Elena GABOVA
Svetka Sergeeva was red-haired. Her hair is coarse and thick, like bright copper wire. A heavy braid was braided from this wire. To me it reminded me of the cable used to hold large ships ashore.
Svetka’s face is pale, covered in large freckles, also pale, jumping on one another. The eyes are green, shiny, like frogs.
Svetka was sitting right in the middle of the class, in the second column. And our gazes, no, no, were drawn to this bright spot.
We didn't like Svetka. Precisely because she is red. It’s clear that Redhead was teased. And they didn’t like her because her voice was terribly shrill. The color of Svetka’s hair and her voice merged into one concept: Red-zha-ya.
She will come to the board, begin to answer, and her voice will be high-high. Some girls pointedly covered their ears. I forgot to say: for some reason the girls didn’t particularly like Svetka. They didn't even want to touch her. If during physical education one of them had the chance to do exercises together with Ryzhukha, they refused. And when the physical education teacher shouts, they do it, but with such a disgusted expression on their face, as if Svetka was a leper. Even the teacher’s shout did not help Marinka Bykova: she flatly refused to practice with Sergeeva. The physical teacher of the Bykova deuce sculpted.
Svetka wasn’t offended by the girls – she was probably used to it.
I heard that Svetka lived with her mother and two sisters. Their father left them. I understood him: is it pleasant to live with three, no, four red-haired women? Svetka’s mother is also red-haired and small in stature. It was clear how they dressed - after all, they lived hard. But our girls did not take Ryzhukha’s difficulties into account. On the contrary, they also despised her for her only worn jeans. OK. Red is so Red. Too much about her.
We really loved hiking. We went several times every year. Both in autumn and spring. Sometimes in winter we went into the forest. Well, there’s nothing to say in the summer. In the summer, the trip necessarily included an overnight stay.
Our favorite country place was Ozel. There is a nice lake here - long and not very wide. There is a pine forest on one bank, and meadows on the other. We stopped in the meadows. The tents were set up, everything was done honorably.
Zhenya and I always fished on our hikes. Especially in Özel. The lake is fishy, perch and sorog were taken here, and ruffs, as if they were lining up in line to grab the bait. We always brought it to the girls' ear. Lunch. Even if you go on hikes just for the fish soup, it’s so delicious.
We rented a boat - there was a small boat station here - and sailed to the middle of the lake. All day long Zhenya and I fished. And in the evening... In the evening, at dawn, the bite is at its best, but we couldn’t catch it. Because of Ryzhukha, by the way, because of Svetka Sergeeva.
She also went on hikes with us. After all, she knew that her classmates didn’t like her, but she went anyway. You can't drive him away.
In the evening, Svetka will take a blue boat and also row it to the middle of the lake. There is beauty all around, the sun is setting behind the pines, the trees are reflected in the water, and the water is quiet, quiet, and you can see drops pink from the sun falling from Svetka’s oars.
Svetka rows out into the middle of the lake, lowers the oars into the water and begins. Starts howling.
That is, she sang, of course, but we didn’t call it singing. Ryzhukha’s high-pitched voice was heard far across the lake, across the meadows.
We stopped pecking.
I don’t understand why she needed to sing in the middle of the lake. Maybe the surrounding nature inspired you? In addition, the resonance from water is strong. She probably liked that the whole world could hear her. I can’t say what she sang. It's pitiful, mournful. I have never heard such songs again. Zhenya began to swear. He swore and spat into the lake towards Ryzhukha. And I slowly and gloomily reeled in the fishing rods.
Ryzhukha howled for an hour and a half. If it seemed to her that a song was not very successful, she started it again and again.
We pulled the boat ashore and went to our classmates. We were greeted with laughter.
“Does it howl well?” someone asked.
“You will listen,” I answered briefly.
And Zhenya burst into an angry tirade, which I will not recount here.
“You stupid redhead,” Marinka Bykova curled her lips. - Why is she bothering with us? I would howl at home.
For some reason, it never occurred to Zhenya and me to talk to Svetka like a human being, to ask her not to sing over the lake and not spoil the fishing. Maybe she didn't know what was bothering someone.
On the day of the last exam in the ninth, Ninka Pchelkina called out:
– Who’s going camping tomorrow?
And then I made a recording. She also distributed the responsibilities. The girls buy food, the boys get sleeping bags and tents. Marinka takes the cassette player, Zhenya has a good camera, everyone chips in on Kodak film.
Zhenya approached Ryzhukha, leaned his hands on her table and said:
- Redhead, do a good deed, huh?
Svetka flushed and became wary. No one approached her with requests.
- Don't go camping with us.
The redhead pursed her pale lips and said nothing.
-Aren't you going? Don't go, be a friend.
It was this “separateness” that was most dangerous for us. Again, separately from everyone else, he will howl on the lake! We won't see the evening dawn again.
Zhenya walked away from Red and whispered to me:
“I won’t let Redhead go on this trip.” Or I won't be me.
He looked triumphantly at Svetka, as if he had already achieved his goal.
On a warm June day we settled down on the deck of the ship. We, friendly, are twenty-five souls. At our feet are bales of tents, backpacks with loaves of bread protruding from them, and badminton rackets sticking out. Zhenya and I also have fishing rods. We laugh for every reason. Exams are over - fun. Summer is ahead - fun.
The redhead sits on the edge of the bench, next to her there is an empty space. No one sits next to her.
A minute before setting off, Zhenya approaches Ryzhukha. He is in a blue Adidas tracksuit - a slender, handsome guy. The expression on Ryzhukha’s face is alarmed, she senses a catch.
“Is this your bag?” asks Zhenya and nods at the antediluvian leatherette bag that stands near Ryzhukha. There are probably sandwiches with margarine and eggs in the bag. A gray sweater sticks out from above; Ryzhukha took it, apparently, in case of cold weather. I vividly imagined her in this sweater sitting in a blue boat and ruining our fishing trip.
“Mine,” Svetka answers.
“Hello hop!” exclaims Zhenya, grabbing the bag and running along the deck with it. And now we hear him shouting from the pier:
- Hey, Red! Where's your purse? Do you hear?
We look over the side of the ship. Zhenya puts the bag on the iron floor and rushes back. The ship began to snort and began to seethe behind the stern. But the gangway hasn’t been removed yet; a sailor in a bright T-shirt stands next to it and lets late passengers through.
The redhead sat and sat, looking lost at the floor, then jumped up and headed for the exit. I barely made it to the shore; the ship immediately set sail.
I probably felt sorry for the sweaters and sandwiches.
Zhenya is standing next to me, waving his hand at Svetka and yelling:
- Goodbye, Red! Goodbye! Sorry, you can't go to the lake, you're scaring away the fish!
And the girls from their seats make hands at her, shouting in disgusting voices:
- Goodbye, friend!
- We won't see you again!
And let’s praise Zhenya for what he did so cleverly with Ryzhukha.
To be honest, I didn’t understand why the girls were happy. Well, Zhenka and I, okay, Svetka stopped us from catching fish. What do they care? After all, Ryzhukha was never with everyone else - it’s not for nothing that she’s not in any photographs. She wandered alone through the meadows, sat alone by the fire when everyone had already gone to their tents. I ate what I took with me from home. At the beginning of the campaign, she laid out her supplies on the common table, but moved her bread with margarine and Bykov’s eggs to the side. At the same time, her face was as disgusted as in physical education class, when she had the chance to do exercises with Redhead.
The ship hasn’t really left the city yet, and we’ve already forgotten about Ryzhukha. Only at the evening dawn did I remember about her, and something unpleasant stirred in my heart. But no one on the lake made any noise. It was great. Zhenya was especially animated. But this “something” prevented me from rejoicing.
Red didn’t go to the tenth. The class teacher said that she entered a music school.
And five years later, this story happened.
At that time, I started studying at one of the St. Petersburg universities. And I met a girl who undertook to educate me, a provincial, culturally. One fine day Natasha took me to Marinka to the opera.
And what do I see in the first minutes of the performance?
A golden-haired beauty appears on the stage. She has the whitest skin! How majestically she walks! Her whole appearance exudes nobility! While I still don’t suspect anything, I just note to myself that the young woman on stage is downright luxurious. But when she began to sing in a high, surprisingly familiar voice, I instantly broke out into a sweat.
“Redhead!” I gasped.
“Quiet!” Natasha hisses at me.
“You understand, this is Redhead,” I whisper, no, I shout to her in a whisper, “she and I studied in the same class.”
- What are you saying?! – the friend was alarmed. - Do you understand who this is? This is our rising star!
“What’s her name?” I asked, still hoping for something.
– Svetlana Sergeeva.
I sat through the entire performance without moving, not understanding what was more in my heart - delight or shame.
After the performance Natasha says:
– Maybe you’ll go backstage? She will be pleased to see her fellow countryman, and even her classmate. It's a pity we didn't buy flowers!
“No, let’s do it another time,” I answered modestly.
The last thing I wanted was to meet Redhead face to face.
On the way, rather listlessly, I told Natasha about Svetka, about how she sang on the lake. Now I didn't say she "howled." My authority in the eyes of a friend has increased significantly. And in my eyes I...
- Wow! – Natasha was surprised. – I studied in the same class with Sergeeva!
I didn't listen to her well. I thought that Svetka was not a redhead. Svetka turned out to be golden. And we are red. The whole class is red.
Related information.
The teacher’s goal: to create conditions for analyzing the story by E.V. Gabova “Don’t Let Redhead on the Lake”, to build a dialogue with the writer based on the literary text, to help students comprehend the actions of teenagers and draw moral lessons from the work through the realization of students’ goals.
Elena Vasilievna Gabova (Stolpovskaya) Honored Worker of Culture of the Russian Federation, member of the Writers' Union of Russia. Her work is widely known in Russia; many works have been translated into English, German, Ukrainian, Finnish, Japanese, Hungarian, and Norwegian.
E.V. Gabova. Born in 1952 in the city of Syktyvkar. She graduated from the screenwriting department of the All-Union State Institute of Cinematography. Author of 12 books for children and teenagers, published in Moscow, Kyiv, Syktyvkar, Japan. For stories and stories for children she was awarded the title of laureate of the State Prize of the Komi Republic in the field of literature. Winner of the Vladislav Krapivin International Literary Prize (2006) for his collections of novels and short stories “No One Has Seen Red”, “Don’t Get Up on Your Left Foot”, which affirm kindness, conscientiousness and respect for people.
The subject of the research is the story by E.V. Gabova “Don’t Let Redhead on the Lake.” Objects of research: Group 1. Main problems of the story. Group 2. Author's position. Group 3. Own position-attitude to the problems raised in the story. What do you need to remember when preparing an oral or written argument on a literary topic?
Group 1. Task A. Do you agree with the group’s performance? Perhaps the author raises other problems in the story? Why do these problems occur?
Group 2. Task A. And even though her features are not good, And she has nothing to seduce the imagination, The infantile grace of the soul Already shines through in any of her movements. And if so, then what is beauty? And why do people deify her? Is she a vessel in which there is emptiness, Or a fire flickering in the vessel? N. Zabolotsky. “Ugly girl Lida” (vol. 2)
