Villager
In a nutshell: A son invites his mother, who lives in a Siberian village, to stay with him in Moscow. She, having learned from a neighbor that planes are falling, gets scared and changes her mind, but her grandson finds a way to convince her.
Grandma Malanya lived in a Siberian village with her grandson.
Malanya- an energetic, lean grandmother living in a Siberian village.
The daughter, whose son was sixth-grader Shurka, did not have a good personal life.
Shurka- grandson of grandmother Malanya, sixth grader.
When she got married for the third time, Malanya persuaded her daughter to give her grandson to her.
Grandma loved Shurka, but kept her strictly. The grandson looked like her - “the same lean, high-cheeked, with the same small, intelligent eyes,” but his character was different. The grandmother was energetic, loud and inquisitive, but she was shy to the point of stupidity, modest and touchy.
Malanya also had a son, Pavel, a pilot, hero of the Soviet Union.
Paul- son of grandmother Malanya, pilot, hero of the USSR.
He repeatedly invited his mother to visit him in Moscow, but grandmother Malanya still could not get out.
One day, having received another letter of invitation from Pavel, Malanya became thoughtful, asked her grandson when the winter holidays began, and went outside to consult with her neighbors. Soon Shurka saw that “a fair amount of people had gathered around the grandmother,” and everyone was advising her to go.
Shurka had no time for lessons - he had long dreamed of seeing Moscow. In the evening, the grandmother began dictating a telegram to her grandson, in which she said that she and Shurka would come to Moscow for the winter holidays. The telegram turned out to be as long as a letter, and the sensible Shurka grumbled that it would cost too much, but the grandmother decided not to spare the money and went to the post office.
In the evening, the school supply manager Egor came to see Malanya.
Egor Lizunov- school caretaker, fellow villager of Malanya.
Egor was an experienced man, he had flown airplanes, and the grandmother decided to question him. After drinking his grandmother’s mead, Yegor said that first they needed to get by train to Novosibirsk, and then board a plane to Moscow. Shurka diligently wrote down the route.
The grandmother, resting her head on her dry little fist, listened sadly to Yegor. The more he talked and the simpler this trip seemed to him, the more concerned her face became.
Relaxing after several glasses of mead, Egor first warned his grandmother to be careful and watch where she was taking the ticket, otherwise she might fly in a completely different direction. Then he began to talk about which planes fall faster - jets or propellers, and then said that in “this aviation” passengers are not even given parachutes, which completely frightened Malanya.
When Yegor staggered away, Malanya decided to recall the telegram and began dictating a letter to her grandson. Under his grandmother’s dictation, Shurka wrote that it would be better for them to arrive in the summer, by train - it might take longer, but it would be safer, and there would be no need for parachutes.
While Malanya was reasoning that it would be better to go closer to autumn - there would be fungi there, and you could make jam, and bring salted saltines to your son - Shurka made a note on his own. He told his uncle about Yegor’s inventions and asked him to shame his grandmother and force him to come in the winter, he really wanted to see Moscow.
Then Malanya put the letter in an envelope and wrote the address herself - she was sure that it would arrive faster that way. The grandson and grandmother went to bed, but they could not sleep. Shurka was thinking about a promising future, and Malanya was interested in whether she would be allowed to see the Kremlin.
Vasily Shukshin
Villager
“So what, mom? Get old, come. You’ll have a look at Moscow and everything. I’ll send you money for the trip. Just get there by plane - it’ll be cheaper. And send a telegram right away so I know when to meet you. The main thing is, don’t be a coward.”
Grandma Malanya read this, pursed her dry lips, and thought.
“Pavel is calling to come over,” she said to Shurka and looked at him over her glasses. (Shurka is the grandson of grandmother Malanya, the son of her daughter. The daughter’s personal life was not going well (she got married for the third time), the grandmother persuaded her to give her Shurka for now. She loved her grandson, but kept him strict.)
Shurka was doing his homework at the table. He shrugged his shoulders at the grandmother’s words - go, since he’s calling.
– When are your holidays? – the grandmother asked sternly.
Shurka pricked up his ears.
- Which? Winter?
- What other ones, summer ones, or what?
- From the first of January. And what?
The grandmother again made her lips into a tube - she thought.
And Shurka’s heart sank with anxiety and joy.
- And what? – he asked again.
- Nothing. Teach know. “The grandmother hid the letter in her apron pocket, got dressed and left the hut.
Shurka ran to the window to see where she was going.
At the gate, Grandma Malanya met her neighbor and began to speak loudly:
– Pavel is inviting me to Moscow to stay. I really don’t know what to do. I can't even put my mind to it. “Come,” he says, “Mom, I missed you so much.”
The neighbor answered something. Shurka didn’t hear that, but the grandmother said loudly to her:
- We know it’s possible. I have never seen my grandchildren yet, only on the card. Yes, it's really scary. Two more women stopped near them, then another one came up, then another... Soon a fair amount of people gathered around Grandma Malanya, and she began to tell again and again:
– Pavel is calling to him, to Moscow. I really don’t know what to do...
It was clear that everyone was advising her to go. Shurka put his hands in his pockets and began to walk around the hut. The expression on his face was dreamy and also thoughtful, like a grandmother’s. In general, he looked very much like his grandmother - just as lean, with high cheekbones, and with the same small, intelligent eyes. But their characters were completely different. Grandma is energetic, wiry, loud, and very inquisitive. Shurka is also inquisitive, but shy to the point of stupidity, modest and touchy.
In the evening they drafted a telegram to Moscow. Shurka wrote, grandma dictated.
- Dear son Pasha, if you really want me to come, then I, of course, can, although I’m old...
- Hello! – said Shurka. – Who writes telegrams like that?
– How should it be done, in your opinion?
- We'll come. Dot. Or this: we’ll come after the New Year. Signed: mom. All.
Grandma was even offended.
- You go to sixth grade, Shurka, but you have no idea. You have to get smarter little by little!
Shurka was also offended.
“Please,” he said. – Do we know how long we’ll write? Twenty rubles in old money.
Grandma made her lips into a tube and thought.
- Well, write like this: son, I consulted with someone...
Shurka put down his pen.
- I can’t do this. Who cares that you consulted with someone here? They'll laugh at us at the post office.
- Write as you are told! - Grandma ordered. - Why should I spare twenty rubles for my son?
Shurka took the pen and, frowning condescendingly, bent down to the paper.
- Dear son Pasha, I talked to my neighbors here - everyone advised me to go. Of course, in my old age I’m a little scared...
“They’ll change it at the post office anyway,” Shurka put in.
- Just let them try!
Shurka missed these words - about the fact that he had become big and obedient.
“I won’t be so afraid with him.” Goodbye for now, son. I have a lot of thoughts about you myself...
Shurka wrote: "creepy."
- ...I miss you. I’ll at least take a look at your kids. Dot. Mother.
“Let’s count,” Shurka said maliciously and began poking the words with his pen and counting in a whisper: “One, two, three, four...”
The grandmother stood behind him, waiting.
- Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! So? Multiply sixty by thirty - one thousand eight hundred? So? Divide by one hundred - we have eighteen... For twenty-something rubles! – Shurka announced solemnly.
The grandmother took the telegram and hid it in her pocket.
– I’ll go to the post office myself. You can do the math here, smart guy.
- Please. The same thing will happen. Maybe I made a mistake by a few pennies.
...At about eleven o'clock Yegor Lizunov, a neighbor and school caretaker, came to them. The grandmother asked his family to come to her when he returned from work. Egor has traveled a lot in his lifetime and flown airplanes.
Yegor took off his sheepskin coat and hat, smoothed his graying, sweaty hair with his calloused palms, and sat down at the table. The room smelled of hay and harness.
- So you want to fly?
The grandmother crawled under the floor and took out a quarter with mead.
- Fly, Egor. Tell everything in order - how and what.
- So what’s there to tell? “Egor, not greedily, somehow even looked a little condescendingly as the grandmother poured the beer. – You will get to the city, there you will take the Biysk-Tomsk, take it to Novosibirsk, and then ask where the city air ticket office is. Or you can go straight to the airport...
- Wait a minute! Settled: it’s possible, it’s possible. You speak as you should, not as you can. Yes, slow down. And then he dumped everything into a heap. “The grandmother offered Yegor a glass of beer and looked at him sternly.
Yegor touched the glass with his fingers and stroked it.
- Well, then you get to Novosibirsk and immediately ask how to get to the airport. Remember, Shurka.
“Write it down, Shurka,” the grandmother ordered.
Shurka tore out a blank sheet of paper from the notebook and began writing it down.
– When you get to Tolmachev, ask again where they sell tickets to Moscow. Take your tickets, board the Tu-104 and in five hours you will be in Moscow, the capital of our Motherland.
The grandmother, resting her head on her dry little fist, listened sadly to Yegor. The more he talked and the simpler this trip seemed to him, the more concerned her face became.
- In Sverdlovsk, however, you will land...
- Necessary. They don't ask us there. They plant and that's it. – Yegor decided that now he could have a drink. - Well?.. For an easy road.
- Hold it. In Sverdlovsk, do we have to ask ourselves to be imprisoned, or do they imprison everyone there? Egor drank, grunted with relish, and smoothed his mustache.
- Everyone... Your beer is good, Malanya Vasilievna. How do you make it? I would teach my woman... Vabka poured him another glass.
– When you stop skimping, then the beer will be good.
- Like this? – Yegor didn’t understand.
- Put more sugar. Otherwise, you’re always trying to be cheaper and harder. Put more sugar in the hops, and that’s what you’ll get. But insisting on tobacco is a shame.
“Yes,” Yegor said thoughtfully. He raised his glass, looked at grandma and Shurka, and drank. “Yes,” he said again. - That’s how it is, of course. But when you are in Novosibirsk, be careful not to make a mistake.
- Yes, so... Anything can happen. - Yegor took out a tobacco pouch, lit a cigarette, and blew out a huge white cloud of smoke from under his mustache. – The main thing, of course, when you arrive in Tolmachevo, is not to confuse the ticket office. Otherwise, you can also fly to Vladivostok.
The grandmother became alarmed and offered Yegor a third glass.
Yegor immediately drank it, grunted and began to develop his thought:
– It happens that a person approaches the eastern ticket office and says: “I have a ticket.” And where the ticket is - he won’t ask. Well, the person flies in a completely different direction. So take a look.
Grandma poured Yegor a fourth glass. Egor completely softened. He spoke with pleasure:
– Flying on an airplane requires nerves and nerves! When he gets up, they immediately give you candy...
- Candy?
- But of course. Like, forget it, don’t pay attention... But in fact, this is the most dangerous moment. Or, let’s say, they tell you: “Tie your belts on.” - "For what?" - “That’s how it’s supposed to be.” - “Heh... it’s supposed to be. Tell me straight: we can make it up, that’s all. Otherwise, it’s supposed to be.”
- Lord, Lord! - said the grandmother. - So why fly on it, if so...
- Well, if you're afraid of wolves, don't go into the forest. - Yegor looked at the quarter with beer. - In general, jet ones, they are, of course, more reliable. The propeller one can break at any moment - and please... Then: they burn often, these motors. I once flew from Vladivostok... - Yegor made himself more comfortable in his chair, lit a new cigarette, looked at the quarter again; Grandma didn’t move. - We’re flying, so I look out the window: it’s burning...
- Holy, holy! - said the grandmother.
Shurka even opened his mouth slightly and listened.
- Yes. Well, of course I screamed. The pilot came running... Well, in general, nothing - he swore at me. Why are you raising a panic? It’s burning there, but don’t worry, sit... That’s the way it is in this aviation.
Shurka found this implausible. He expected that the pilot, seeing the flame, would shoot it down with speed or make an emergency landing, but instead he scolded Yegor. Strange.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Yegor continued, turning to Shurka, “why aren’t passengers given parachutes?”
Shurka shrugged. He didn't know that passengers were not given parachutes. This is, of course, strange if this is the case.
Egor poked the cigarette into the flower pot, stood up, and poured it himself from the quarter.
- Well, you have beer, Malanya!
“Don’t go too hard, you’ll get drunk.”
“Beer, it’s just...” Yegor shook his head and drank. - Khoo! But reactive ones are also dangerous. If something breaks, he flies down like an ax. Right away... And they won’t collect any bones. Three hundred grams remain from a person. Along with clothes.
Yegor frowned and looked carefully at the quarter. The grandmother took her and carried her into the hallway. Yegor sat for a while and stood up. He swayed slightly.
– Actually, don’t be afraid! – he said loudly. – Just sit away from the cockpit – in the tail – and fly. Well, I'll go...
He walked heavily to the door, put on a sheepskin coat and a hat.
- Give your regards to Pavel Sergeevich. Well, you have beer, Malanya! Just…
The grandmother was unhappy that Yegor got drunk so quickly - they didn’t really talk.
“You’ve become somewhat weak, Egor.”
- That's why I'm tired. – Yegor took a straw from the collar of his sheepskin coat. – I told our leaders: let’s take out the hay in the summer - no! And now, after this storm, the roads are all covered up. We spent the whole day today, and with great effort made our way to the nearby haystacks. And your beer is so... - Yegor shook his head and laughed. - Well, off I go. It’s okay, don’t be shy – fly. Sit only away from the cabin. Goodbye.
“Goodbye,” said Shurka.
Egor came out; you could hear him carefully descending from the high porch, walking across the yard, creaking the gate, and singing quietly in the street:
The sea spreads wide...
And he fell silent.
The grandmother looked thoughtfully and sadly out the dark window. Shurka re-read what Yegor had written down.
“It’s scary, Shurka,” said the grandmother.
- People fly...
- Shall we go by train?
– By train – that’s all my vacation will be spent on travel.
- Lord, Lord! – sighed. grandma. - Let's write to Pavel. And we cancel the telegram.
Shurka tore out another sheet of paper from the notebook.
- So we won’t fly?
- Where to fly - such a passion, my fathers! Then they will collect three hundred grams...
Shurka thought about it.
– Write: dear son Pasha, I consulted with knowledgeable people here...
Shurka leaned towards the paper.
“They told us how they fly on these planes... And Shurka and I decided: we’ll go by train in the summer.” We know it could be done now, but Shurka has very short holidays...
Shurka hesitated for a second or two and continued writing:
“And now, Uncle Pasha, I am writing this on my own behalf. Grandma was frightened by Uncle Yegor Lizunov, our supply manager, if you remember. For example, he cited the following fact: he looked out the window and saw that the engine was on fire. If only it were so, then the pilot would have started to knock down the flames with speed, as is usually done. I assume that he saw the flames from the exhaust pipe and panicked. Please write to the old lady that it’s not scary, but about me - what did I write to you? - don’t write. Otherwise, she won’t go in the summer either. There’ll be a vegetable garden, various pigs, chickens, geese - she’ll never leave them. After all, we’re still rural residents. And I really want to see Moscow. We’re going through it at school in geography and history, but this, you know, is not the same. And Uncle Yegor said, for example, that passengers are not given parachutes. This is already blackmail. But the old woman believes. Please, Uncle Pasha, shame her. She is you loves her terribly. So you tell her: how is it so, mom, your son is a pilot himself. Hero of the Soviet Union, awarded many times, and you are afraid to fly on some unfortunate civilian plane! At a time when we had already broken the sound barrier. Write it like this, it will fly in an instant. She's very proud of you. Of course - deservedly so. I'm personally proud too. But I really want to look at Moscow. Well, goodbye for now. Greetings - Alexander."
Meanwhile, the grandmother dictated:
– We’ll go there closer to the fall. Fungi will grow there, you can have time to prepare some salted salts, make some sea buckthorn jam. In Moscow, after all, everything is available for purchase. And they won’t do it the way I do it at home. That's it, son. Bow to my wife and children from me and from Shurka. Bye. Did you write it down?
- I wrote it down.
The grandmother took the sheet, put it in an envelope and wrote the address herself:
"Moscow, Leninsky Prospekt, 78, apt. 156.
Hero of the Soviet Union Lyubavin Pavel Ignatievich.
From his mother from Siberia."
She always signed the address herself: she knew that it would be easier to get through.
- Like this. Don't be sad, Shurka. We'll go in the summer.
- And I’m not sad. But you still get ready little by little: take it and decide to fly.
The grandmother looked at her grandson and said nothing.
At night, Shurka heard her tossing and turning on the stove, sighing quietly and whispering something.
Shurka didn’t sleep either. Thought. Life promised many extraordinary things in the near future. I never even dreamed of this.
- Shurk! - called the grandmother.
– Pavel is probably allowed into the Kremlin?
- Maybe. And what?
– I would like to visit there at least once... to see.
- Everyone is allowed there now.
The grandmother was silent for some time.
“So they let everyone in,” she said incredulously.
– Nikolai Vasilyevich told us.
They were silent for another minute.
“But you too, grandma: where you are brave, but here you are afraid of something,” Shurka said displeasedly. -What are you afraid of?
“Go to sleep,” the grandmother ordered. - Brave man. You'll be the first to shit your pants.
“You bet I won’t be scared?”
- Sleep well. Otherwise you won’t be able to get to school tomorrow again.
“So what, mom? Get old, come. You’ll have a look at Moscow and everything. I’ll send you money for the trip. Just get there by plane - it’ll be cheaper. And send a telegram right away so I know when to meet you. The main thing is, don’t be a coward.”
Grandma Malanya read this, pursed her dry lips, and thought.
“Pavel is calling to come over,” she said to Shurka and looked at him over her glasses. (Shurka is the grandson of grandmother Malanya, the son of her daughter. The daughter’s personal life was not going well (she got married for the third time), the grandmother persuaded her to give her Shurka for now. She loved her grandson, but kept him strict.)
Shurka was doing his homework at the table. He shrugged his shoulders at the grandmother’s words - go, since he’s calling.
– When are your holidays? – the grandmother asked sternly.
Shurka pricked up his ears.
- Which? Winter?
- What other ones, summer ones, or what?
- From the first of January. And what?
The grandmother again made her lips into a tube - she thought.
And Shurka’s heart sank with anxiety and joy.
- And what? – he asked again.
- Nothing. Teach know. “The grandmother hid the letter in her apron pocket, got dressed and left the hut.
Shurka ran to the window to see where she was going.
At the gate, Grandma Malanya met her neighbor and began to speak loudly:
– Pavel is inviting me to Moscow to stay. I really don’t know what to do. I can't even put my mind to it. “Come,” he says, “Mom, I missed you so much.”
The neighbor answered something. Shurka didn’t hear that, but the grandmother said loudly to her:
- We know it’s possible. I have never seen my grandchildren yet, only on the card. Yes, it's really scary. Two more women stopped near them, then another one came up, then another... Soon a fair amount of people gathered around Grandma Malanya, and she began to tell again and again:
– Pavel is calling to him, to Moscow. I really don’t know what to do...
It was clear that everyone was advising her to go. Shurka put his hands in his pockets and began to walk around the hut. The expression on his face was dreamy and also thoughtful, like a grandmother’s. In general, he looked very much like his grandmother - just as lean, with high cheekbones, and with the same small, intelligent eyes. But their characters were completely different. Grandma is energetic, wiry, loud, and very inquisitive. Shurka is also inquisitive, but shy to the point of stupidity, modest and touchy.
In the evening they drafted a telegram to Moscow. Shurka wrote, grandma dictated.
- Dear son Pasha, if you really want me to come, then I, of course, can, although I’m old...
- Hello! – said Shurka. – Who writes telegrams like that?
– How should it be done, in your opinion?
- We'll come. Dot. Or this: we’ll come after the New Year. Signed: mom. All.
Grandma was even offended.
- You go to sixth grade, Shurka, but you have no idea. You have to get smarter little by little!
Shurka was also offended.
“Please,” he said. – Do we know how long we’ll write? Twenty rubles in old money.
Grandma made her lips into a tube and thought.
- Well, write like this: son, I consulted with someone...
Shurka put down his pen.
- I can’t do this. Who cares that you consulted with someone here? They'll laugh at us at the post office.
- Write as you are told! - Grandma ordered. - Why should I spare twenty rubles for my son?
Shurka took the pen and, frowning condescendingly, bent down to the paper.
- Dear son Pasha, I talked to my neighbors here - everyone advised me to go. Of course, in my old age I’m a little scared...
“They’ll change it at the post office anyway,” Shurka put in.
- Just let them try!
Shurka missed these words - about the fact that he had become big and obedient.
“I won’t be so afraid with him.” Goodbye for now, son. I have a lot of thoughts about you myself...
Shurka wrote: "creepy."
- ...I miss you. I’ll at least take a look at your kids. Dot. Mother.
“Let’s count,” Shurka said maliciously and began poking the words with his pen and counting in a whisper: “One, two, three, four...”
The grandmother stood behind him, waiting.
- Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! So? Multiply sixty by thirty - one thousand eight hundred? So? Divide by one hundred - we have eighteen... For twenty-something rubles! – Shurka announced solemnly.
The grandmother took the telegram and hid it in her pocket.
– I’ll go to the post office myself. You can do the math here, smart guy.
- Please. The same thing will happen. Maybe I made a mistake by a few pennies.
...At about eleven o'clock Yegor Lizunov, a neighbor and school caretaker, came to them. The grandmother asked his family to come to her when he returned from work. Egor has traveled a lot in his lifetime and flown airplanes.
Yegor took off his sheepskin coat and hat, smoothed his graying, sweaty hair with his calloused palms, and sat down at the table. The room smelled of hay and harness.
- So you want to fly?
The grandmother crawled under the floor and took out a quarter with mead.
- Fly, Egor. Tell everything in order - how and what.
- So what’s there to tell? “Egor, not greedily, somehow even looked a little condescendingly as the grandmother poured the beer. – You will get to the city, there you will take the Biysk-Tomsk, take it to Novosibirsk, and then ask where the city air ticket office is. Or you can go straight to the airport...
- Wait a minute! Settled: it’s possible, it’s possible. You speak as you should, not as you can. Yes, slow down. And then he dumped everything into a heap. “The grandmother offered Yegor a glass of beer and looked at him sternly.
Yegor touched the glass with his fingers and stroked it.
- Well, then you get to Novosibirsk and immediately ask how to get to the airport. Remember, Shurka.
“Write it down, Shurka,” the grandmother ordered.
Shurka tore out a blank sheet of paper from the notebook and began writing it down.
– When you get to Tolmachev, ask again where they sell tickets to Moscow. Take your tickets, board the Tu-104 and in five hours you will be in Moscow, the capital of our Motherland.
The grandmother, resting her head on her dry little fist, listened sadly to Yegor. The more he talked and the simpler this trip seemed to him, the more concerned her face became.
- In Sverdlovsk, however, you will land...
- Necessary. They don't ask us there. They plant and that's it. – Yegor decided that now he could have a drink. - Well?.. For an easy road.
- Hold it. In Sverdlovsk, do we have to ask ourselves to be imprisoned, or do they imprison everyone there? Egor drank, grunted with relish, and smoothed his mustache.
- Everyone... Your beer is good, Malanya Vasilievna. How do you make it? I would teach my woman... Vabka poured him another glass.
– When you stop skimping, then the beer will be good.
- Like this? – Yegor didn’t understand.
- Put more sugar. Otherwise, you’re always trying to be cheaper and harder. Put more sugar in the hops, and that’s what you’ll get. But insisting on tobacco is a shame.
“Yes,” Yegor said thoughtfully. He raised his glass, looked at grandma and Shurka, and drank. “Yes,” he said again. - That’s how it is, of course. But when you are in Novosibirsk, be careful not to make a mistake.
- Yes, so... Anything can happen. - Yegor took out a tobacco pouch, lit a cigarette, and blew out a huge white cloud of smoke from under his mustache. – The main thing, of course, when you arrive in Tolmachevo, is not to confuse the ticket office. Otherwise, you can also fly to Vladivostok.
The grandmother became alarmed and offered Yegor a third glass.
Yegor immediately drank it, grunted and began to develop his thought:
– It happens that a person approaches the eastern ticket office and says: “I have a ticket.” And where the ticket is - he won’t ask. Well, the person flies in a completely different direction. So take a look.
Grandma poured Yegor a fourth glass. Egor completely softened. He spoke with pleasure:
– Flying on an airplane requires nerves and nerves! When he gets up, they immediately give you candy...
- Candy?
- But of course. Like, forget it, don’t pay attention... But in fact, this is the most dangerous moment. Or, let’s say, they tell you: “Tie your belts on.” - "For what?" - “That’s how it’s supposed to be.” - “Heh... it’s supposed to be. Tell me straight: we can make it up, that’s all. Otherwise, it’s supposed to be.”
The story “Village People,” while remaining a “story-anecdote,” gravitates toward a novella. The unexpected ending, in which the reader learns that Grandma Malanya’s son is a pilot, Hero of the Soviet Union, fills all her fears of flying with ironic meaning. At the same time, the ending of the story is expected; it stems from the attitude of the villagers towards travel. The story tells about “not traveling”, the reasons for which are clear to the villagers and funny to the reader.
Issues
The main problem of the story is traditional for Shukshin. This is a social problem of the relationship between city and countryside. For villagers, the city is a dream come true, a role model, a symbol of progress to strive for. But the village is the origins of the city, both material and spiritual. It is people from the village who become famous citizens, heroes, and the pride of the country.
Plot
The plot of the story “Village Residents” is contained in one sentence: Grandma Malanya receives an invitation in a letter from her son living in Moscow to stay with him and is going to fly with her grandson Shurka during the winter holidays, but, having learned from an experienced neighbor about the hardships and dangers of traveling by plane, she postpones a trip to better times.
The entire action of the story fits into 1 day. In the morning, Malanya receives a letter, in the evening, under her dictation, Shurka composes a telegram, at 11 pm after work (!), a neighbor - the school caretaker - comes and talks about the upcoming trip. After the story, the grandmother dictates a letter to Shurka for her son saying that she will come in the summer. At night, grandma and Shurka dream about their future journey.
The main thing in a story is not the plot. The story “Village People” is a story about something that didn’t happen. The reader suspects that the grandmother will never find the strength and courage to fly to her son in Moscow, which both she and her grandson dream of. This is a reminiscence of Chekhov’s play “Three Sisters”, where the leitmotif is “to Moscow, to Moscow!” did not lead to a trip.
In the absence of action, the main idea of the story, expressed in the title: inertia does not allow the villagers to escape from their usual environment (like the grandmother), but if they escape, they achieve a lot (like the son of Malanya and, obviously, Shurka in the future).
Heroes of the story
Grandma Malanya- a simple rural woman. Only at the end of the story, on the last page, does the reader learn that Malanya’s son is a Hero of the Soviet Union. Shurka mentions this in the letter, and then the grandmother writes on the envelope not only the name of the addressee, but also the rank, believing that this way the letter will arrive better. According to Shurka, the grandmother “loves her son terribly” and is proud of him.
Traveling for a grandmother is a difficult, obscure matter. She does not understand how to travel by different modes of transport and with a large number of transfers. Grandma is afraid to fly on a plane (especially after a neighbor told her that the plane could catch fire). But Shurka knows that his grandmother is not a timid person (otherwise how would her son have the qualities necessary for a pilot), he is surprised that she was afraid of the plane: “But you too, grandma: where you are brave, but here you are afraid of something. .."
Shukshin emphasizes that grandmother Malanya has character qualities that she obviously passed on to her son: energetic, wiry, loud, very inquisitive.
Some characteristic features of the grandmother can be considered common to all villagers: she is hospitable, treats Yegor with mead (beer), and follows traditions. She thinks of herself as one with her fellow villagers, tells everyone she meets about the invitation, and asks everyone for advice. The advice of the “knowledgeable person” Yegor Lizunov is undeniable for her.
Grandma doesn't believe in progress. She is not only afraid of airplanes, but also composes a telegram like a letter (after all, she knows how to write according to tradition, and does not give in to Shurka’s persuasion that a telegram is something completely different).
The grandmother and grandson have the same appearance between them: lean, with high cheekbones, with small, intelligent eyes. Shurka I don't look like my grandmother in character. He is just as inquisitive, but shy to the point of stupidity, modest and touchy. Shurka is the son of grandmother Malanya’s daughter, temporarily living with his grandmother due to the fact that his mother is arranging her personal life. He really knows a lot. He not only knows how to write a telegram, but also knows how much it will cost. Shurka knows that if the engine catches fire, then the flame must be knocked down with speed; he guesses that Uncle Yegor did not see the burning engine, but the flame from the exhaust pipe. Shurka knows that nowadays everyone is allowed into the Kremlin. The reader understands who the source of Shurka’s knowledge is.
Nikolai Vasilyevich, obviously a teacher, told him about the Kremlin. The only thing Shurka doesn’t know is that they really don’t provide parachutes on the plane.
Shurka’s modesty does not allow him to directly object to his grandmother, but he willfully writes to his uncle in a letter on his own behalf, telling him to shame the “grandmother”, write that flying is not scary: “She will fly in an instant.”
Egor Lizunov is Malanya’s grandmother’s neighbor, a school caretaker, and an authority on travel: he traveled and flew a lot. Shukshin pays attention to such details as calloused palms, graying sweaty (from hard work) hair. Another characteristic detail of the hero's portrait is the smell. Egor smells of harness and hay. For a villager, this smell is the smell of the road.
Yegor's smell has an explanation, as does his late return home. He and his superiors were transporting haystacks in bad weather after a snowstorm. Egor complains that he asked the “activists” to remove the hay back in the summer. He is an economic, practical person.
Stylistic features
To characterize the characters, their speech characteristics are important. The grandmother’s speech is filled with colloquialisms: I know, it’s really scary, I shit my pants. Shurka, as the embodiment of the future, has the necessary knowledge, his speech is literate. Tiny adverb more in his letter he shows that his dream is to stop being a villager, to leave, like his uncle, for Moscow: “We are still villagers more».
The meaning of the name is both ironic and filled with bitterness. The Hero of the Soviet Union comes from the same villagers about whom Shurka says in a letter that they cannot tear themselves away from their village, because “there is a vegetable garden here, various pigs, chickens, geese.” Collective neologism pork for Shurka, a symbol of the entire rural life, which prevents him from seeing his common dream with his grandmother - Moscow, which Shurka takes at school in geography and history.
Vasily Shukshin
Villager
“So what, mom? Get old, come. You’ll have a look at Moscow and everything. I’ll send you money for the trip. Just get there by plane - it’ll be cheaper. And send a telegram right away so I know when to meet you. The main thing is, don’t be a coward.”
Grandma Malanya read this, pursed her dry lips, and thought.
“Pavel is calling to come over,” she said to Shurka and looked at him over her glasses. (Shurka is the grandson of grandmother Malanya, the son of her daughter. The daughter’s personal life was not going well (she got married for the third time), the grandmother persuaded her to give her Shurka for now. She loved her grandson, but kept him strict.)
Shurka was doing his homework at the table. He shrugged his shoulders at the grandmother’s words - go, since he’s calling.
– When are your holidays? – the grandmother asked sternly.
Shurka pricked up his ears.
- Which? Winter?
- What other ones, summer ones, or what?
- From the first of January. And what?
The grandmother again made her lips into a tube - she thought.
And Shurka’s heart sank with anxiety and joy.
- And what? – he asked again.
- Nothing. Teach know. “The grandmother hid the letter in her apron pocket, got dressed and left the hut.
Shurka ran to the window to see where she was going.
At the gate, Grandma Malanya met her neighbor and began to speak loudly:
– Pavel is inviting me to Moscow to stay. I really don’t know what to do. I can't even put my mind to it. “Come,” he says, “Mom, I missed you so much.”
The neighbor answered something. Shurka didn’t hear that, but the grandmother said loudly to her:
- We know it’s possible. I have never seen my grandchildren yet, only on the card. Yes, it's really scary. Two more women stopped near them, then another one came up, then another... Soon a fair amount of people gathered around Grandma Malanya, and she began to tell again and again:
– Pavel is calling to him, to Moscow. I really don’t know what to do...
It was clear that everyone was advising her to go. Shurka put his hands in his pockets and began to walk around the hut. The expression on his face was dreamy and also thoughtful, like a grandmother’s. In general, he looked very much like his grandmother - just as lean, with high cheekbones, and with the same small, intelligent eyes. But their characters were completely different. Grandma is energetic, wiry, loud, and very inquisitive. Shurka is also inquisitive, but shy to the point of stupidity, modest and touchy.
In the evening they drafted a telegram to Moscow. Shurka wrote, grandma dictated.
- Dear son Pasha, if you really want me to come, then I, of course, can, although I’m old...
- Hello! – said Shurka. – Who writes telegrams like that?
– How should it be done, in your opinion?
- We'll come. Dot. Or this: we’ll come after the New Year. Signed: mom. All.
Grandma was even offended.
- You go to sixth grade, Shurka, but you have no idea. You have to get smarter little by little!
Shurka was also offended.
“Please,” he said. – Do we know how long we’ll write? Twenty rubles in old money.
Grandma made her lips into a tube and thought.
- Well, write like this: son, I consulted with someone...
Shurka put down his pen.
- I can’t do this. Who cares that you consulted with someone here? They'll laugh at us at the post office.
- Write as you are told! - Grandma ordered. - Why should I spare twenty rubles for my son?
Shurka took the pen and, frowning condescendingly, bent down to the paper.
- Dear son Pasha, I talked to my neighbors here - everyone advised me to go. Of course, in my old age I’m a little scared...
“They’ll change it at the post office anyway,” Shurka put in.
- Just let them try!
Shurka missed these words - about the fact that he had become big and obedient.
“I won’t be so afraid with him.” Goodbye for now, son. I have a lot of thoughts about you myself...
Shurka wrote: "creepy."
- ...I miss you. I’ll at least take a look at your kids. Dot. Mother.
“Let’s count,” Shurka said maliciously and began poking the words with his pen and counting in a whisper: “One, two, three, four...”
The grandmother stood behind him, waiting.
- Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! So? Multiply sixty by thirty - one thousand eight hundred? So? Divide by one hundred - we have eighteen... For twenty-something rubles! – Shurka announced solemnly.
The grandmother took the telegram and hid it in her pocket.
– I’ll go to the post office myself. You can do the math here, smart guy.
- Please. The same thing will happen. Maybe I made a mistake by a few pennies.
...At about eleven o'clock Yegor Lizunov, a neighbor and school caretaker, came to them. The grandmother asked his family to come to her when he returned from work. Egor has traveled a lot in his lifetime and flown airplanes.
Yegor took off his sheepskin coat and hat, smoothed his graying, sweaty hair with his calloused palms, and sat down at the table. The room smelled of hay and harness.
- So you want to fly?
The grandmother crawled under the floor and took out a quarter with mead.
- Fly, Egor. Tell everything in order - how and what.
- So what’s there to tell? “Egor, not greedily, somehow even looked a little condescendingly as the grandmother poured the beer. – You will get to the city, there you will take the Biysk-Tomsk, take it to Novosibirsk, and then ask where the city air ticket office is. Or you can go straight to the airport...
- Wait a minute! Settled: it’s possible, it’s possible. You speak as you should, not as you can. Yes, slow down. And then he dumped everything into a heap. “The grandmother offered Yegor a glass of beer and looked at him sternly.
Yegor touched the glass with his fingers and stroked it.
- Well, then you get to Novosibirsk and immediately ask how to get to the airport. Remember, Shurka.
“Write it down, Shurka,” the grandmother ordered.
Shurka tore out a blank sheet of paper from the notebook and began writing it down.
– When you get to Tolmachev, ask again where they sell tickets to Moscow. Take your tickets, board the Tu-104 and in five hours you will be in Moscow, the capital of our Motherland.
The grandmother, resting her head on her dry little fist, listened sadly to Yegor. The more he talked and the simpler this trip seemed to him, the more concerned her face became.
- In Sverdlovsk, however, you will land...
- Necessary. They don't ask us there. They plant and that's it. – Yegor decided that now he could have a drink. - Well?.. For an easy road.
- Hold it. In Sverdlovsk, do we have to ask ourselves to be imprisoned, or do they imprison everyone there? Egor drank, grunted with relish, and smoothed his mustache.
- Everyone... Your beer is good, Malanya Vasilievna. How do you make it? I would teach my woman... Vabka poured him another glass.
– When you stop skimping, then the beer will be good.
- Like this? – Yegor didn’t understand.
- Put more sugar. Otherwise, you’re always trying to be cheaper and harder. Put more sugar in the hops, and that’s what you’ll get. But insisting on tobacco is a shame.
“Yes,” Yegor said thoughtfully. He raised his glass, looked at grandma and Shurka, and drank. “Yes,” he said again. - That’s how it is, of course. But when you are in Novosibirsk, be careful not to make a mistake.
- Yes, so... Anything can happen. - Yegor took out a tobacco pouch, lit a cigarette, and blew out a huge white cloud of smoke from under his mustache. – The main thing, of course, when you arrive in Tolmachevo, is not to confuse the ticket office. Otherwise, you can also fly to Vladivostok.
The grandmother became alarmed and offered Yegor a third glass.
Yegor immediately drank it, grunted and began to develop his thought:
– It happens that a person approaches the eastern ticket office and says: “I have a ticket.” And where the ticket is - he won’t ask. Well, the person flies in a completely different direction. So take a look.
Grandma poured Yegor a fourth glass. Egor completely softened. He spoke with pleasure:
– Flying on an airplane requires nerves and nerves! When he gets up, they immediately give you candy...
- Candy?
- But of course. Like, forget it, don’t pay attention... But in fact, this is the most dangerous moment. Or, let’s say, they tell you: “Tie your belts on.” - "For what?" - “That’s how it’s supposed to be.” - “Heh... it’s supposed to be. Tell me straight: we can make it up, that’s all. Otherwise, it’s supposed to be.”
- Lord, Lord! - said the grandmother. - So why fly on it, if so...
- Well, if you're afraid of wolves, don't go into the forest. - Yegor looked at the quarter with beer. - In general, jet ones, they are, of course, more reliable. The propeller one can break at any moment - and please... Then: they burn often, these motors. I once flew from Vladivostok... - Yegor made himself more comfortable in his chair, lit a new cigarette, looked at the quarter again; Grandma didn’t move. - We’re flying, so I look out the window: it’s burning...
- Holy, holy! - said the grandmother.
Shurka even opened his mouth slightly and listened.
- Yes. Well, of course I screamed. The pilot came running... Well, in general, nothing - he swore at me. Why are you raising a panic? It’s burning there, but don’t worry, sit... That’s the way it is in this aviation.
Shurka found this implausible. He expected that the pilot, seeing the flame, would shoot it down with speed or make an emergency landing, but instead he scolded Yegor. Strange.