The story of Mikhail Zoshchenko - Meeting. Ochen needed. Thank you! and got the best answer

Answer from Hedgehogs - it's not only thorns :) [guru]
MEETING
I'll tell you frankly: I love people very much.
Others, you know, waste their sympathies on dogs. Bathe them and
chains lead. And somehow the person is more pleasant to me.
However, I can’t lie: with all my ardent love, I didn’t see
selfless people.
One was a boy with a bright personality flashed in my life. Yes and then
Now I am in deep thought about it. Can't decide what it is
then I thought. The dog knows him - what thoughts he had when he did his
selfish business.
And I went, you know, from Yalta to Alupka. On foot. On the highway.
I was in Crimea this year. In a rest home.
So I walk. I admire the Crimean nature. To the left, of course, blue
sea. The ships are floating. To the right are the damn mountains. Eagles flutter. Beauty,
one might say unearthly.
One bad thing - it's impossible hot. Through this heat even beauty comes to mind
won't go. You look away from the panorama. And the dust on the teeth creaks.
He walked seven miles and stuck out his tongue.
And the devil knows how long to Alupka. Maybe ten miles. Not exactly happy
which came out.
Went another mile. Worn out. Sat down on the road. Sitting. Resting. And I see
A man is walking behind me. Steps, maybe five hundred.
And of course it's empty all around. Not a soul. Eagles are flying.
I didn't think anything bad then. But still, with all my love for
people do not like to meet them in a deserted place. Few things happen.
I tempt a lot.
I got up and went. I walked a little, turned around - a man was following me.
Then I went faster - he seemed to push too.
I go, I don’t look at the Crimean nature. If only, I think, we live to Alupka
walk. I turn around. I look - he waves his hand to me. I also waved to him.
Say, leave me alone, do me a favor.
I hear something screaming.
Here, I think, bastard, attached!
Hodko went ahead. I hear screaming again. And runs behind me.
Despite being tired, I also ran.
I ran a little - I'm suffocating.
I hear screaming:
- Stop! Stop! Comrade!
I leaned against the rock. I stand.
A poorly dressed man runs up to me. In sandals. And instead
shirts - mesh.
- What do you want, I say?
Nothing, says no. I see you are not going there. Are you in Alupka?
- In Alupka.
“Then, he says, you don’t need a check. You give a huge hook for a check.
Tourists are always confused here. And here you have to go along the path. Four miles
benefits. And a lot of shadows.
- No, I say, merci-thank you. I'll take the highway.
- Well, say whatever you want. And I'm on the path. Turned around and walked back.
After says:
- Is there a cigarette, comrade? Smoke hunting.
I gave him a cigarette. And somehow we got to know him and
made friends. And they went together. Along the path.
He turned out to be a very nice person. Pischevik. All the way he is above me
laughed.
- Directly, he says, it was hard to look at you. It doesn't go there. Give,
I think I will say. And you run. Why were you running?
- Yes, I say, why not run.
Imperceptibly, along a shady path, we came to Alupka and here
said goodbye.
I spent the whole evening thinking about this food worker.
The man was running, panting, ruffling his sandals. And for what? to say
where do I need to go. It was very noble of him.
Now, having returned to Leningrad, I think: the dog knows him, or maybe he
do you really want to smoke? Maybe he wanted to shoot a cigarette from me. That's
fled. Or maybe it was boring for him to go - he was looking for a companion.
So I don't know.

A funny story happened to me on transport this fall.

I went to Moscow. From Rostov. Here comes the mail-passenger train at six forty-five in the evening.

I'm on this train.

The people are not so ugly a lot. Even, in extreme cases, you can sit down.

Please hurry up. I sit down.

And now I look at my fellow travelers.

And business, I speak, by the evening. Not that dark, but dark. Generally twilight. And they still don't fire. Save wires.

So, I look at the surrounding passengers and see - the company has crept up quite glorious. All of them, I see, are nice, not inflated people.

One such without a hat, long-maned subject, but not pop. Such an intellectual in general in a black jacket.

Next to him - in Russian boots and a uniform cap. Such mustache. Just not an engineer. Maybe he's a zookeeper or an agronomist. Only, you see, a very sympathetic soul person. He holds a penknife with his handles and with this knife cuts antonov apple into pieces and feeds his other neighbor - the armless one. This one next to him, I see an armless citizen riding. Such a young proletarian guy. Without both hands. Probably disabled. It's very pitiful to look at.

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

Such, I see, a humane picture. A story worthy of Rembrandt.

And opposite them sits a middle-aged gray-haired man in a black cap. And all he, this man, grins.

Maybe they had some funny conversation before me. Only to see, this passenger still cannot cool down and laughs all the time: “hee” and “hee”.

And I was very intrigued not by this gray-haired one, but by the one that is armless.

And I look at him with civic sorrow, and I am very tempted to ask how he got so stupid and why he lost his limbs. But it's embarrassing to ask.

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

He began to ask extraneous questions to the mustachioed subject as more responsive, but he answers gloomily and reluctantly.

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

For some reason, he turned to me, and we started a conversation with him on various light topics: where are you going, how much cabbage is and whether you have a housing crisis today.

He says: - We do not have a housing crisis. Moreover, we live in our homestead, in the estate.

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

I say: - Maybe you're lying? Well, - I say - you were not evicted during the revolution, or is it a state farm? - No, - he says, - this is my family estate, a mansion. Yes, you, - he says, - come to me. I sometimes arrange evenings. Fountains splash around me. Symphony orchestras waltzes are played.

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

That is, - I say, - how can I understand you? You are former landowner? That is, I say, “the proletarian revolution swept away your category. I, - I say, - I'm sorry, I can't understand something in this matter. We have, - I say, - a social revolution, socialism - what kind of landlords can we have.

But, he says, they can. Here, he says, I am a landowner. I, he says, managed to survive through your entire revolution. And, - he says, - I spit on everyone - I live like a god. And I don't care about your social revolutions.

I look at him in amazement and do not really understand what's what. He says: - Yes, you come - you will see. Well, if you want, let's go to my place now. Very, - he says, - you will meet a luxurious aristocratic life. Let's go. See.

“What the hell, I think. To go, perhaps, to see how it survived through the proletarian revolution? Or he's lying."

Moreover, I see - a gray-haired man laughs. Everyone laughs: “hehe” and “hehe”.

Only I wanted to reprimand him for inappropriate laughter, and the mustachioed one, who had cut the apple earlier, put down his penknife on the table, ate the leftovers and said to me rather loudly: - Stop talking to him. It's mental. Don't you see it? Then I looked at the whole honest company and I see - my fathers! Why, it's really crazy that they go with a watchman. And who is long-haired - abnormal. And who laughs all the time. And armless too. He's just wearing a straitjacket - his arms are twisted. And you can’t immediately make out what he is with his hands. In a word, crazy people go. And this mustachioed one is their watchman. He transports them.

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

Only suddenly I see - one abnormal, with a black beard, my neighbor, looked with his cunning eye at a penknife and suddenly carefully takes it in his hand.

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

And he desperately resists me. And he tries to bite me with his frenzied teeth.

Only suddenly the mustachioed watchman pulls me back. He says: - Why did you pile on them, as you, really, are not ashamed. This is their knife. This is not a psychic passenger. These three - yes, my mental. And this passenger just rides like you. We borrowed a knife from them - they asked. This is their knife. How shameless you are! Whom I crushed, he says: - I gave them a knife, they are attacking me. They choke on the throat. Thank you thank you. What strange behavior on their part. Yes, maybe it's also mental. Then if you're a watchman, you better look after him. Avon, lashes out - strangles by the throat.

The watchman says: - Or maybe he is also mental. The dog will take it apart. Only he is not from my party. Why would I look after him in vain. There is nothing for me to point out. I know mine.

I say strangled: - I'm sorry, I thought - you're crazy too.

You, he says, thought. Indian roosters think ... Almost strangled by the throat, you bastard. Don't you see, perhaps, their crazy look and mine are natural.

No, I say, I don't see it. On the contrary, I say, you also have some kind of haze in your eyes, and your beard is growing like a lunatic.

One psychic - this same landowner - says: - And you pull his beard - so he will stop talking abnormalities.

The bearded one wanted to shout for guards, but then we arrived at the Igren station, and our psychics with their guide left.

And they came out in a fairly strict order. The armless one just had to be pushed a little.

And then the conductor told us that at this Igren station there is a house for the mentally ill, where such mental patients are often taken. And what, how else to carry them? Not in a dog kennel. There is nothing to be offended.

Yes, I'm actually not offended. Silly, of course, it happened that he talked like a fool, but nothing! But the one I crushed, he was really offended. He looked at me gloomily for a long time and followed my movements with fear. And then, not expecting anything good from me, he moved with things to another department.

Please.

The work of Mikhail Mikhailovich Zoshchenko is original. He acted as the creator of the original comic novel, continuing the traditions of Gogol, Leskov, and early Chekhov in new historical conditions. Zoshchenko created his own, completely unique artistic style. The heyday of the writer's talent falls on the twenties. The basis of Zoshchenko's creativity of the twenties is a humorous description of everyday life. The author writes about drunkenness, about housing affairs, about losers offended by fate. The motive of discord, worldly absurdity, some tragicomic inconsistency of the hero with the tempo, rhythm and spirit of the time predominates.

In the story "Meeting" the hero talks about himself, about the incident that he remembers. In the foreground, a man very pleased with himself: "I'll tell you frankly: I really love people." But he immediately declares that he “has not seen disinterested people”, thereby refuting what has just been said.

The story is told in a conversational style. It is characterized by short sentences, often dissected, incomplete: “And I went, you know, from Yalta to Alupka. On foot. On the highway"; “Got another mile. Got tired. Sat down on the road. Sitting. Resting". characteristic feature conversational style are introductory words and sentences: “do you know”, “know”, “can you say”, “say”, “I think”, “maybe”. Dialogue is also an integral part of this style.

The language of the characters is saturated with vernacular, “reduced” vocabulary, there are many grammatical errors in the speech: “I am thinking about him”, “through this heat, even beauty does not come to mind”; “Here, I think, hell, I got attached”, “got tired”, “pressed”, “forever”, “alive”.

Speech can say a lot about a person. From the conversation of the hero, we understand that in front of us is a person who is narrow-minded and not very literate. He wants to appear superior in the eyes of others and his own. To do this, he uses "beautiful" words: "bright personality"; “with all his love for people”, “beauty, one might say, unearthly”; “turning away from the pa-norama”, “merci”, “very noble of him”, “heart tells”. All these expressions are stamps, there is nothing behind them. Has a person already become a bright personality by showing a short road to Alupka? This, it turns out, is "very noble of him." And all the charms of the “unearthly beauty” that the hero allegedly admires are also just empty words for him. And he thinks about something else: the heat, the deserted road, on which, God forbid, to meet a stranger. Our hero is cowardly, he runs away from the boy: "If only, I think, to reach Alupka alive."

The hero's speech is empty, devoid of content. He calls a short meeting with a fellow traveler friendship. According to him, the boy "turned out to be a very nice person." But he adds: "Pishchevik." As if that's what makes a person attractive. The word "food worker" is repeated: "All evening I have been thinking about this food worker."

The language betrays the true essence of the hero, reveals his true face. In fact, he does not trust anyone, even a “bright person” - “- a fellow traveler: “Who knows what thoughts he had when he did his disinterested business.” He thinks about this all the time. He repeats: “Who knows - maybe he really wanted to smoke? Maybe he wanted to shoot a cigarette from me? The hero does not even have confidence in himself: “I can’t decide what he was thinking then.”

Zoshchenko's hero wants to keep up with progress, he hastily assimilates modern trends, hence the predilection for fashionable names and political terminology, hence the desire to assert his "proletarian" insides through bravado with rudeness, ignorance, rudeness. Behind funny words, incorrect grammatical turns, we see the gestures of the characters, and the tone of the voice, and his psychological condition, and the attitude of the author to the story. With the manner of a tale, a short, extremely concise phrase, M. Zoshchenko achieved what others achieved by introducing additional artistic details.

Time goes by, but people often exchange their lives for trifles, value empty things, live in petty interests, and do not trust anyone. The author calls to abandon the petty evil that disfigures and cripples life.

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

However, I cannot lie: with all my ardent love, I have not seen disinterested people.

One was a boy with a bright personality flashed in my life. And even now I am in deep thought about it. I can't decide what he was thinking then. The dog knows him - what thoughts he had when he did his disinterested work.

And I went, you know, from Yalta to Alupka. On foot. On the highway.

I was in Crimea this year. In a rest home. So I walk. I admire the Crimean nature. To the left, of course, is the blue sea. The ships are floating. To the right are the damn mountains. Eagles flutter. Beauty, one might say, unearthly.

One bad thing - it's impossible to hot. Through this heat, even beauty does not come to mind. You turn away from the panorama.

And the dust on the teeth creaks.

He walked seven miles and stuck out his tongue.

And to Alupka still the devil knows how much. Maybe ten miles. Not exactly happy that he left.

Went another mile. Worn out. Sat down on the road. Sitting. Resting. And I see a man walking behind me. Steps, maybe five hundred.

And of course it's empty all around. Not a soul. Eagles are flying.

I didn't think anything bad then. But still, with all my love for people, I do not like to meet them in a deserted place. Few things happen. I tempt a lot.

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

Then I went faster, - he seemed to push too.

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

I turn around. I look - he waves his hand to me. I also waved to him. Say, leave me alone, do me a favor.

I hear something screaming.

Here, I think, bastard, attached!

Hodko went ahead. I hear it screaming again. And runs behind me.

Despite being tired, I also ran.

I ran a little - I'm suffocating.

I hear screaming:

- Stop! Stop! Comrade!

I leaned against the rock. I stand.

A poorly dressed man runs up to me. In sandals. And instead of a shirt - a grid.

- What do you want, I say?

- Nothing, he says, is not necessary. I see you are not going there. Are you in Alupka?

- Alupka.

“Then, he says, you don’t need a check.” You give a huge hook for a check. Tourists are always confused here. And here you have to follow the path. Verst four benefits. And a lot of shadows.

— No, I say, merci-thank you. I'll take the highway.

Well, he says whatever you want. And I'm on the path. Turned around and walked back. After says:

— Is there a cigarette, comrade? Smoke hunting.

I gave him a cigarette. And right away we got to know each other and became friends. And they went together. Along the path.

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

- Directly, he says, it was hard to look at you. It doesn't go there. Give, I think, I will tell. And you run. Why were you running?

- Yes, I say, why not run.

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

I spent the whole evening thinking about this food worker.

The man was running, panting, ruffling his sandals. And for what? To tell me where to go. It was very noble of him.

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

Zoshchenko - Encounter 1

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

However, I cannot lie: with all my ardent love, I have not seen disinterested people.

One was a boy with a bright personality flashed in my life. And even now I am in deep thought about it. I can't decide what he was thinking then. The dog knows him - what thoughts he had when he did his disinterested work.

And I went, you know, from Yalta to Alupka. On foot. On the highway.

I was in Crimea this year. In a rest home. So I walk. I admire the Crimean nature. To the left, of course, is the blue sea. The ships are floating. To the right - damn mountains. Eagles flutter. Beauty, one might say, unearthly.

One bad thing - it's impossible hot. Through this heat, even beauty does not come to mind. You turn away from the panorama.

And the dust on the teeth creaks.

He walked seven miles and stuck out his tongue.

And to Alupka still the devil knows how much. Maybe ten miles. Not exactly happy that he left.

Went another mile. Worn out. Sat down on the road. Sitting. Resting. And I see a man walking behind me. Steps, maybe five hundred.

And of course it's empty all around. Not a soul. Eagles are flying.

I didn't think anything bad then. But still, with all my love for people, I do not like to meet them in a deserted place. Few things happen. I tempt a lot.

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

Then I went faster - he seemed to push too.

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

I turn around. I look - he waves his hand to me. I also waved to him. Say, leave me alone, do me a favor.

I hear something screaming.

Here, I think, bastard, attached!

Hodko went ahead. I hear it screaming again. And runs behind me.

Despite being tired, I also ran.

I ran a little - I'm suffocating.

I hear screaming:

Stop! Stop! Comrade!

I leaned against the rock. I stand.

A poorly dressed man runs up to me. In sandals. And instead of a shirt - a grid.

What do you need, I say?

Nothing, he says, is not necessary. I see you are not going there. Are you in Alupka?

In Alupka.

Then, he says, you don't need a check. You give a huge hook for a check. Tourists are always confused here. And here you have to follow the path. Verst four benefits. And a lot of shadows.

No, I say thank you. I'll take the highway.

Well, say whatever you want. And I'm on the path. Turned around and walked back. After says:

Is there a cigarette, comrade? Smoke hunting.

I gave him a cigarette. And right away we got to know each other and became friends. And they went together. Along the path.

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

Directly, he says, it was hard to look at you. It doesn't go there. Give, I think, I will tell. And you run. Why were you running?

Yes, I say, why not run.

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

I spent the whole evening thinking about this food worker.

The man was running, panting, ruffling his sandals. And for what? To tell me where to go. It was very noble of him.

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

You read the story Meeting 1 by Mikhail Zoshchenko.