Fedya says happily and thrusts himself into the hands of an old man with a knapsack who is trudging to Moscow.The old man crosses himself against Fedya, at the herring, and at all of us. "Oh... Christ save you, son... ah... save you..." he drawls barely audibly, he is so weak, "ah... Herring... Christ save you... son..." "How the Lord arranges! Gorkin shouts. Fedya even blushes, and the old man keeps feeling the herring. He is surrounded by praying mantises. "We'll drink for an hour, I suppose." You'd better unscrew the curve, Anti-Cannon... We'll bring him into the yard. Stand here for a while, I'll tell the owner. It smells like road, dust. Forests are visible. The sun is already baking, the sky is bluish-smoky. There, far beyond him, there is a joyful thing that I do not know, the monk. Churches are always open, and everyone is singing. Lord, how wonderful.. "Bring in, Anti-Cannon!" Gorkin shouted, already from the yard.Behind him was the owner, in a white shirt, with a crimson belt under his belly, fat, cheerful, red-haired. He praises our cart, me, Crooked, takes me off the cart, carries me through the slurry in the groove and wheezes hotly in my ear: "They respected Brekhunov, they looked in! And I'll sing you a poem, all my guests know... Brekhunov invites everyone to "Otrada"Everyone - you want to be old, you want to be young.Get everything as a rewardTea with Mytishchi water!

The Pilgrimage Garden

We are on the holy road, and now we are different, pilgrims. And everything seems special to me. The sky is like in holy pictures, a wonderful blue color, so joyful. A soft, dusty road, with grass on the sides, is not an ordinary road, but a holy one: it is called Trinity. And people are so affectionate, they all remember the Lord: "May the Lord lead you to the saint", "Send you, Lord!" – as if we were all relatives. And even the tavern is called "Joy".We unharness the Curve and put it in the shadows. The huge, curly-haired Brekhunov orders the janitor to throw her fresh hay — they have just mowed down on the estate — leads us somewhere through the manure and says so piously: "Come to the pilgrimage garden..." Rinse Moscow in front of the holy path, as they say.It smells quite rustic - hay, manure, tar. Pigs are grunting in the barn, geese are cackling, as if they are meeting us. Brekhunov kicks the gander away with his foot so that he does not peck at me, and gently explains to me that these are geese, the most stupid bird, and this is a cockerel, and there are barrels of sugar, and they drink sugar and tea, and is surprised: "What are you, you even know geese!" "I kick them out in the morning, and by night it's crowded..." for a troika, with boiling water! From your line! So tell dad: he was, they say, at Prokop Brekhunov's, drank tea and saw geese. And for the forest, they say, Brekhunov cannot go to Pokrov in any way... and by Easter, maybe the Lord will help. Anyuta whispered to me in fright: "Grandmother says that all innkeepers are real robbers... They will stab those who spend the night!" He takes me by the head, asks: "Have you seen Moscow?" and raises me above my head. I know this joke, I like it, only his fingers are stiff. He turns me around and says: "I would like to have such a boy!" Domna Panferovna does not tell her to despair, she can say something to her wife. Brekhunov said that Elder Varnava had it, and he did not give me hope: "Why, he says, do you need an heiress?" And who will I hand over the whole car to? And he, as if jokingly: "There is a lot of this stuff without yours!" - so, tavern business. "He doesn't like it, then," says Gorkin, "otherwise he would have prayed. "Do people need to drink tea?" I said: "Baslov, father, I'm opening a tavern on Razguliai." And again he was all doubtful: "Do you want to go wild?" And the henchman walked me around for three thousand! In a trifle — and that he foresaw.Gorkin says that for a saint there are no trifles, they condescend to everything.We drink tea in the pilgrimage garden. The garden is without grass, trampled, elderberry pavilions are set up like bushes, and pilgrims drink tea in them. All the people are urban, not poor. And all ask one another, affectionately: "Will you please go to the monk?" — and they themselves joyfully say that they too will go to the monk, if the Lord wills. As if everyone here is relatives. Peddlers are walking around with holy goods - with crosses, with icons, with holy pictures and books about "lives". Gorkin does not order us to buy crosses and icons: we will buy them there, sprinkled from the holy relics, it is better to go to the monastery. In the monastery, at the Trinity-Sergius, for three days they feed all the poor pilgrims for free, no matter how many you come. Fedya buys a book in pink paper for a Semite, "The Life of St. Sergius," and we will count on the way so that we know everything. A nun walks in shod shoes, bows to everyone at the waist - asks for a poor monastery. Everyone puts it on a black book with a cross as much as possible. "And how pious and good everything is, it's a pleasure to look at!" Gorkin says happily. "And it will be even better on the way." And in the Lavra... And there is nothing to say. From Moscow - as if they escaped from hell.White floorers run around with kettles that look like large eggs: one with boiling water, the other, smaller, with tea leaves. It's called a couple. Brekhunov orders to brew for us a special one that smells like roses. He said to us: "To whom - these are the ones, and for you - Mr. Botkin! For some it is steamed, but for you it is a master! And he says a rhyme:A Russian loves tea with a biteAnd boiling water is cooler! "And if it's in a pious way, then like this: 'A nun sings, and there are a hundred cups in him?' A samovar! And here we go again... "The nose is black, white-potbellied, the tail curled back?" And there it is, a teapot! I can do all sorts of riddles. And then the monks love pious things... "Let's pray to the Lord, we'll wash our sins with tea!" And that's what they say. "That doesn't suit us, Prokop Antonych," says Gorkin, "they've heard enough of this stuff in Moscow. "Moscow will teach everything. Look, it bites so clean, eh! Brekhunov is amazed at me, "and he's not afraid of boiling water!" Gorkin refuses. At the Trinity, God willing, we will have our way out, in the "pancake houses", in the ravine, we will taste everything - mushrooms, and crucian carp, and custard porridges, and pancakes, that's it... And now, on the holy road, it is forbidden to please mammon. And then we sin with bagels and soft ones, and then we'll go on crackers, except that we'll sip lenten at the night.Brekhunov praises how correct we are, we keep our faith well: "It's comforting to look at you, how you keep splendor. And here, like worms, spinning in the abyss, we have forgotten the holidays. A wanderer passed on the oily tree over there... Maybe you've heard... Simeonushka the wanderer? "How can I not hear," says Gorkin, "our neighbor was a coachman in Ordynka who served as a coachman for the Red Keeper Puzakov, and then, for five years, he went on a pilgrimage, by grace. So what is he?.. "I was angry at everything. His wife shot him in the street, took him to the tavern to warm up, there was a roster, and on him felt boots were thin and soaked. I saw the counter... Shrovetide, of course, after drinking people, there is a mess at the counter, of course, they knock on the scales how... And the conversation is not spiritual, of course... First of all, he swept away with a stick on the scales. We calmed him down, put him under the icons, tea, pancakes, that's it... He began to cry over the pancakes. One pancake and chewed it all. Then ke-ek on the kettle with his fist.. "Ah," he shouted, "tea and sugar, and we're rolling down the mountain!" He shook his staff and went. He reached the stone pillar to the outpost and sat for three days, the butoshnik had already accepted him, because there was a crowd of people, there was no passage. "I," he said, "am warmer at the pillar than on your stove!" He goes away and says: "I have these things to do... Poor pilgrims, in brown grays and paws, come up to us, cross themselves at us and ask for a pinch of tea for tea, at least wet. Gorkin gives pinches and sugar, but a whole bunch of them are collected, and everyone asks. We shrug it off, wondering where there is enough for everyone. Brekhunov ran up and began to shout: how did they get in? drive them to the neck! Sexual ones chase mantises away with napkins. They crawled somewhere through a hole in the fence and trampled strawberries in the garden. I see how he gave one old man a sex in the hump. Gorkin sighs: "Lord, what a sin!" Brekhunov shouts: "Spoil them, they won't let a real pilgrim move!" Gorkin burst out: "We're throwing pieces, and over there..." And at the end of the world, the Lord will be the first to call them. They won't be dragged there... And the Anti-Cannon says that they will. Domna Panferovna shames the policeman that he drags his mother, a fool. And he has his own: the master orders us. And everyone in the gazebos began to say that you can't do this with an old person, then put a stronger fence! Brekhunov justifies himself by saying that they will crawl through the ground... That you feel good, you drink and go, and you just overpower him.. "I put a patchwork for them, I give them all the tea I have drunk, at least pour boiling water, and only for all three coins!" They whine more than fifty dollars a day, and there are those that you can't drive away from the counter, they throw nickels. Not everyone, of course, is righteous..." "If I were a tsar," says Fedya, "I would order taverns to be built along all the pilgrimage roads, and everyone would be free of charge... poor people, and tea, and a piece of bread... Gorkin praises him - he did not go to his father: he made three houses on bagels, and Fedya is going to the monastery, and he is wooing a rich bride. Fedya blushes and does not look, but Domna Panferovna says that Alexei was the son of God, the king's son, and he went to the kennel from the wedding. Anti-Cannon crosses himself into an elder and says joyfully: "How good, Lord.. What saints there are, and we at least know about them, and that is a great joy.Neighbors in the gazebo say that there is one such in Taganka, the son of a rich flour farmer... he took a fur coat, a hat and felt boots from the janitor for Epiphany - and disappeared! But on the very day of Elena's mother, Tsar Kostinkin, on the 21st day of May, a letter came from Mount Athos: "Here I am, forever and ever, amen." It is as if the martyr sent three thousand to the monastery.Everyone praises, and everyone is so happy that there are ascetics even now. And Brekhunov says that if we really say, then there is nothing better than a life of worship. He has been in this matter for a long time and sees how many pious people there are – the soul will not rejoice! Fedya has long been drunk and reads us the "Life", singing, as if in church. Domna Panferovna sits with her mouth open, barely breathing, she has drunk up to her heart. Anyuta kept pestering her, asking: "Grandma, please don't die - look... And it was bad with her at Shrovetide, when she also got drunk with us and ate a lot of pancakes. She rubs her heart all the time, says: this tea is so strong. Gorkin says: if you sweat, it will relieve you, but tea is rare. He and Anti-Cannon keep banging the lid on the kettle, demanding more boiling water. They took off their jacket and undershirt, Anti-Cannon's bald head was leaking, the shirt on his shoulders was wet. And Gorkin kept wiping himself with a towel, but they drank and drank. I kept asking: when shall we go? And Gorkin only says: let us get drunk. They sit opposite each other, silently, holding saucers on their fingers, blowing off the vapor and sipping live boiling water. The anti-cannon will look into the elder and sigh: "Them, good-oh!" And Gorkin will also look into the elderberry and say: "What is better!" Brekhunov calls Domna Panferovna to talk to his wife. And they still do not tip over the cups and do not put sugar on the bottoms. Gorkin finally says: "Sabbath.. Oh, knock again, the last one?" Gorkin knocks again and tells Fedya to take me to show me the tavern, how well it is described.We are walking from the kindergarten through the back door, and a boy flies down the stairs to meet us with a broken kettle and rubs the back of his head. There is blood on his ear. Brekhunov stands upstairs with a napkin and shouts in a terrible voice: "I'll tear my head off!" "And some other bad words. He sees us and shouts: "You can't fight with them without a fight... all the kettles have been broken, scoundrels!" and clicks a napkin. "Have you seen the trick?" He asks me. "As soon as I snap and take, I'll tear out the meat with the tip!" And that's what I was taught. If they click on the ear, they will pull out the hair with blood! There is nothing to show on... I'm scared. Fedya said, "Mikhail Pankratych tells him to show the tavern, as it is described." Brekhunov takes me by the hand and leads me into a large room, into the blue smoke. It's very noisy here, different people drink tea at the tables. Brekhunov brings me to the counter, behind which all the teapots on the shelves are like porcelain eggs, and says: "That's what boys there are!" She sits behind the counter and drinks tea with lenten pies. There was Domna Panferovna, drinking tea with jam, and many girls were sitting on boxes, large and smaller, all blond, with blue combs on their heads, and each had a pie in their fist. Brekhunov puts me on the counter by the pies and repeats: "That's what they are!" I am ashamed, everyone looks at me, and I am wearing dusty boots, and here are pies and girls. The woman looks kindly and as if sadly, strokes my hand and fingers, asks how old I am, if I know the Lord's Prayer, sits me on her lap and gives me a spoonful of jam. All the girls look at me as if I were a miracle. Brekhunov drums his fingers and also looks. The woman asks him if I can give me a pie. He says - you can definitely do it! "And he also orders to give raisins and mint gingerbread." She pours my pockets full and wants to kiss me, but I don't give in, I'm ashamed.Brekhunov carries me over their heads, over the tables, in the steamy, smoky air, shows me the canaries and how well they are painted. I see swans on the water, and on the shore the gentlemen are drinking tea and standing like white poles, flooring with napkins. Then a road is drawn, and along it, in fir trees, pilgrims in lapsticks are walking, and good bears are sitting on the stumps and looking good like that. I ask – are these holy bears, from the monk? He says, "The saints are obligatory, from the Trinity, and the sinner will definitely be bitten to death." Only the monk was not touched. And he shows me the most important thing - "Mytishchi water". This is a large green mountain, in fir trees, and bears are also sitting at the top, and copper taps are screwed into the mountain, such as are found in baths, and from them the "Mytishchi water" gushes in blue arcs into large samovars, even with foam. Then he shows a huge copper cube with boiling water, from where it is poured into teapots. He takes me to a dirty counter where there are pickles and hot white meat on the board, and there are a lot of green scales on the tray. In front of the counter, disheveled people, dirty and barefoot, angrily spit on the floor and scratch their legs. Brekhunov whispered to me: "And these are drunkards... God punished them.Drunkards knock with nickels and shout bad words. I was frightened, but then I heard Gorkin's gentle voice: "It's time to go, let's harness it." He saw what we were looking at, and said in a stern voice: "That's not good, Prokop Antonych. He angrily pulls me and almost shouts: "Come on, there's no need to watch people lose themselves... Let's go!" Gorkin is upset about something. He angrily tied up the bag, shouted at Fedya and Domna Panferovna: "You can't let them go without you... assistants... I would like to tear off a ruble for nonsense, it will be for you!". Domna Panferovna grabbed the bag, shouted to Anyuta: "Well, why did you open your mouth, let's go!" - she shouted to Gorkin: "I was delivered, without you we won't find the way, how come!". — and runs with an umbrella, in a robe. Behind her is a frightened Anyuta with a bundle. Gorkin shouts after him: "What a scalded ... I'll take it easier!" Gorkin's face is red, his hands are trembling. He threw three nickels on the table, moved them to Brekhunov, and the latter pushed them aside and kept saying: "Why is that?.. Out of respect, I, as you are my guests... Are you crazy?!" Gorkin shouts, already beside himself: "We are not guests... "guests"! One disgrace! sinned with the box... We go on pilgrimage, and they show us drunkards! We don't need treats.. And I'm a fool, I'm drunk... Brekhunov says through clenched teeth: "As you like," and knocks his nickels on the table. His face is angry. We go to the fence, and he catches up: "And you have become quarrelsome, old man! And for what?! And the jester is with you, if so!Something rings, and I see nickels flying into the fence. Gorkin suddenly stops, looks as if he has woken up. And he said anxiously: "How is that... Unseemly. I'm going, and so... got angry. You can't move away like that... How so?.. He looks around in confusion, tugging at his beard, chewing his lips. "Prokop Antonitch," he said, "don't be offended, forgive me, in a good way. Guilty, I don't know what suddenly?.. I will commune at the Trinity... Don't remember on me, I'm in the heat of the moment, I've drunk a lot of tea, with tea... Your tea is so angry.. He collects nickels and quickly puts them in his pocket. Brekhunov says that his tea is the best, for the respected, and a person can always offend a person. "Sometimes, my heart boils. The tea is good for me, and we're here... They are still talking, already peacefully, and say goodbye by hand. Gorkin keeps repeating: "And indeed, I have become quarrelsome, I have overreacted..." Brekhunov himself opened the gate for us, said, frowning: "I would go with you to breathe the holy air, but here... He has grown attached to the manure, he has to live!" - and spits into the slurry in the ditch. "Will you take the prosvirka for us?" He shouts after him. "Lord, how can I not take it out! Gorkin shouts and takes off his cap. "And I'll take it out, and pray..." forgive us, O Lord! We walk for a long time through the settlement, with gardens and vegetable gardens. There are ponds; The chimneys are smoking in the factories. Soon it will be freer: there will be fields, paths in the meadows, forests. We walked for a long time, silent. The curve is weaving with a step. Gorkin said: "But it was all a temptation for us... He is all this! Lord, have mercy... He takes off his cap and crosses himself to the white church, to the right. And we are all baptized. I know who he is.Ahead, by the road, Domna Panferovna and Anyuta are sitting on the grass. Anyuta is poking at the bundle – is she crying? Gorkin shouts to them from afar: "Well, what's the matter... Come, with the Lord! in a good way, in a good way..." They get up and silently follow us. We all feel somehow uncomfortable. Anti-Cannon smacks Crooked, sighs. Both Gorkin and Domna Panferovna sigh. And all around is fun, bright, green. Pilgrims wander along the main road and along the paths. Gorkin says that it is the ninth half, we should have followed Rostokin, approaching Mytishchi, and we exchanged the sacred for tea - he is to blame for everything. It's down there, by the river, in the birch trees. Let's come closer. Gorkin says that you can bet that the Vasilyevskys are singers, from Polyanka. Fedya even recognizes Lomshakov, the octave roar, and Gorkin recognizes both Batyrin's basses and Kostikov's tenor. They sing gloriously in the birch trees. But it's not good to disturb him, or you'll embarrass him. We stand and listen to how we hear from the ravine: ... i-ko kadi-lo pre-ed To-o-bo-o-o-o-u-u-u... Why, I'm here... nie... my hand.. It floats as if from the ground to the sky. We listen for a long time, and others are with us. They say it is heavenly singing. Finished. Gorkin says quietly: "They are the ones who go on pilgrimage, every summer they go in threes. You see, the knots on the staffs... They took off their jackets, it was hot. Well, we'll see each other there. And how good, my soul is leaving! Our Lomshachok recovered in the hospital, so on pilgrimage.Anyuta whispers - they have snacks there on papers and a bottle. Gorkin laughs: "Those eyes are sharp! Maybe they will have a snack and a little drink, but how they sing! The Lord will forgive them for this." Gorkin tells Fedya to have a more heartfelt poem than he would have begun. Fedya hesitantly begins: "My feet..." Gorkin supports in a weak, trembling voice: "... Send ... according to Thy word..." We sing louder and louder, and other worshippers sing as well. Domna Panferovna, Anyuta, I and Antipushka sing along more and more joyfully, more and more sincerely: And let me not possess ... Everything... bezza-ko-ni-i-e... We sing and sing, to the step. And it becomes light and calm in the soul. It seems to me that Crooked is listening, and she feels as good as we do," wagging her tail from the gnats. A cart gently tugs on the tracks. The sun is baking, I'm dozing off..." "Get into the cart and take a nap..." He got up early! Gorkin tells me. "And you, Onyuta, sit down." Get enough sleep before Mytishchi.The cart is rocking - stupid, stupid... Stupid, stupid... I'm lying on my back, on the hay, looking up at the sky. It is so clean, blue, deep. Bright, blinds with radiant light. I look, look... — I fly into the blue depths. Someone is singing softly, cradling him. Anyuta is?..... u-goo-goo... goo-goo... goo-goo... On the earth... On Lu-gu... Or a cart knocks... or — in a dream I dream?..

On the Holy Road

They shake me with a bang, terrible voices shout: "Whoa.. tpru!".. And I heard, as if in a dream, "Off like that.. It was she who recognized the Yauza, she wants to drink. "Isn't that Yauza?" "The most Yauza, only she's clean here. I don't understand anything. "Get up, dear... You slept like that! I recognize Gorkin's gentle voice. "Your cheeks are burned..." It's worse to see the heat, bake it in the head. Get up, we are already approaching Mytishchi, the Lord said.Everything in my mouth has shrunk, as if sand has been sprinkled, and there is such languor in my body - all the bones are singing. Mytishchi?.. And I remember the joyful thing: water is running from the mountain! I recognize Anyuta's voice: "What a pilgrim it is, grandmother..." And now I begin to understand: we are going to the monk, and now it is summer, the sun, all kinds of flowers, herbs... And I'm in the cart. I see a heap of grass near my eye, I hear a sluggish and warm smell, like on Trinity Day in church, and a caressing chill refreshes my face: blades of grass fall on me, and through them everything is green. It's so good that I pretend to be asleep and see, squinting, how Gorkin sprinkles grass on me and his beard laughs. "Wait a minute, we'll sprinkle him..." Onyuta, give me some nettles.. I see nuts drooping from the heat, stuck above me from the sun, and behind them is a blinding shine. The sun is right overhead, scorching. Right next to my face there were large white daisies in the grass, blue bells, and — such joy! – strawberry leaves with berry germs. I jump up in the cart, grab the grass and start rubbing my face.And now I see everything.Fun, green, wonderful! And meadows, and fields, and forests. He is still far from here, gloomy, dark. They call it pine forests. In these forests there is a pleaser, and there are bears. Nearby, the village is graying, as if trembling in the air. This happens in the heat, from steam. A white bell tower, as if made of snow, with a shining golden cross, shines and trembles above it. This is Mytishchi. The air is thick, hot, completely honey, with flowers warmed in the meadows. We are standing on a meadow, by the river. It is all in a prickly shine of silver, and it seems to me: crosses play and sparkle on the streams. I shouted: "Crosses, crosses on the water.. And everyone said to the river: "And really... The river seems holy to me. Pilgrims lie by the water, cross themselves, drink handfuls from the river, wet dry crusts. There are more and more poor people: in gray shoes, in caftans, there are even fur coats with patches," the heat captured them on the road, "in bast shoes and in chunyas, there are also completely barefoot ones. They rewind onuchi, clean themselves, sleep in burdocks near the bridge, fasten their feet with nettles so that they go walking. On the bridge the wretches sit with wooden cups and lament: "Benefactors... Dear sirs, give me the holy alms... to the wretched and legless... parents-relatives... for the sake of the saint, for the sake of the body, for the salvation of the soul... Anyuta says that she saw a terrible wretch, who raked and crawled on the skin with irons, without legs at all, when I slept. And we saw blind men singing. I am bitter that I did not see it, but Gorkin consoles me – we will see everything at the Trinity, from all over Rosei they are crawling there. On a low cart, on plank rollers, a boy lies under a piece of wood, he can't do it with his hand or foot. An old woman and a girl from under the Eagle are driving him. Gorkin puts a nickel on the wood and asks the old woman to show her - to complain about her soul. The old woman tells the girl to pick up the cloth. The flies rise with a roar and sit down again to suck at the eyes. The sick smell is terrible. A girl drives flies with a branch. I am frightened, but Gorkin tells me to watch. "Don't turn away from grief... It's a sin in my legs, I would run away, but I want to look. The guy's face is bony, like a dead man's, all black, cloudy eyes festering. He keeps squinting and blinking, trying to drive the flies away, but the flies do not fly away. She moans softly and whispers with parched lips: "Dunka... help..." The girl wipes his mouth with a wet cloth on which flies have dried. His hands are thin, lying like whips. In one there is a wooden cross made of splinters. I look at the cross, and for some reason I want to cry. There are pennies on the guy's canvas shirt. Fedya puts a hryvnia on his chest and crosses himself. The guy looks at Fedya pitifully, as if he thinks how healthy and handsome Fedya is, but he can't even use his hand. Fedya also looks pitiful, feeling sorry for the guy. The old woman tells such a pitiful story, shakes her head and pokes her black bony fist in her eyes, down which tears run: "Such a dashing misfortune is with us... Hay, the breadwinner, carried and slept on a cart... He fell from the cart on the slaughterhouse, and from that it was stricken, the breadwinner... For the third year, everything has been drying and drying. And he was a good one, white and ruddy... We look at Fedya and the guy. For two months they have been driving, I myself asked the saint, I saw it in a dream. It would be possible to sell the calf, the Lord be with her, but you have to work. "And he sees everything in his dreams," says the old woman pitifully, "he keeps saying, 'I keep running on my feet and throwing hay on the cart!' Gorkin, in consolation, says that it is given by faith, but the Lord has no end to mercy. He asks what the name is: he will take the prosvirka for health. "Mikhail's name," the old woman says happily. "We call him Misha." "It turns out that she is my namesake. Well, Misha, pray — you will get up! Gorkin said in a peculiar way, shouting as if he knew the boy was going to get up. for sure, he says, he will get back on his feet... Gorkin brushes them aside and sternly says that God only knows, and we, sinners, only need to believe and pray. But they follow him relentlessly and listen and wait to see if he will say anything else to them: "Such and such an affectionate old man, he knows everything!" Fedya drags a bucket from the river and gives Crooked a drink. She sucks for a long time - she does not tear herself away, and the gadflies bite into her, right in the eye - only blinks - sucks. You can see how her sides swell and the veins on them shudder. I screamed and saw blood on my neck: "Blood is coming out of her, the vein has burst.. In a scarlet stream, thick, blood spreads on Crooked's neck. The anti-cannon wipes it off with a lobe and gets angry: "Oh, what a, you bastard.. Over there and more... Look how the horse was bled by the Wodishka... And she drinks and drinks, but does not smell.. They say it's all right, it's good in such heat, the horse is painfully well-fed, "it's sweet for them." And Krivaya keeps drinking and drinking, asking for another bucket. The anti-cannon says that she hasn't drunk like this for a long time, so it's good water here, then. And we all drink, also from a bucket. The water is spring, sweet: the Yauza will be born here, from the springs, from under the hills. And Gorkin praises it: it's just clean from the nails, it recalls rust, even with bubbles – that's right, it hits through the iron. And in Moscow, the Yauza is black and smelly, you can't approach it, that's why it's called Yauza-Gryauza! And he begins to tell loudly, as if he reads from the sacred, and all the pilgrims listen. And the carters from the bridge listened - the bales were being taken to the factory and stopped. — So it is with man. The child will be born clean, good, Andel darling. And then it will get dirty, black and smelly, to the point of stench. God has everything good, everything new and clean, like those planed boards... And we'll ruin ourselves! Every soul, well... Like a flower of the field, perfumed. Well, of course, she feels that she has become filthy - and she is sick. So she will be drawn to the spiritual bath, to the verbal bath, as it is written in the Scriptures: "To the water bath, to the verbal bath"! That is why we go to the monk – to wash ourselves, to clean ourselves, to get rid of the dirt and stench... Everyone sighs and says: "You are right, father... Oh, that's right! And Gorkin still speaks of the sacred, and it seems to me that he is considered a priest: in a white Cossack coat he is as if in a cassock — and I am so pleased with it. They asked and asked: "Talk about something else, father..." It's good and reasonable to listen to you.. On the shore, on the sidelines, two people were sitting, in calico shirts, drinking from a bottle and snacking on green onions. They, I know, are bad people. When we looked at the guy, they shouted: "He'll have enough vodka in the evening for your nickels..." He will heal immediately, cut the mosquito... There are many of them here!Gorkin spat on them and shouted that it was not good to be so hospitable, there was human grief here. And they were all laughing. And when he spoke from the sacred, about the soul, they began to mock again: "Lie, lie, gray-haired rat! Clean it, your soul, with a brick with vodka, it will shine cleaner than your bald head! And the carters shouted from the bridge: "Whip them, devils! Such the other day they cut off two bales of goods.. And they laugh. Gorkin reproaches them that it is impossible to puff up one's soul. And Fedya even stood up for Gorkin - and he is always very modest. Gorkin calls him - "you are a red maiden!" And he even began to reproach: "It's not good! do not lead to sin.. And they told him: "Be silent, monk! in tight pants.. One divine old man, with long hair, wets his feet in the river and tells what ulcers he had on his legs, worms had gnawed to the bone, and he had washed his feet here with a prayer, and everything was tightened, only welts. We look at his brown legs: that's right, only welts. "And beforehand I was wet from the font at the Trinity, and then I got it. If you are at the monk's, drink from the Golden Cross with a prayer. And you, mother, wash your sick son from under the Cross, with faith! He says to the old woman, who is also listening. — the monk was digging that storehouse where the Assumption Cathedral was, — and knocked out a stream, under the sky! After that, she was covered with a cross. So she gnawed that cross, pimpled at all ends — a miracle miracle.We all joyfully cross ourselves, and those scumbags shout: "They are fooling! This is the water supply, we can see everything, the sers... And we all threaten them and wave our staffs: "Don't be foolish! do not shake your faith, you who are shaking.. And Gorkin said - even though it is a distribution pipeline, it goes through the cross... and water supply from God! And one of the scumbags finished the bottle, gurgled into it from the river and on us - a splash from the neck, crosswise! "Here's my sprinkle for you!" heal from me a nickel from the snout.. So everyone gasped. Gorkin shouted: "Anathema to you, scumbags.. And all the pilgrims raised their staffs. And then Fedya, off with his jacket, spat in his fists and gasped at both of them into the river, his heels flashed. And they surfaced up to their chests and gave us all sorts of words.. Anyuta hid in burdocks, and I was frightened, and the carters on the bridge shouted: "Kunai them, kunai!Fedya, as he was, in patent leather boots, - go to them in the river and let them pull and dip them by the hair. And we all watched and crossed ourselves. Gorkin begs him: "Fedya, don't drown me..." Accept!.. And he shouted with tears that he could not allow God to blaspheme, and he dipped them all and knocked them on the head. Then they began to pray to let their souls go to repentance. And all the pilgrims began to beat the water with their staffs for joy, and one old woman fell into the river, and they caught her by the sack and pulled her out. And Fedya jumped out of the water, all pale, and into burdocks. I looked - he pulled off his boots and trousers and went out in pink pantaloons. And everyone praised him. And those, the scumbags, got out into the meadow and began to threaten that now they would call their friends, the residents of Mytishchi, and kill us all with knives. Then the carters rushed after them, caught up with them in the meadow and began to whip them. And when they finished, they approached Gorkin and said: "We've steamed them, they'll remember them." It would be better to bore them with a sparrow, than to screw the cart.. Gorkin waved his hands, began to say that he was not vouchsafed, but the simplest carpenter and sinner. But they did not believe him and said: "It is you who are hiding for simplicity, and we know." Fedya carries the boots by the ears, stops at the sick lad, puts the boots at his feet and says: "Let him carry them for me when he is healed." The old woman cries and crosses herself at Fedya, lamenting. They became dusty, and Fedya was no longer the same, as if he had been offended, punished — they put the refectory on him: "I will bless Elder Barnabas, as he says. Otherwise, maybe I'll go to remote places, to the Valaam elders... He turns into a ditch by the road and calls to Anyuta and me: "Look, dear... We run up to him, and he gives us a sprig of strawberries, red, pink and still unripe - greenish-white. We shake them quietly, admire how they rustle, as if ringing, we can't get enough of it, and it's a pity to eat it. How extraordinary they smell! Fedya rustles on the grass, barefoot, and collects everything, collects and gives it to us. We already have puquetki, of all colors, the berries are trembling so much... It smells so sweet, fresh – it smells of joyful pilgrimage, of pines, of resin... And to this day I remember those joyful berries, in the sun, fragrant lights, alive. Fedya runs, throws his heels up, just like us. He shouts cheerfully to Gorkin: "Mikhail Pankratych... A gift! the first strawberry of God.. And he begins to dress everyone, a branch at a time, as if he is handing out candles in a church. Anti-Cannon takes a twig, rejoices, smells the berries and says kindly to Fedya: "Oh, what a sincere person you are... simplicity you. Such a person is bad in the world, any fool will deceive you. Apparently, this is how you are destined, to become a monk, to pray to God for us. Gorkin is not happy about something, and we are all sad, as if Fedya has left us. On the way, manure is lying around: they take it to the fields, to steam. The haze is turning blue in the village. Anyuta shouted: "Mothers... The samovars are golden on the street, like bedside tables.. Far away in the village, on the sides of the road, in front of every house, there are samovars in the sun, playing with glitter, and the smoke is blue above each. And far away you can see - on both sides - blue columns of smoke. "Well, how can I not drink tea.. Gorkin says cheerfully, "they receive me too ceremonially. The samovars stand like soldiers. Domna Panferovna, what do you say? Let's have a drink, eh?.. And let's not be angry. "You're our head... And it's time to have a snack... It smells like pies?.. "It's time to have some tea and a snack," says Anti-Cannon. "Ah, the grace of the Lord... the Lord sent a day.. And the women come out to meet them, calling in sweet voices: "Have some tea, my dear..." Landed and tea?.. "And in my garden, in a raspberry tree.. "Dear ones, to me, to me.. I drank this summer year... And the currant is ripe for you, and... "Drink from my tinned food, sudariki. . . ." I have honey and a warm loaf of bread, just took it out of the oven.. And more, and more women, and old women, and girls, and staid men. One peasant says confidently, as if we had already ordered: "In my barn, you will have a rest, after drinking..." The heat will subside. Kvass on ice, cucumbers, cabbage, there is everything for the Lenten business. We'll set up tea for the meadow, on the estate, for apekitu... You will suffocate from the spirit! Wrap it up without talking. "The house is good, and the man is nice... and there is kvassok, which is better...," Gorkin says cheerfully. "Aren't you going to be Solomyatkin, as if you were giving us a brick?" "How can it not be Solomyatkin! The peasant shouts. "Everything is true for centuries, Solomyatkin. I know Vasil Vasilich, and I recognize you. Well, wrap it up without talking. "How the Lord leads! Gorkin shouts as well. "He's a good man, and his kvass is housekeeping. Look at the garden, pinch the currants," Anyuta and I said, "he will allow it." How can I not remember you... The Tsar's kinsmen! Where we got to, just opposite Kartsovikha, the house is two-tiered, everything is intact..." "That's right, it's akin to Alexander Mikolaevich," he laughs, "brothers, it turns out. "How, brothers?!" Anti-Cannon says in surprise: I don't believe it, and everyone doesn't believe it. "That's it, brothers! Bring the horse in without talking.The peasant throws open the gate, from where the dung spirit pours out. And mixed with it is honey, from the backs of the village, from the hot meadows, and spiritually bitter, as if from the samovars, from the ardent pine cones. "Oh, it's good in the village.. Anti-Cannon sighs, sipping the warm dung spirit. "I wish I could live and live. While they unharness the Curve and put it under the branches in the shade, we lie on the cool ant grass and look at the sky, on which rare clouds have fallen asleep. We are silent, tired. He begins to feel sleepy... "Come on, kvaska, let's make Moscow happy.. The peasant shouts above us, and we can hear the smell of kvass.In the peasant's hand is a misted stone jug, red; in the other, a wooden ladle. "Mother, the dead woman, gave the prince to drink with this leaven. The kvass foams in the ladle, the bubbles hiss sweetly, and everything seems like a fairy tale to me.

On the Holy Road

"The kvasok is good, but there's nothing to lay down," Gorkin hurries up, "we'll have a snack, and with God." We will pass Pushkino, we will spend the night in Bratovshchina. How long do you count to the Bratovshchina? "You'll be in time," the peasant burps into the jug. "It's so angry!" I simmer prunes. Let's go to the flowers, to the estate. Stumps are there, no worse than chairs.We walk along the stitch, in a hot, honey perfume. Bees are buzzing. Behind the wattle, red currant lights burn. In the sunny strip under the Christmas tree, where the hives are black with mushrooms, bees glitter. The Anti-Cannon rejoices – it's a single flower! Chamomile, porridge, bells... Gorkin shows: carrot, cupyrniki, sverbika, whitehead. A peasant ruffles the grass with his foot - thicker than porridge! We go into the cold, to the barn, where large stumps are graying. "The French were sitting on them!" - says the man. "And the pine tree, perhaps, has seen the monk himself. Anti-Pushka and Gorkin make a murtsovka: they mash green onions in a cup with a crusher, put sauerkraut, radishes, crumble bread, pour hemp oil and pour kvass. The pungent smell of murtsovka is mixed with the smell of flowers. We eat with chipped spoons, and Fedya gnaws on a cracker. "Well done, why doesn't he slurp?" We said that he was going to become a monk, fasting. Fedya also begins to slurp. "That's a wonderful thing, I see!" Spinjak is good, and in buns and barefoot... And the legs are white. Gorkin says: as it is written in the family, so does the land stand. The peasant sighs: God has a lot of everything. Fedya asks if there are any flatter boots, otherwise they laugh. He goes behind the barn and comes out in trousers, scratching his legs: he must have been stinging with nettles. The peasant says that boots will be found. We drink tea on the grass, in flowers. Bees fall into boiling water - how many of them! The shade is longer from the barn. Domna Panferovna is exhausted, and everyone is dozing off - she doesn't want to pinch even currants. The man says that it's with kvass. "My feet are sleeping with kvass." My old woman went to Moscow to see her daughter, otherwise she would have treated you to the "March" one. In the ice she has been spotted. You said just now that I live richly," the peasant said to Gorkin. "I will not anger God: there is something to chew, something to lie on. My sons live well in St. Petersburg, at the palaces, as they served the guards. I don't eat bread for nothing. And I do not accept pilgrims, but it is forbidden to offend a saint. From the end of time from my parents. Our road is holy, along which the tsars went to the monk. In ancient times, we prepared straw for the tsars, hence the Solomyatkins. We have both the Sbitnevs and the Pirogovs. Maybe it will end with me, but I will keep the law. What self-interest! In winter, there was a snowstorm outside, it was high time to go to the stove, and then the old lady of God brought, knocking on the window with her stick — "Let me spend the night, breadwinners!" A holy deed, from antiquity. Maybe the Lord will pay.He says seriously, stroking his beard all the time. His beard is wide. His face is strict, and his eyes are kind. And so clean, in a white shirt with speckles. Gorkin asks, how is he, the "tsar's brother"? "This is a famous case. Mother Avdotya Gavrilovna Kartsova told me that the house was opposite her, in two tiers. And so it began. How gentlemen from a Frenchman from Moscow ran away to Yaroslavl, here we had a rut.. Here is one tsarist general's wife, like a pryntsess, and break down. Her carriage, then. Opposite the Kartsevs' house, both wheels. Dunyasha was then seventeen years old, and she was already feeding a child. Well, she helped the general's wife get out of the carriage. She immediately fell in love with her, and pestered them while the carriage was being repaired. The painted beauty was Dunyasha from the izbors! And the general's daughter has lost her milk from fears, the child is screaming. Dunyasha and start feeding him, she was young. She was tall, and all her disposition was powerful, she would feed three. The general's wife begged her to come with her, and gave her husband the capital. She grabbed her own and went with the tsar's general's wife. She came back a year later, in a fox coat, and her habits were already noble. My girlfriends were with my mother. I was born in the sixteenth year, and my mother's milk burned from fever... Dunyasha began to feed me with her own, she was in milk. That's what I called her - Mom Dunya. And in the eighteenth year it happened... The governor galloped up with the Cossacks, and in the paper there was an order from the tsar's general's wife - was Dunya Kartsev with milk? And she just gave birth for two weeks. She was rushed straight to Moscow for inspection. And there the tsar's general's wife was waiting. She caressed her, gave her gifts... And then the tsar was Alexander I, and he had a brother Mikołaj Pavlovych. For example, Mikołaj Pavlovych had a son, but I don't know what it was, but you just need to look for a reliable breadwinner throughout the kingdom-state. The tsar's general's wife boasted: I'll get one... Izborov Izborov. So, at what height she was, general! The doctors looked at her in all the articles - they say: it is impossible to demand a better one. And the general's wife rushed her away with her child in a fur-gold carriage with mirrors. with Entimi, on the heels... they rushed like an arrow without respite, like birds, and Cossacks with pikes were all around... In two days they rushed to St. Petersburg to the palace itself. And Dunyasha trembles, praying to God, no matter what happens. The child took her breadwinner ... Well, she secretly fed him, her general's wife secretly hauled her out of some ladder with a screw. First they went to the bathhouse, washed and combed, strangled with perfume, dressed in gold - in silver, in stones, a huge kokoshnik ... As it was shown to the entire royal family - a sabbath, a selection of izbors! Mikołaj Pavlovych himself caressed her cheek and said: "How our Race! feed my Sasha so that he may be healthy." And the Tsarevich shouted, demanding his own: I want milk! How they let him go to the breast... To our, now, Mytishchi-village, coven! You can't tear off what you want. At first she was trembling with fright, but then she got by. Three general's wives looked with six eyes as she fed the child, and the tsar's general's wife was in charge of them. And to kiss – no, no! "And I," she said, "will bend down as if to straighten my chest, and kiss it!" He was like a cherub, all in lace. And the food was selected for her, and the drink was the sweetest. And with her maids - for everything. So she fed us Alexandera Mikolaich, and he made all the peasants sick. Milk, it said its own! It was gifted, of course, the heirs have a lot of trade in Moscow. The Tsarevich will go to the Trinity - he called on her. Once he wanted to drink, it was hot. She is a moment for him! "Father, I'll treat you to some kvass, my girlfriend's is painfully good." And my mother made kvass... — kvass for all kvass! And she sent it to my mother. Mother drove me away, I ran away with a jug across the street, and one general, with tanks, snatched the jug from me. And the prince saw me through the window, and ordered him to let me in with kvass. She told him that I was her nurse, too. And I was a guy, taller than him. I came to him with kvass, he slapped me on the shoulder: "You are a hero!" and laughed: "Brother, are you coming out to me?" He ordered me to be given a ruble of silver, a crosspiece. And the generals drank all over my jug and treated me to cigarettes. What kvass I treated you to! And how could she die, in 1945 it was... A year or so before, he went to his nurse, and she gave him the shoes and cap in which he had been baptized. She had it hidden. And she baptized him, feeling, therefore, her death. They were buried with alcherea, with singers, in vestments-revelations... We have a rich monument, with the golden words: "A body lies buried... of the Moscow province peasant Avdokea Gavrilovna Kartsova... the souls of the righteous shall rest"... I listen, and everything seems like a fairy tale to me.Gorkin wipes his eyes with a handkerchief. It's time to get started. "Like Mytishchi," he says touched, "and on the holy road! Thou hast comforted us. If you carry a brick, come in for a cup of tea.Solomyatkin gives Anyuta and me a bunch of currants each. He gives Fedya old boots, stiff, it hurts to put them on. Fedya says - I will endure. Solomyatkin does not take the treat and orders the bow Vasil Vasilich. He escorts us to the road, points to the house of the tsar's nurse, which is empty now, and praises our cart: no one will make such a thing! Gorkin orders Fedya to write it down – to take out the prosvirka for the repose of the servant of God Eudokea and for the health of Anthropus. Solomyatkin thanks and wishes us a good hour.The sun is beginning to sink, but it is still burning. Dark forests moved closer to the road with frequent spruce growth. It glows with resinous heat. Along the dead hot paths, pilgrims are moving - the same ones. Gorkin limps, says that kvass sits on his feet, and for some reason shakes his foot. In the clearing, in the fir trees, he squats down and says anxiously: "Is there something wrong with my leg?" His leg is blue, his veins are swollen. He collapses and sighs heavily. We stand pitifully over him. The anti-gun says - no other way, we need to put him in the cart. Gorkin waves it off - even if he crawls, but he will get there, as promised. The anti-cannon says that we should bleed him, we will find a grandmother in Pushkin or a horse driver. Gorkin groans: "The Lord does not vouchsafe ... for my sin!" he threw his head on the needles, he must be hot. And from the spruce forest - as from the stove. And he kept moaning: "For the kwa-as... He promised to work on crackers, but he wanted murtsovka, for mammon... the Lord punished with kvass... Domna Panferovna shouted: "Your blood is closed, I can see it in your vein!" What kind of grandmother is there... I'm going to bleed him now.. And he begins to plane the vein with his fingernail and knead. Gorkin moans, and she shouts at him: "Oh?.. brave, and here Panferovna came in handy! Never mind, I'll pick you up right away, just give yourself!" Gorkin groans: "Cyrulnik... Ivan Zakharych... I used it without a cut... leeches, Domnushka, put on it..." "Well, go to your cirulnik, 'without a cut'.. Listen to me... I'm going to drain your black blood now, bad blood... otherwise the vein will burst.. Gorkin still did not give in, groaned: "Oh, wait... I will weaken, I will not reach it... I will not give up anything, I will weaken... Domna Panferovna waves a knife at him and shouts that she will never die, and she knows this business - she will only chick once! Gorkin crossed himself, looked at me and asked: "With holy oil..." rub it from a bottle, from Panteleimon... Erast Erastych himself rubbed without a cut... And this is our doctor. Domna Panferovna shouted: "Well, it's not my fault if you die!" - she took the bottle and began to rub it against her vein. I fall down to Gorkin and start crying. He stroked me and said: "And the Lord... the will of the Lord... Pray for me, killer whale.I try to pray, and I see how Domna Panferovna rubs and shaves with her fingernail, covered in sweat. She shouts at Fedya, who keeps crossing himself on the Christmas tree: "You, prayer... you have paws... Fedya rubs with all his might, as if he were turning bagels. Gorkin moans and whispers: "Uh-uh... let go a little... uh... much easier... Once upon a time... as if she had fallen into place... it's like oil... works... Pantelemon... father... What does he do... We are all happy. We looked - the leg turned red. Domna Panferovna said: "The blood has gone back to its place... They pull off the bags and prop up the leg. I run into the Christmas trees and cry and cry, already from joy. I looked, and Anyuta was in the fir trees, roaring and whispering: "The old man will die..." we will not reach the Trinity... we will not see it.. I shouted to her that Gorkin was already moving his fingers and that his leg was red, real. I ran to Gorkin, and tears were flowing, I could not calm down. He stroked me and said, "Scared, dear?.. God willing, nothing... I'm ashamed, as if that's why I'm crying that we won't get there?.. Someone puts a kopeck on Gorkin; someone advises: "His face, his face, it would be better to cover his face..." Gorkin takes the kopeck, kisses it and whispers: "The Lord's mite... vouchsafed the Lord to receive... I will tell you to put it in the coffin with me.. They whisper and cross themselves: "He asks for a coffin..." my darling can smell it... The anti-cannon spits, waves at them: "Why are you croaking, burying a living person?!" Gorkin crosses himself and begins to rise. They hum and gasp: "Look, the old man has risen.. Gorkin is already sitting, propping up his fists behind him, and he has cheered up. "It burns a little, but there is no such pain... and I wield my fingers," he says, and I am happy to see his thumb bowing. "I'll rest a little and let's go." We can't reach Bratovshchina, we'll spend the night in Pushkin. "Get on the cart, Gorkin.. What has happened now – sighs in which pain, anxiously searching for a faint look, frightened faces, Fedya crossing himself on Christmas trees, a penny on his chest... – everything lay in me with acute anguish, anxiety. And these words — "departing... it would be better for him to cover his face..." I hold his hand tightly. He asked me: "Well, why are you trembling, eh? I felt sorry for me, eh?.. And his dry, hot hand presses mine.The sun is not high above the forest, the heat subsides. There's Pushkino. We must cross the Ucha and go up: Gorkin wants to spend the night with an old man he knows, on the other side of the village. Fedya supports him and limps himself - his boots have crumpled his leg. We cross the Ucha on the resin bridge. The ravine is fresh, smells of tar, warm water and fish. Above it is still warm, it draws with dry heating, spruce, spicy. The flock has entered the village, herds of sheep are running around, there is gold dust. The huts are crimson golden. The women call affectionately: "Tea, tired, dear, spend the night..." we'll lay fresh hay, no bug, no flies.. Spend the night, right?.. An old man I know, who used to work for us, meets us with a samovar. We are no longer up to tea. Fedya and Anti-Pushka arrange Crooked under the canopy and go to the barn for hay. Domna Panferovna and Anyuta lie down on the summer half, and Gorkin needs to be warmer. It is hot in the hut: bread was baked today. The old man said: "Lie down on the floor, on the hayloft. I have a rich bed, but trouble... The bug is strong, you can't fight back. And then it will be like in paradise for you.He brings a bottle of stewed ants and advises you to rub, and stronger, the leg. Domna Panferovna diligently rubs it, then wraps it in a damp towel and wraps it tightly with felt. It smells pungent from ants, even tears the eyes. Gorkin thanks: "Thank you, Domnushka, you are our caretaker. She says affectionately: "Well, what... We are all boiling water.The old man warms up the lamp, creeps. He said: "Me too, it locks the blood. Only ants save myself. Tomorrow, look, and you won't be lame.They talk about all sorts of things for a long time. It is still light outside the windows, from the dawn. Flies are rustling on the ceiling, black and black from them.I wake up from burning pain, my body is burning. Do flies bite? In the greenish light from the lamp I see Gorkin: he is on his knees, in a pink shirt, and praying. I cried and said to him: "Gorkin... the flies bite me, it hurts..." "Sleep, killer whale," he answers in a whisper, "like flies, they have been sleeping for a long time. "No, they bite!" "Not flies... These must be the bugs that bite. The hut is winter. From the ceiling, in no way, they fall, nothing can be done. And you sleep for yourself - and it's okay, you will sleep. Oh, to take them to Panferovna, eh?" You don't want to... Well, sleep, with the Lord.But I can't sleep. And he keeps praying. "You don't sleep, everyone..." Well, come to me, I'll cover you with a slap. If you warm up, you will fall asleep. I'll cover it with the head, the bugs won't get close. Are you scared for me just now, eh? And my leg is completely lighter, it warmed up from the ants. Well... Do bugs bite? — No, I don't. The legs only bite. "And you squeeze up, they won't come up." Ah, Lord... forgive me, a sinner...," he yawns. He presses me to him, whispers some kind of prayer. "Gorkin," I ask in a whisper, "what sins do you have?" Sin, you said... when your leg swelled?.. "It's my sin... There is one sin," he whispers to me under the covers, "everyone knows it, and according to the law he has served, and... I want to talk to Father Varnava in my heart, to relieve myself. He was tried in court, and he was in the monastery for two months in repentance. Well, I'll tell you. You are a child, your pure darling... Well, we worked at a construction site, seven years soon. Grisha was under my arm, about fifteen years old, a good one. His father entrusted him to me, to bring him out to the people. And he, to tell you, was afraid of heights. And what a carpenter who is afraid of heights! I taught him: walk more boldly, don't be afraid! Once he carried the plank to the second tier, and stood there. "I'm afraid," he said, "uncle, I'll fall. And I began to frighten him: "What kind of fool will you be, a carpenter, afraid of such a height? climb up!" Three arshins and an inch of all and height were there. Yes, he hit the bricks, broke his leg. Yes, the main thing is to hit the bricks with your chest... He began to spit blood, a year later he died. That's my sin. I send my father and mother his five for a month, and they give my father a red one. They live well. And they forgave me, they themselves asked for me in court. Well, church repentance came out to me, otherwise the court itself forgave me. And repentance for conscience, so. And everything in me is languishing. As soon as I hear someone called Grisha, my heart will grow cold. As if I killed him myself... And? Well, what does your darling smell, eh?.. He asks kindly and presses me harder. I hug him and barely whisper: "No, you didn't... Gorkin, dear... you wished him well... I snuggle up to him and cry, cry. Whether he was tired from the excitement of the day, or whether he felt sorry for Gorkin – I don't know. Will God not forgive him and he will not go to paradise, where the souls of the righteous rest? He lights a cinder, wipes my tears with his shirt, gives me water. "Sleep, with the Lord, it's early to get up tomorrow." Do you want me to take it to Antipushka, for hay? I don't want to go to Anticannon.It's turning white in the hut; Roosters call out. The horn is playing, the cows are mooing, the whip is snapping hard. Under the window, Anti-Cannon says: "It's time to put a samovar too." Gorkin sleeps on his back, breathing calmly. On his yellowish chest, through his open shirt, one can see how a copper, darkened cross rises and falls from breathing. I quietly get up and go to the window, on which flies are buzzing. The anti-cannon washes the Curve and rubs it with a cloth, as in Moscow. On this side and on our side, the early pilgrims are already wandering, in the cold. So quietly that even through the closed window you can hear the slapping and rustling of their bast shoes. In the greenish sky there are thin snow stripes of morning clouds. Before my eyes, they begin to turn pink and golden, and disappear. The old man, not seeing me, knocks on the window with his finger and shouts hoarsely: "Hey, Pankratych, get up!" "He'll get cold at dawn. . . ." Oh, look, it's going to be hot again.I'm starting to feel sleepy. I want to lie down some longer, I turn around and see Gorkin sitting under the patchwork quilt and smiling as always. "Oh, you early bird," he says cheerfully. "And my leg has become quite good. Well, open the window.I open it, and a red spark of the sun from behind the hut opposite hits my eyes.

At the Cross

"The kvasok is good, but there's nothing to lay down," Gorkin hurries up, "we'll have a snack, and with God." We will pass Pushkino, we will spend the night in Bratovshchina. How long do you count to the Bratovshchina? "You'll be in time," the peasant burps into the jug. "It's so angry!" I simmer prunes. Let's go to the flowers, to the estate. Stumps are there, no worse than chairs.We walk along the stitch, in a hot, honey perfume. Bees are buzzing. Behind the wattle, red currant lights burn. In the sunny strip under the Christmas tree, where the hives are black with mushrooms, bees glitter. The Anti-Cannon rejoices – it's a single flower! Chamomile, porridge, bells... Gorkin shows: carrot, cupyrniki, sverbika, whitehead. A peasant ruffles the grass with his foot - thicker than porridge! We go into the cold, to the barn, where large stumps are graying. "The French were sitting on them!" - says the man. "And the pine tree, perhaps, has seen the monk himself. Anti-Pushka and Gorkin make a murtsovka: they mash green onions in a cup with a crusher, put sauerkraut, radishes, crumble bread, pour hemp oil and pour kvass. The pungent smell of murtsovka is mixed with the smell of flowers. We eat with chipped spoons, and Fedya gnaws on a cracker. "Well done, why doesn't he slurp?" We said that he was going to become a monk, fasting. Fedya also begins to slurp. "That's a wonderful thing, I see!" Spinjak is good, and in buns and barefoot... And the legs are white. Gorkin says: as it is written in the family, so does the land stand. The peasant sighs: God has a lot of everything. Fedya asks if there are any flatter boots, otherwise they laugh. He goes behind the barn and comes out in trousers, scratching his legs: he must have been stinging with nettles. The peasant says that boots will be found. We drink tea on the grass, in flowers. Bees fall into boiling water - how many of them! The shade is longer from the barn. Domna Panferovna is exhausted, and everyone is dozing off - she doesn't want to pinch even currants. The man says that it's with kvass. "My feet are sleeping with kvass." My old woman went to Moscow to see her daughter, otherwise she would have treated you to the "March" one. In the ice she has been spotted. You said just now that I live richly," the peasant said to Gorkin. "I will not anger God: there is something to chew, something to lie on. My sons live well in St. Petersburg, at the palaces, as they served the guards. I don't eat bread for nothing. And I do not accept pilgrims, but it is forbidden to offend a saint. From the end of time from my parents. Our road is holy, along which the tsars went to the monk. In ancient times, we prepared straw for the tsars, hence the Solomyatkins. We have both the Sbitnevs and the Pirogovs. Maybe it will end with me, but I will keep the law. What self-interest! In winter, there was a snowstorm outside, it was high time to go to the stove, and then the old lady of God brought, knocking on the window with her stick — "Let me spend the night, breadwinners!" A holy deed, from antiquity. Maybe the Lord will pay.He says seriously, stroking his beard all the time. His beard is wide. His face is strict, and his eyes are kind. And so clean, in a white shirt with speckles. Gorkin asks, how is he, the "tsar's brother"? "This is a famous case. Mother Avdotya Gavrilovna Kartsova told me that the house was opposite her, in two tiers. And so it began. How gentlemen from a Frenchman from Moscow ran away to Yaroslavl, here we had a rut.. Here is one tsarist general's wife, like a pryntsess, and break down. Her carriage, then. Opposite the Kartsevs' house, both wheels. Dunyasha was then seventeen years old, and she was already feeding a child. Well, she helped the general's wife get out of the carriage. She immediately fell in love with her, and pestered them while the carriage was being repaired. The painted beauty was Dunyasha from the izbors! And the general's daughter has lost her milk from fears, the child is screaming. Dunyasha and start feeding him, she was young. She was tall, and all her disposition was powerful, she would feed three. The general's wife begged her to come with her, and gave her husband the capital. She grabbed her own and went with the tsar's general's wife. She came back a year later, in a fox coat, and her habits were already noble. My girlfriends were with my mother. I was born in the sixteenth year, and my mother's milk burned from fever... Dunyasha began to feed me with her own, she was in milk. That's what I called her - Mom Dunya. And in the eighteenth year it happened... The governor galloped up with the Cossacks, and in the paper there was an order from the tsar's general's wife - was Dunya Kartsev with milk? And she just gave birth for two weeks. She was rushed straight to Moscow for inspection. And there the tsar's general's wife was waiting. She caressed her, gave her gifts... And then the tsar was Alexander I, and he had a brother Mikołaj Pavlovych. For example, Mikołaj Pavlovych had a son, but I don't know what it was, but you just need to look for a reliable breadwinner throughout the kingdom-state. The tsar's general's wife boasted: I'll get one... Izborov Izborov. So, at what height she was, general! The doctors looked at her in all the articles - they say: it is impossible to demand a better one. And the general's wife rushed her away with her child in a fur-gold carriage with mirrors. with Entimi, on the heels... they rushed like an arrow without respite, like birds, and Cossacks with pikes were all around... In two days they rushed to St. Petersburg to the palace itself. And Dunyasha trembles, praying to God, no matter what happens. The child took her breadwinner ... Well, she secretly fed him, her general's wife secretly hauled her out of some ladder with a screw. First they went to the bathhouse, washed and combed, strangled with perfume, dressed in gold - in silver, in stones, a huge kokoshnik ... As it was shown to the entire royal family - a sabbath, a selection of izbors! Mikołaj Pavlovych himself caressed her cheek and said: "How our Race! feed my Sasha so that he may be healthy." And the Tsarevich shouted, demanding his own: I want milk! How they let him go to the breast... To our, now, Mytishchi-village, coven! You can't tear off what you want. At first she was trembling with fright, but then she got by. Three general's wives looked with six eyes as she fed the child, and the tsar's general's wife was in charge of them. And to kiss – no, no! "And I," she said, "will bend down as if to straighten my chest, and kiss it!" He was like a cherub, all in lace. And the food was selected for her, and the drink was the sweetest. And with her maids - for everything. So she fed us Alexandera Mikolaich, and he made all the peasants sick. Milk, it said its own! It was gifted, of course, the heirs have a lot of trade in Moscow. The Tsarevich will go to the Trinity - he called on her. Once he wanted to drink, it was hot. She is a moment for him! "Father, I'll treat you to some kvass, my girlfriend's is painfully good." And my mother made kvass... — kvass for all kvass! And she sent it to my mother. Mother drove me away, I ran away with a jug across the street, and one general, with tanks, snatched the jug from me. And the prince saw me through the window, and ordered him to let me in with kvass. She told him that I was her nurse, too. And I was a guy, taller than him. I came to him with kvass, he slapped me on the shoulder: "You are a hero!" and laughed: "Brother, are you coming out to me?" He ordered me to be given a ruble of silver, a crosspiece. And the generals drank all over my jug and treated me to cigarettes. What kvass I treated you to! And how could she die, in 1945 it was... A year or so before, he went to his nurse, and she gave him the shoes and cap in which he had been baptized. She had it hidden. And she baptized him, feeling, therefore, her death. They were buried with alcherea, with singers, in vestments-revelations... We have a rich monument, with the golden words: "A body lies buried... of the Moscow province peasant Avdokea Gavrilovna Kartsova... the souls of the righteous shall rest"... I listen, and everything seems like a fairy tale to me.Gorkin wipes his eyes with a handkerchief. It's time to get started. "Like Mytishchi," he says touched, "and on the holy road! Thou hast comforted us. If you carry a brick, come in for a cup of tea.Solomyatkin gives Anyuta and me a bunch of currants each. He gives Fedya old boots, stiff, it hurts to put them on. Fedya says - I will endure. Solomyatkin does not take the treat and orders the bow Vasil Vasilich. He escorts us to the road, points to the house of the tsar's nurse, which is empty now, and praises our cart: no one will make such a thing! Gorkin orders Fedya to write it down – to take out the prosvirka for the repose of the servant of God Eudokea and for the health of Anthropus. Solomyatkin thanks and wishes us a good hour.The sun is beginning to sink, but it is still burning. Dark forests moved closer to the road with frequent spruce growth. It glows with resinous heat. Along the dead hot paths, pilgrims are moving - the same ones. Gorkin limps, says that kvass sits on his feet, and for some reason shakes his foot. In the clearing, in the fir trees, he squats down and says anxiously: "Is there something wrong with my leg?" His leg is blue, his veins are swollen. He collapses and sighs heavily. We stand pitifully over him. The anti-gun says - no other way, we need to put him in the cart. Gorkin waves it off - even if he crawls, but he will get there, as promised. The anti-cannon says that we should bleed him, we will find a grandmother in Pushkin or a horse driver. Gorkin groans: "The Lord does not vouchsafe ... for my sin!" he threw his head on the needles, he must be hot. And from the spruce forest - as from the stove. And he kept moaning: "For the kwa-as... He promised to work on crackers, but he wanted murtsovka, for mammon... the Lord punished with kvass... Domna Panferovna shouted: "Your blood is closed, I can see it in your vein!" What kind of grandmother is there... I'm going to bleed him now.. And he begins to plane the vein with his fingernail and knead. Gorkin moans, and she shouts at him: "Oh?.. brave, and here Panferovna came in handy! Never mind, I'll pick you up right away, just give yourself!" Gorkin groans: "Cyrulnik... Ivan Zakharych... I used it without a cut... leeches, Domnushka, put on it..." "Well, go to your cirulnik, 'without a cut'.. Listen to me... I'm going to drain your black blood now, bad blood... otherwise the vein will burst.. Gorkin still did not give in, groaned: "Oh, wait... I will weaken, I will not reach it... I will not give up anything, I will weaken... Domna Panferovna waves a knife at him and shouts that she will never die, and she knows this business - she will only chick once! Gorkin crossed himself, looked at me and asked: "With holy oil..." rub it from a bottle, from Panteleimon... Erast Erastych himself rubbed without a cut... And this is our doctor. Domna Panferovna shouted: "Well, it's not my fault if you die!" - she took the bottle and began to rub it against her vein. I fall down to Gorkin and start crying. He stroked me and said: "And the Lord... the will of the Lord... Pray for me, killer whale.I try to pray, and I see how Domna Panferovna rubs and shaves with her fingernail, covered in sweat. She shouts at Fedya, who keeps crossing himself on the Christmas tree: "You, prayer... you have paws... Fedya rubs with all his might, as if he were turning bagels. Gorkin moans and whispers: "Uh-uh... let go a little... uh... much easier... Once upon a time... as if she had fallen into place... it's like oil... works... Pantelemon... father... What does he do... We are all happy. We looked - the leg turned red. Domna Panferovna said: "The blood has gone back to its place... They pull off the bags and prop up the leg. I run into the Christmas trees and cry and cry, already from joy. I looked, and Anyuta was in the fir trees, roaring and whispering: "The old man will die..." we will not reach the Trinity... we will not see it.. I shouted to her that Gorkin was already moving his fingers and that his leg was red, real. I ran to Gorkin, and tears were flowing, I could not calm down. He stroked me and said, "Scared, dear?.. God willing, nothing... I'm ashamed, as if that's why I'm crying that we won't get there?.. Someone puts a kopeck on Gorkin; someone advises: "His face, his face, it would be better to cover his face..." Gorkin takes the kopeck, kisses it and whispers: "The Lord's mite... vouchsafed the Lord to receive... I will tell you to put it in the coffin with me.. They whisper and cross themselves: "He asks for a coffin..." my darling can smell it... The anti-cannon spits, waves at them: "Why are you croaking, burying a living person?!" Gorkin crosses himself and begins to rise. They hum and gasp: "Look, the old man has risen.. Gorkin is already sitting, propping up his fists behind him, and he has cheered up. "It burns a little, but there is no such pain... and I wield my fingers," he says, and I am happy to see his thumb bowing. "I'll rest a little and let's go." We can't reach Bratovshchina, we'll spend the night in Pushkin. "Get on the cart, Gorkin.. What has happened now – sighs in which pain, anxiously searching for a faint look, frightened faces, Fedya crossing himself on Christmas trees, a penny on his chest... – everything lay in me with acute anguish, anxiety. And these words — "departing... it would be better for him to cover his face..." I hold his hand tightly. He asked me: "Well, why are you trembling, eh? I felt sorry for me, eh?.. And his dry, hot hand presses mine.The sun is not high above the forest, the heat subsides. There's Pushkino. We must cross the Ucha and go up: Gorkin wants to spend the night with an old man he knows, on the other side of the village. Fedya supports him and limps himself - his boots have crumpled his leg. We cross the Ucha on the resin bridge. The ravine is fresh, smells of tar, warm water and fish. Above it is still warm, it draws with dry heating, spruce, spicy. The flock has entered the village, herds of sheep are running around, there is gold dust. The huts are crimson golden. The women call affectionately: "Tea, tired, dear, spend the night..." we'll lay fresh hay, no bug, no flies.. Spend the night, right?.. An old man I know, who used to work for us, meets us with a samovar. We are no longer up to tea. Fedya and Anti-Pushka arrange Crooked under the canopy and go to the barn for hay. Domna Panferovna and Anyuta lie down on the summer half, and Gorkin needs to be warmer. It is hot in the hut: bread was baked today. The old man said: "Lie down on the floor, on the hayloft. I have a rich bed, but trouble... The bug is strong, you can't fight back. And then it will be like in paradise for you.He brings a bottle of stewed ants and advises you to rub, and stronger, the leg. Domna Panferovna diligently rubs it, then wraps it in a damp towel and wraps it tightly with felt. It smells pungent from ants, even tears the eyes. Gorkin thanks: "Thank you, Domnushka, you are our caretaker. She says affectionately: "Well, what... We are all boiling water.The old man warms up the lamp, creeps. He said: "Me too, it locks the blood. Only ants save myself. Tomorrow, look, and you won't be lame.They talk about all sorts of things for a long time. It is still light outside the windows, from the dawn. Flies are rustling on the ceiling, black and black from them.I wake up from burning pain, my body is burning. Do flies bite? In the greenish light from the lamp I see Gorkin: he is on his knees, in a pink shirt, and praying. I cried and said to him: "Gorkin... the flies bite me, it hurts..." "Sleep, killer whale," he answers in a whisper, "like flies, they have been sleeping for a long time. "No, they bite!" "Not flies... These must be the bugs that bite. The hut is winter. From the ceiling, in no way, they fall, nothing can be done. And you sleep for yourself - and it's okay, you will sleep. Oh, to take them to Panferovna, eh?" You don't want to... Well, sleep, with the Lord.But I can't sleep. And he keeps praying. "You don't sleep, everyone..." Well, come to me, I'll cover you with a slap. If you warm up, you will fall asleep. I'll cover it with the head, the bugs won't get close. Are you scared for me just now, eh? And my leg is completely lighter, it warmed up from the ants. Well... Do bugs bite? — No, I don't. The legs only bite. "And you squeeze up, they won't come up." Ah, Lord... forgive me, a sinner...," he yawns. He presses me to him, whispers some kind of prayer. "Gorkin," I ask in a whisper, "what sins do you have?" Sin, you said... when your leg swelled?.. "It's my sin... There is one sin," he whispers to me under the covers, "everyone knows it, and according to the law he has served, and... I want to talk to Father Varnava in my heart, to relieve myself. He was tried in court, and he was in the monastery for two months in repentance. Well, I'll tell you. You are a child, your pure darling... Well, we worked at a construction site, seven years soon. Grisha was under my arm, about fifteen years old, a good one. His father entrusted him to me, to bring him out to the people. And he, to tell you, was afraid of heights. And what a carpenter who is afraid of heights! I taught him: walk more boldly, don't be afraid! Once he carried the plank to the second tier, and stood there. "I'm afraid," he said, "uncle, I'll fall. And I began to frighten him: "What kind of fool will you be, a carpenter, afraid of such a height? climb up!" Three arshins and an inch of all and height were there. Yes, he hit the bricks, broke his leg. Yes, the main thing is to hit the bricks with your chest... He began to spit blood, a year later he died. That's my sin. I send my father and mother his five for a month, and they give my father a red one. They live well. And they forgave me, they themselves asked for me in court. Well, church repentance came out to me, otherwise the court itself forgave me. And repentance for conscience, so. And everything in me is languishing. As soon as I hear someone called Grisha, my heart will grow cold. As if I killed him myself... And? Well, what does your darling smell, eh?.. He asks kindly and presses me harder. I hug him and barely whisper: "No, you didn't... Gorkin, dear... you wished him well... I snuggle up to him and cry, cry. Whether he was tired from the excitement of the day, or whether he felt sorry for Gorkin – I don't know. Will God not forgive him and he will not go to paradise, where the souls of the righteous rest? He lights a cinder, wipes my tears with his shirt, gives me water. "Sleep, with the Lord, it's early to get up tomorrow." Do you want me to take it to Antipushka, for hay? I don't want to go to Anticannon.It's turning white in the hut; Roosters call out. The horn is playing, the cows are mooing, the whip is snapping hard. Under the window, Anti-Cannon says: "It's time to put a samovar too." Gorkin sleeps on his back, breathing calmly. On his yellowish chest, through his open shirt, one can see how a copper, darkened cross rises and falls from breathing. I quietly get up and go to the window, on which flies are buzzing. The anti-cannon washes the Curve and rubs it with a cloth, as in Moscow. On this side and on our side, the early pilgrims are already wandering, in the cold. So quietly that even through the closed window you can hear the slapping and rustling of their bast shoes. In the greenish sky there are thin snow stripes of morning clouds. Before my eyes, they begin to turn pink and golden, and disappear. The old man, not seeing me, knocks on the window with his finger and shouts hoarsely: "Hey, Pankratych, get up!" "He'll get cold at dawn. . . ." Oh, look, it's going to be hot again.I'm starting to feel sleepy. I want to lie down some longer, I turn around and see Gorkin sitting under the patchwork quilt and smiling as always. "Oh, you early bird," he says cheerfully. "And my leg has become quite good. Well, open the window.I open it, and a red spark of the sun from behind the hut opposite hits my eyes.

Part 1

The thatched roofs and birches are pink-golden, and the pink chickens are walking, and a pinkish cloud is rolling along the road behind the cart. The early sun seems festive, as if on a bright day. A man with a pitchfork was walking, roaring: "Oh, throw the merchant on the roof?" - he wanted to stab me. The anti-cannon does not give: "We can't go to the reverend." The peasant said: "Ahhh "So... you go to the monk... I like the peasant, and the clay washstand on the porch, which hit me on the forehead when I washed, and the manured yard, and the smell, and the wheel of the well, and everything that is here. I think - it would be nice to live here a little.We are waiting for Gorkin, they rub his leg. His leg is quite good, not a bruise, but Domna Panferovna wants to drive the blood further, otherwise she will return. Right - a miracle with his leg. On Shrovetide, too, my leg hurt, they sent for a doctor, and leeches sucked black blood, and for more than a week I fell through. And here – the Lord looked at me for the sake of the holy road, as if it had been taken away by a hand. In thanksgiving, Gorkin only drank boiling water with a cracker, and postponed the tea until the end of the season, if the Lord willing. And we also refused, out of respect: it was somehow embarrassing to drink. And what teas now! We need to get ready, the holy places will go. We will pass the Bratovshchina - five versts, half the way to the Trinity. And behind Talitsy there are caves where the robbers kept the camp, and then the place was enlightened. And there is Khotkovo, the parents of the monk are there, under a bushel. And there is Mount Poklonnaya, called "at the Cross". On a clear day, the Trinity can be seen from there: a bell tower stands above the forests, like a pink Easter candle, and on it there is a light – a cross. And Anti-Cannon says - we must be patient, what kind of tea is there. In the Egyptian desert – Fedya said – the elders never drink water, but only lick dewdrops. And he has a brick under his arm. Maybe a holy fool, suffering for the flesh. The peasant says that all sorts of people pass here, there are saints, they come across. One in the tavern took off his shoes, showed himself - he walks on terrible nails, for suffering, his feet are covered in blood. Well, they gave him out of piety, and he robbed the innkeeper, the nights. The anti-cannon says about Fedya: "He is also saving, he has stuffed his legs - and does not take off his shoes." The anti-cannon picked up a cap from it, and there was a briar in the cap, tight! And scratched on his forehead. Fedya was ashamed and began to say that he had put it for the aromas and forgotten. And he did it on purpose. Yesterday he told us how the saint prayed on thorns not to sleep. The peasant said: "Oh, how insensitive!" I put a twig under the cap and pressed it until it hurt. Anyuta tries it too. The peasant laughs and says: "Let's go carry the manure, your bodies will suffer!" The rye is tall, you can't see anything behind it. Fedya puts me on his shoulders, and behind the light green surface I see a blue forest, far away... — it seems impossible to reach. Rye spreads in waves, pours — it hurts the eyes from the shine. The blue forests are swaying, the lark is murmuring, I want to sleep. Through the sticky eyelashes I see - the blue forests are fogging, the field is pouring and shimmering, Anyuta is jumping there... Gorkin shouted: "Put it in the cart, completely boiled... The bugs did not let me sleep!". It smells of grass, rocks, rustles on the wheels rye, whips Crooked with its tail, whips on the front - thigh, thigh... I am floating on a wavy field, towards the blue forests, somewhere. "Turn to the cross, under the birch!" A bright meadow, covered with daisies. Pilgrims sit in a bunch, eating sieve. Under an old birch tree there is a cross. A big road, white. In the hot sun, carts creak, yellow barrels are carried, with a crunch, like sugar. Men lie facing the sky on barrels, spreading their legs. The sun burns with fire. The creak-crunch makes it feel even hotter. It floats, my neck is all wet. Flies hang motionless above our heads, in the birch. Fedya drinks me from a kettle. The tin has warmed up, the water is tasteless. They say, "Be patient a little, soon there will be a holy well, the water there will be cold like ice," behind Talitsa, in a ravine. Anyuta jumped up to me, with terrible eyes, whispering: "A man was stabbed, by God!" I shouted to Gorkin. He is sitting at the cross, taking off his shoes, looking at his foot. I shouted - why did they stab a man?! And Anyuta shouted: "A scrupulous man was stabbed!" Gorkin said: "Why are you shouting, you fool?.. No one was stabbed, and this is a cross... Maybe someone died. There are always crosses on the roads, where there was some kind of death.Anyuta crosses herself and shouts that it is true, a man has been stabbed to death - a scrupulous one! "Grandmother knows... People came to the shop to drink kvass! A scrupulous man was stabbed to death... By God.. Gorkin is angry. What kind of scrupulous? Have you gone mad from the heat? Anti-Pushka and Fedya pester her, and she is all her own: they stabbed the scrupulous! Domna Panferovna came up, barely breathing, all wet. He says that they went to a shop in Bratovshchina to drink kvass, the whole soul was exhausted, there was nothing to breathe... And then a passer-by said that they had stabbed a scrupulous man, they were walking around with boxes, with crosses, needles, buttons... There will be a village ahead. Kashcheevka, a remote place... As if yesterday a boy was slaughtered, lying in the bushes, and flies surrounded everything... Such passion.. "Read every day and someone will be stabbed," he said. Beware..." "Oh, that's what," Gorkin says quietly and crosses himself. — The Kingdom of Heaven to him.Everyone is afraid. Pilgrims crowded, gasped, looked there, forward. They say that now all the places are dangerous, the mosses will go, the ravines ... - it's better not to go alone. And this Kashcheevka is already famous, thieves. And then someone was killed, there was a cross – oh, Lord! And behind Talitsy is now a cross.. A little more muffled where there is a cross.I want to be closer to Gorkin. I sat down under the cross, Anyuta huddled up to me, looked into my eyes. He whispers: "And we will be slaughtered like a scrupulous..." The cross is completely rotten, speckled with yellow mold. No one knows what happened here. The birch, perhaps, has seen it, but it will not tell. Fedya said, "Let's sing a prayer for the repose." And he starts, and we follow him. My soul is relieved. An old man with a scythe came up and listened to how well we sang "Rest with the Saints". Gorkin asks why the cross, if someone was killed here. "No one was killed," said the old man, "but the merchant died of natural causes, was on his way from Alexandrov, and began to eat under a birch tree. Well, it was enough, I ate and drank too much. Well, then the son took him home, and put a cross here for memory, gave us a commemoration of the soul... I was a guy then. Well remembered. We don't have it to kill. Beyond Talitsy... well, it happens there. Don't go there alone... We are all glad that we did not slaughter, and it became fun all around: both the cross and the birch seemed to cheer up. "There will be ravines there," said the old man, "look and look." And the horse can be taken away, and... Don't fight off your friend, take a look.And again we're all scared.It's soaring a lot, but only the tenth hour. Behind Talitsy there is a deep ravine. We move out - and immediately it becomes fresh and gloomy. On the other side of the ravine is an old birch grove, rooks are screaming. The place is completely desolate. There is a well under a tent with a cross. There are caves in the mountain. Pilgrims lie at the well, they tell us: the monk has led the people underground, wait a little, water the horse. Fedya looks into the well - the bottom, he says, is not visible. He lowers a bucket on a wheel. The wheel turns for a long time. The rope trembles for a long time, pulls in the bucket. The bucket smells cold. Water is like a tear, cold, it hurts to drink. They say that this is an underground river, covered with ice; It happens that they pull out the ice, and for those who are lucky, they find silver rubles, old ones. Here the robbers kept the treasure, and then the place brightened, some monk led them out. "Look," said Fedya, "an old lady I know here, with her granddaughter, in beads..." The old woman recognizes us, she is glad. With her on the grass is a handsome young woman who looks like a girl, in a red headband with horns, in a patterned shirt. We are all happy, as if relatives have met. For some reason, the young woman is crying, sorting through the amber beads in her knees. Gorkin asks why she is crying. The old woman complains that the old man alone has offended his granddaughter for no reason – he is lying there, a hog, sleeping on a brick! "Why, dear... He came up to us, grabbed the butterfly by the sleeve, began to sniff, demanded it... Give me your lock, whatever it is... I'll lock them up, I'll unlock them, and I'll take the sin upon myself! Ugh!.. The hog is scary.. What did you say about sin, eh? And it was he who had heard from people that the boy - the Andel darling - had fallen asleep, was silent and grieving because of that. She - from him, she began to cry ... Like a demon, terrible, twisted with irons, locks hung! He grabbed her by the beads and pulled her to him... Come live with me, I'll take your sin away! And he tore the beads on her. Plague! Everything was collected here, but not collected. He brought his granddaughter to tears. And she forgot how to cry, and now she cried! Gorkin said: "But it turned out for the best! She seems to have come to her senses, she looks intelligently. I remember walking - how they poured water on me... And look, mother, she has become good! Maybe he will find himself?.. "May the merciful God grant it!" She began to respond, otherwise she seemed to be mute. As the beads fell, she — ah.. "How's it going to shout.. She began to pick them up, to call me. She recognized me, dear... She cried, began to huddle up to me. "Grandma," she said, "where are we with you, let's go home, grandma!" Fedya found a bead and gave it to the pullet. She did nothing, accepted from him, only squinted and covered her face with her hands. Domna Panferovna sat down next to her, patted her on the head, and began to say something—nothing, she was listening. She looked at me so cheerfully and even smiled. Just like the saint on the icons, very pleasant. Gorkin says that a miracle has happened! Fedya shouts to us: "Come here, there is a wonderful old man here!" A terrible old man, with burdock hair, lying with his head on a brick. We approached, and he opened his stiff sweater, and there was a naked body, black, with sores, and a rusty chain, a dog's, wrapped around, and all the locks on it: small, and large, rusty, and cubic, and on the stomach the largest, as if from a gate. He barks at us: "Are you idle talkers?" Gorkin says to him affectionately: "We do not boast, but like the Lord. The old man and let's grind: "I pray for everyone!" I'll lock it up, I'll bear my sins, how much! I've been carrying this one for five years, tavern keepers, from Serpukhov! there is blood on it, blood. And these are women's sins, styling, all trifles... casually, I unlocked and closed... from the spirit there is no passage from theirs, the cat's. And he was angry with Domna Panferovna: "You, fat woman, eat and eat? Give me your castle... I will lock and open! I'll reproach you, fool, I'll do it... lost without me! Domna Panferovna spat and let's scold the old man. Holy people are humble, but he is a braggart! "Wash away your dirt!" He sleeps on a brick in public, but he offended a sick woman, tore the beads! Such parasites need to be caned, in the cold... Gorkin calms her down, but she is even more at the old man, she cannot calm her heart. The old man jumped on her, as if he had broken free from the chain, rattling the locks. "Damn! He shouted, "Devil, devil.. And let's spit. Then everyone realized that he had completely lost his mind. A monk comes from the caves and says: "Leave him alone, this is from the Trinity, from the posad, a philistine, he traded castles - and bargained... And now he takes his sins upon himself, removes them from people, wears chains-locks. He was released from the madhouse, he is harmless." Damp, like in a cellar, and slippery. And you can't see anything. The monk says that a robber lived in the mountain with his gang, he killed many people. And the nun Anthony came, and ordered the robber to leave. And he stabbed him with a knife, and the knife hit the stone and broke, by the will of the Lord. And the robber was frightened, and said, "I never missed, I only missed you." And he left him alone. And the nun began to dig into the mountain, and went away from the robber into the depths, and there he dwelt in prayer and fasting. And the robber lost his whole gang in the same year, and once returned to his cave, all beaten. And the nun learned about this, and said to the thief: "Repent, tomorrow you will die." And he repented. And the nuns walled him up in a distant cell, in a mountain, and where is unknown. And from that time the place was enlightened. For forty years the nun Anthony lived alone in grief and departed to the abodes of the righteous. And I dug for nine years, taking such a labor to test the flesh.We come out of the caves, Gorkin says: "I don't understand something, the monk tells badly." Well, Fedya explained to us that all this was for the suffering of the flesh, and yet the monk scattered the robbers, and brought the ataman to repentance. We ask the monk: is he a saint who dug a mountain? The monk thought about it and said that this was unknown and his life was not there, but only by hearsay. Well, we didn't quite like it, that there was no hagiography, and you never know what they would say. The only good thing is that the robbers' nest has ceased.

Part 2

We go through the most terrible places. The dark forests moved, it became dull. The road is completely empty, rarely - someone will pass. And pilgrims less often. Where the forests recede, birch groves with ravines approach. In the copses of cuckoos you can hear - vying with each other. "The cuckoos are uncooked... before a thunderstorm, perhaps?.. Gorkin says, looking around the sky. "No, it's clean. And it soars. "If it's soaring, there's a cloud propping it up somewhere," says Anti-Cannon. "The curve is foggy!" And like a birch... Pure perfume, bath. It's so pulling from the ravines... And it began to smell like love. And the evening is far away; And they smell more at night, night violets. And the cuckoos... — one after another, one after another — are in a hurry. We guess how many years we will live. Gorkin turned out to be thirty, and I was four, my cuckoo got lost. They say that she has not yet learned to count.The old woman and her granddaughter are with us, they are so attached to us. And we have more fun with them. The young woman also cheered up, began to talk a little to Domna Panferovna. She would call out to her: "Parasha!" - and the young woman would say to her: "Oh?" Otherwise: "Ayushki?" Fedya found a strawberry, gave it to Parasha, but she did not - she would bite and smile. Everyone laughs at Fedya: what a good gentleman, but everyone is going to become a monk. And the old woman was very surprised - such a handsome fellow, and under the hood under the black one! And he kept Parasha strawberries. Domna Panferovna laughed at him: "Find such a little thing in Moscow, and get married, and you will feed her strawberries. And this one is a stranger, there is a husband.Fedya seemed to be frightened and ran away from the road into the forest. We called him by force - it was terrible without him, the places were desolate... Kashcheevka now.We pass Kashcheevka, where a scrupulous man was stabbed. We ask the people there how they stabbed the scrupulous man, whether they caught him. They say they haven't even heard of it. They say there was a peddler-scrupulous here the other day - he went to Posad. And a peasant here was a passer-by..." - in Posad, a man stabbed himself in a tavern, he was taken to the hospital - that, perhaps, is where the rumor went. And here the place is the quietest.And really, it's not scary at all. They say that a bear was seen in oats, he went and jumped and squinted. And we did not see it. Well, they say, maybe you will see again, here is their strength.We walk for a long time, but the bear is still not visible. After Rakhmanov, we turn off the road to Khotkovo. The places here are the most desolate. It is three o'clock in the afternoon: just in time for vespers, we will get to the parents of the monk. And the road is heavy, ravines. It is soaring strongly, everyone is exhausted, The curve stammeres. And now - as if behind us... thunder?.. "Not loudly?.. Gorkin looks around. "Uh... Look at what is happening... to Moscow, how it freezes! Oh-oh-oh... The storm is driving us down, brothers, I just have time to get there. Chase, chase Crooked, Anti-Cannon.. Anyuta and I are in the cart. The sky behind us is dark, oppressive with heat. For example, the beginning of soaring in the morning is for a thunderstorm. Honey flowers are drawn from the ravines. "Gyadi, what is Crooked cutting up..." ears like a shearer! it's she who is loudly afraid..." says Anti-Cannon. "And you, fool, don't be afraid... if it washes you with rain, you'll be good. The thunder is now clearly audible, in peals. The blue one towards Moscow, behind us, and the black one from behind the forest, on the right. I see lightning, and Anyuta sees that a fiery rope has tangled and gone under a cloud. I would rather reach Khotkov. Thunder seems to be ahead, like balls rolling. "How... — it rolled out, they say. "A circular thunderstorm is coming, a terrible one, God forbid.. Oh, it's coming from everywhere.. And again I see a golden string on a cloud — it only blinked. An oncoming peasant in a cart shouts: "Hurry up! The mowing over there is in the monastery, the nuns are harvesting hay and hurrying ... Get to the shed! Oh, the threats are coming, the Soviet one is overwhelmed like... God forbid, hail.. He pulls out a mat from under himself and covers himself. "Is it really with hail, cold as it blows?.. "Anti-Cannon takes off his hat and crosses himself. "Look, there's a cloud with a beard... We go through birches, a clean grove. Cuckoos here and there crow like madmen from a thunderstorm. There is a thick smell of birch, hay, some bitter flowers. The curve itself is in a hurry, afraid of thunderstorms. There is a meadow, a lawn. The nuns quickly rake and rake hay into shafts and haystacks. It was completely dark: a black cloud above us, with white shreds - "with a beard". Zippers are whipped from shreds, birches are beaten. Anyuta poked her head, shouted: "Oh, grandmother, I'm afraid.. It is completely overhanging, clinging to the birches, crackling dryly, as if a heap of splinters has been thrown... And now it deafens with thunder, as if it hit a cart. Everyone crosses themselves and whispers: "Holy, holy, holy, Lord of hosts..." Thunder rolls for a long time, and again it flares up and blinds, and again it rumbles, to the point of fear. A rustle is coming after us - it's a downpour. Nuns are waving to us from the meadow — hurry, hurry! The first drops fall, large as hailstones. On the mowed meadow the haystacks are darkening in rows, the workers are turning blue and white: they are wearing blue dresses and white handkerchiefs. At a trot, we reach the shed, run to take cover. The rain is getting worse. An old nun said affably: "Stop the rain, God save you." Fedya runs to the cart, grabs the bags - all wet. The curve stands in the downpour, hanging ears, all slimy. Like a swamp under a cart. Anti-Cannon is pleased - it's okay, it will refresh a little, it's good for Crooked, the weather is warm.With a cheerful cry the workers run across the meadow, as if in a net. "My magpies, stupid... Oh, stupid.. — laughs the old nun.As if white and blue birds are flying in the rain in a meadow. Not a downpour, but a spill - the forest is not visible at all. It shines, rattles and pours. A huge puddle near the canopy - it will flood, perhaps, and where will we all go then, we need to climb onto the roof. I want it to rain longer. The workers jump out into the downpour, wash themselves with the rain and cross themselves. It rumbles right above the barn. The nun says, crossing herself: "Holy, holy, holy... Ah, the grace of the Lord... It's so good, it's fresh, it's easy to breathe.. Holy, holy... The thunder is already quieter, more muffled. It smells of fragrant hay and a warm meadow, the park is smoking. Under the departing downpour, you can hear how they preach the good news in the monastery for vespers. "Spend the night with the parents of the monk," the nun said to us, "pray, serve a pannikhida for your parents, Schema-monk Kirill and Schema-nun Maria. And the monk will hear your prayer. We are good, decent... under the Protection of the Lady we dwell. Our parents are under a bushel... Remember your parents with a well-fed kutitsya, God save you. Look at our needlework, lace, belts... Give the children patchwork balls with embroidery, what elegant ones... In Khotkovo we spend the night.Morning, warm and cloudy. The distances are vague. We are "at the cross", on a hill. In the chapel there is a great cross. The monk tells us that from here, ten versts before the Trinity, some saint sent a bow and blessing to the monk, and the monk heard in spirit and exclaimed: "Rejoice thou also, brother!" He also tells us that from here they see the Trinity bell tower, like a pink Easter candle. Wherever you look, there are pine forests. I am looking for a bell tower – a pink candle, an Easter candle. Where is she? I peer into the distance, dig into the dark forests and see... I see a spark flashing, beating and trembling in my eyes. I close my eyes and see: a golden cross stands above the forests, in the sky. I see pink, in gold, a great pink candle, an Easter candle. It stands above the forests, in the sky. The sun is burning on it. I see her so clearly! It is alive, it shines with a cross – fire. "I see, I see!" I shouted to Gorkin. And no one sees. Anyuta doesn't even see either. "Where can I see it, it's so gloomy," Gorkin says from under his palm, sadly, "and the eyes are not the same. Sometimes they see it. Yes, you can rarely see from here, you need to get closer. And I did. I say that a pink candle, reaching to the sky, and a golden cross on it. But they don't believe me: it's revenge. I try to see again, close my eyes... — and hear: — Father.. He gallops at us, in his white curl, in a verkhovka-cap, so dexterous, cheerful. He jumped down from the Kavkazka and could not stand, he squatted down immediately - he was so tired. Everyone sits and stretches his legs. I rush to him, with joy. He threw me up, and I shouted into his daughter's tanned face that I had just seen a candle... a pink candle, an Easter candle! He doesn't understand anything—what kind of candle! I tell him that this is whomever he will deign to do... He kisses me, calls me an inventor and shouts to someone, behind us: "Girl... Do you have strawberries, or what?.. And he buys a whole basket of strawberries, fragrant, ripe. We are sitting right on the grass, although it is still very damp, and we are all eating strawberries from a basket. My father feeds me with a handful, slaps me on the cheeks and plays. His hands smell of reins, of black, shoemaker's, brew, and ripe strawberries—it smells wonderful! He tells how dashingly he galloped: at half past six he left Moscow, and now it is only nine. Everyone is surprised. He buys another basket, treats and eats handfuls; strawberries roll on the jacket. He says about Zvenigorod that he managed to visit St. Savva, caught the mass... about the groves at the Vasilchikovs in Koralov: "I took such and such groves!" "Well, I'll go to sleep." In the monastery hotel you will find..." — And he rides on the washed-up Caucasian. "Fire.. Gorkin throws up his hands, "I was and I wasn't.. I look at the muddy road, at the darkening forests in the distance. No father, no pink bell tower, no spark. "Let me wipe them..." Their whole face is strawberry, Daddy respected me so much..." laughs Gorkin and wipes me with his palm. I look at a basket of strawberries... — as if a vision passed.