- Well, please. Good riddance.
“I’ll go and tell you who was the instigator of this whole thing.” And who set the guys against Lenka.
- Oh, that's how it is? Are you going to lie down?
- Quiet, timid! – the Merchant said in a deep voice. - I'll tell you what. Going as a whole class is stupid, of course. If we all go, that means we’ll all get fifth grade...
“The die must be cast,” Mommy squeaked.
– Maybe we should invite the oracle? – the Japanese chuckled.
“No, timidly,” said the Merchant. – There is no need to invite the Oracle. And there is no need to draw lots either. This is what I think... I think I should go alone and take all the blame on myself.
– Who exactly is this? – asked the Japanese.
- Namely, you!
- Yes... you will go!
This was said in the tone of a categorical order.
The Japanese turned pale.
It is unknown how this whole story would have ended if a rumor had not spread throughout Shkida that Panteleev had been released from the detention center. A few minutes later he himself appeared in the classroom. His face, adorned with bruises and marks, was paler than usual. Without greeting anyone, he walked to his desk, sat down and began collecting his belongings. Slowly, he took out of the box and laid out on the desk several books and notebooks, a started pack of Smychka cigarettes, a knitted muffler mended in many places, a box of feathers and pencils, a small bag with the remains of vegetable sugar - and began to tie it all together with a piece of twine.
The class silently watched his manipulations.
-Where are you going, Panteley? - Gorbushka broke the silence.
Panteleev did not answer, frowned even more and began to sniffle.
- Did you climb into a bottle? Don't you want to talk? A?
“Come on, Lenka, don’t be angry,” said Yankel, approaching the new guy. He put his hand on Panteleev’s shoulder, but Panteleev threw his hand off with a movement of his shoulder.
“You all go to the place,” he said through gritted teeth, tightening the knot on his bag and pushing the bag into the desk.
And then a Japanese man approached Panteleev’s desk.
“You know, Lenka, you... this is the most... you’re great,” he said, blushing and sniffling. - Forgive us, please. I’m saying this not only on my own behalf, but on behalf of the whole class. Right guys?
- Right!!! - the guys started screaming, surrounding Lenka’s desk on all sides. The new guy's high-cheekbone face turned pink! Something like a faint smile appeared on his dry lips.
- Well? Worldwide? – asked the Gypsy, extending his hand to the newcomer.
- What's wrong with you! “Blink,” Lenka murmured, grinning and answering the handshake.
The guys surrounded Lenka, one after another, shaking his hand.
- Brothers! Brothers! But we didn’t say the main thing! - Yankel exclaimed, jumping up on his desk. And, addressing the newcomer from this podium, he said: “Panteley, thank you on behalf of the whole class for... you... well, you, in a word, understand yourself.”
- For what? – Lenka was surprised, and it was clear from his face that he did not understand.
- Because... because you didn’t attack us, but took the blame upon yourself.
- What guilt?
- Which one? You told Vitya that you wrapped the Owl’s cakes, didn’t you? Okay, don't be modest. Didn't he say that?
- Well, yes! Then who?
– I didn’t think so.
- Why didn’t you think so?
- Am I a fool, or what?
There was silence in the class again. Only Mommy, unable to restrain himself, giggled muffledly several times.
- Excuse me, how is this? – Yankel said, rubbing his sweaty forehead. - What the hell?! After all, we thought that Vitya put you in isolation for the cakes.
- Yes. For the flatbreads. But what do I have to do with it?
- How does it have anything to do with it?
- It has nothing to do with it.
- Ugh! – Yankel got angry. - Finally, explain, you bore, what’s the matter!
- Very simple. And there is nothing to explain. He asks: “Why were you beaten? For scones? I said: “Yes, for the flatbreads...”
Panteleev looked at the guys, and the Shkids for the first time saw a cheerful, open smile on his high-cheeked face.
- And what? Is Ghazve not pgavda? – he grinned. - Gazve, didn’t you beat me for the cakes, why?..
The friendly laughter of the whole class did not allow Panteleev to finish.
Peace was concluded. And Panteleev was forever accepted as a full member of the friendly Shkidsky family.
His bundle with feathers, mufflers and lean sugar was unpacked that same day, and its contents went into their places. And after a while Lenka stopped thinking about escaping altogether. The guys loved him, and he also became attached to many of his new comrades. When he thawed out a little and started talking, he told the guys his life.
And it turned out that Vikniksor was right: this quiet, taciturn and shy guy went through, as they say, fire, water and copper pipes. He lost his family early and spent several years as a homeless child, wandering around different cities republics. Before Shkida, he managed to visit four or five orphanages and colonies; more than once he had to spend the night in prison cells, and in arrest houses, and in the railway Cheka... Behind him there were several arrests in the criminal investigation department.
Lenka came to Shkida of his own free will; he himself decided to put an end to his dark past. Therefore, the nickname Raider, which the guys gave him instead of the unjustified nickname Nun, did not suit him and outraged him. He got angry and attacked those who called him that with his fists. Then someone came up with a new nickname for him - Lepeshkin...
But then again an event occurred that not only stopped all ridicule of the newcomer, but also raised the newly converted Shkidt to completely unattainable heights.
Chapter 23. "Yunkom".
Chapter 24. Sodom and Gomorrah.
Chapter 25. First issue.
Chapter 26. Schism in the Tsek.
Chapter 27. “Shkidkino”.
Chapter 28. Paper Panama.
Chapter 29. Performance.
Chapter 30. Chicks fledge.
Chapter 31. The Last Mohicans.
Epilogue written in 1926.
About this book (S. Marshak)
Gloomy personality. - Owl. - Lucullus cakes. - Feast at Viknixor's expense. - A nun in pants. - One against all. - “Dark.” - The new guy goes to jail. - Reconciliation. - When the laurels don't let you sleep.
Soon after the fire, the Shkid Republic accepted another citizen as its citizenship.
This gloomy man appeared on the Shkid horizon early in the winter morning. He was not brought in, as many were brought; he came himself, knocked on the gate, and the janitor Meftakhudyn let him in, having learned that this high-cheeked, short, bushy-browed boy had a permit from the commission on juvenile affairs.
At this time, the Shkidians, under the leadership of Vikniksor himself, were sawing wood in the yard. The boy asked who Viktor Nikolaevich would be here, came up and, embarrassed, handed Vikniksor the paper.
A-ah-ah, Panteleev?! - Vikniksor grinned, glancing briefly at the ticket. - I've already heard about you. They say you write poetry? Meet your new friend Alexey Panteleev, guys. By the way, he is a writer and writes poetry.
This recommendation did not make much of an impression on the Shkids. Almost all of the republic’s citizens wrote poetry, starting from Vikniksor himself, whom, as we know, Alexander Blok once envied and imitated. It was difficult to surprise the people of Shkid with poetry. It would be a different matter if the new guy knew how to swallow swords, or play the double bass, or at least had something remarkable in his biography. But he clearly didn’t know how to swallow a sword, and as for his biography, as the Shkids soon realized, it was completely impossible to get anything out of the new guy.
She was an extremely shy and taciturn person. When asked about anything, he would answer “yes” or “no” or simply mumble something and shake his head.
Why were you brought in? - the Merchant asked him when the new guy, having changed his home clothes for government clothes, gloomy and frowning, walked in the corridor.
Panteleev did not answer, looked angrily at the Merchant and blushed like a little girl.
Why, I say, were they driven to Shkida? - Ofenbach repeated the question.
“They drove me... so there was a reason,” the new guy muttered barely audibly.
On top of everything, he also libbed: instead of “drove” he said “pgignali”.
It was difficult to talk to him. Yes, no one tried to do this. An ordinary person, the Shkids decided. Somewhat colorless. Even stupid. We were slightly surprised when, after a routine knowledge test, the new guy was assigned straight to the fourth department. But in class, during lessons, he also did not show himself to be anything special: he answered somehow, was confused; When called to the blackboard, he would often remain silent for a long time, blush, and then, without looking at the teacher, say:
I don't remember... I forgot.
Only during Russian lessons did he perk up a little. He knew literature.
According to the established procedure in Shkida, for the first two weeks, newcomers, regardless of their behavior, did not go on vacation. But visits with relatives were allowed. In the summer these meetings took place in the courtyard, during the rest of the year - in the White Hall. On the first Sunday, no one visited the new guy. Almost all day he patiently stood on the landing of the stairs at large window, overlooking the courtyard. It was clear that he was really waiting for someone. But they didn’t come to him.
The next Sunday, he didn’t go up the stairs; he sat in the classroom until the evening and read a book taken from the library - stories by Leonid Andreev.
In the evening, before dinner, when the vacationers were already returning, the duty officer looked into the classroom:
Panteleev, to you!
Panteleev jumped up, blushed, dropped the book and, unable to contain his excitement, ran out of the class.
In the dim hallway, at the kitchen door, stood a sad, tear-stained lady in some kind of mourning hat and with her a snub-nosed girl of about ten or eleven years old. The duty officer, standing with the keys at the entrance doors, saw how the new guy, looking around and embarrassed, kissed his mother and sister and immediately dragged them into the White Hall. There he took them to the farthest corner and sat them on a bench. And then the Shkids, to their surprise, discovered that the newcomer could not only speak, but also laugh. Two or three times, while listening to his mother, he laughed loudly and abruptly. But when his mother and sister left, he again turned into a gloomy and unsociable guy. Returning to the classroom, he sat down at his desk and again plunged into the book.
About two minutes later, Sparrow, who was sitting in the fifth category and therefore did not go on vacation, approached his desk.
There's no one to eat, eh? - he asked, looking into the newcomer’s face with an ingratiating smile.
Panteleev took a piece of gray cabbage pie from his desk, broke off half and handed it to Sparrow. At the same time, he said nothing and did not even return a smile. This was offensive, and Sparrow, having accepted the offering, did not feel any gratitude.
Perhaps the new boy would have remained an unnoticed person if not for one event that agitated and turned the entire school against him.
Almost simultaneously with Panteleev, another person appeared in Shkida. This person was not on the list of pupils, nor did she belong to the Chaldean class. It was a decrepit old woman, Vikniksor’s mother, who came to him from nowhere and settled in his director’s apartment. This old woman was almost completely blind. This is probably why the Shkids, who individually could be kind, sensitive, and sympathetic, but in the mass, as is always the case with guys, were ruthless and cruel, nicknamed the old woman Owl. The owl was a harmless creature. She rarely appeared outside the door of Vikniksor's apartment. Only two or three times a day the Shkids saw how, grabbing the wall and door frames with her free hand, she made her way to or from the kitchen with some pot or frying pan. If at that time Vikniksor and other Chaldeans were not nearby, some bolt from the first squad, crossing the old woman’s path, shouted almost right in her ear:
The owl is crawling!.. Du! Owl!..
But the old woman was also, apparently, somewhat deaf. Ignoring these wild cries, with a gentle smile on her gray, wrinkled face, she continued her difficult journey.
And then one day a rumor spread throughout Shkida that Owl was frying some unusual flatbreads in the kitchen. It was at the end of the week, when all the children's household supplies were depleted and their appetite became brutal. The frail Japanese man, who had no relatives in Petrograd and lived on government rations alone and on the willing donations of his comrades, especially developed an appetite.
While the Owl, with the help of the cook Martha, was performing a sacred ritual at the stove, the Shkids crowded at the kitchen door and swallowed their drool.
What a taste! - hungry, envious voices were heard.
- Well, flatbreads!
- Chic-mare!
- Oh yes Vitya! Eating delicious...
And the Japanese went completely wild. He ran into the kitchen, greedily sniffed through his nostrils the delicious smell of fried butter dough and, rubbing his hands, ran back out into the corridor.
Brothers! I can not! I'll die! - he burst into tears. - On butter! On creamy! Naturally!..
Then he ran to the kitchen again, got down on one knee behind Owl, raised his hands to the sky and shouted:
Vikniksor! Lucullus! I envy you! I'll die! Half your life for a flatbread.
The guys laughed. The Japanese bowed to the ground to the old woman, who did not see anything of this, and continued to clown around.
August mother! - he shouted. - Porphyry-bearing widow! I bow...
Eventually Martha kicked him out.
But the Japanese had already worked himself up and could not hold back any longer. When ten minutes later the Owl appeared in the corridor with a dish of steaming flatbread in his hands, he was the first to silently jump up to her and, just as noiselessly, with two fingers he pulled the hot flatbread off the dish.
For the Shkids, this was a signal to action. Following the Japanese, Yankel, Gypsy, Sparrow, and after them others rushed to the dish. All along the old woman's route - in the corridor, on the stairs, and in the White Hall - gray silent shadows lined up in a long chain.
Holding onto the smooth alabaster wall with her left hand, the old woman slowly walked along the parquet floor of the White Hall, and with each step the pile of delicious cakes on the blue earthenware dish melted. When Owl opened the door to the apartment, there was nothing left on the blue dish except greasy stains.
And the Shkids had already fled to their classes.
In the fourth department there was incessant laughter. Stuffing the fifth or sixth flatbread into his mouth and licking his greasy fingers, the Japanese, for the amusement of his comrades, depicted how the Owl entered the apartment with an empty dish and how Vikniksor, anticipating the pleasure of a hearty breakfast, carnivorously rubbed his hands.
Here, please eat, Vitenka. “That’s how much I baked for you, son,” the Japanese muttered, imitating the old woman. And, craning his skinny neck, widening his eyes, he portrayed a frightened, stunned Vikniksor...
The boys were clutching their stomachs and choking with laughter. Everyone's eyes and lips sparkled. But there were also disturbing notes in this laughter. Everyone understood that the trick would not be in vain, that the crime would soon be punished.
And then someone noticed a newcomer who, frowning, stood at the door and looked at what was happening without a smile. He was the only one whose lips did not shine, he was the only one who did not touch the Owl’s cakes. Meanwhile, many saw him at the kitchen door when the old woman came out of there.
Why were you yawning? - Gypsy asked him. - Oh, you bastard! Didn’t you really manage to slam a single flatbread?!
“Well, screw you,” muttered the new guy.
- What?! - Sparrow jumped up to him. - Why to hell with this?
“Because it’s rudeness,” the new guy said, blushing, and his lips began to dance. - Tell me - what kind of gegoi are they: they attacked the staguha!..
There was silence in the class.
How's that? - Gypsy said gloomily, approaching Panteleev. - And you go to Vita and give him a ride.
Panteleev remained silent,
Well, go and try it! - Gypsy advanced on the newcomer.
- Such a bastard! Cop! - Sparrow squealed, swinging at the new guy. He grabbed his hand and pushed him away.
And although he pushed away not the Japanese, but the Sparrow, the Japanese squealed wildly and jumped up on his desk.
Citizens! Attention! Quiet! - he shouted. - Brothers! An unprecedented incident in the history of our republic! In our ranks there was an angelic personality, a nun in pants, a pepinier from the institute noble maidens...
“Idiot,” Panteleev said through clenched teeth. It was said quietly, but the Japanese heard. His small, eternally red nose turned even redder. Eoshka was silent for several seconds, then jumped off his desk and quickly approached Panteleev.
- What, my friend, are you going against the class? Do you want to curry favor?
“Guys,” he turned to his comrades, “does anyone have any cake left?”
“I have one,” said the thrifty Gorbushka, taking out of his pocket a crumpled cake covered in tobacco dust.
“Come on, give it here,” said the Japanese, snatching the flatbread. - Eat! - he handed it to Panteleev.
The newcomer recoiled and pressed his lips tightly together.
Eat, they tell you! - Eonin turned purple and put the cake in the newcomer’s mouth.
Panteleev pushed his hand away.
“You better leave,” he said very quietly and grabbed the door handle.
- Pete, you won’t get away! - The Japanese squealed even louder. - Guys, get him down!..
Several people attacked the new guy. Someone hit him under the knee and he fell. The Gypsy and the Merchant held his hands, and the Japanese, puffing and puffing, stuffed a dirty, greasy cake into the newcomer’s mouth. The newcomer twisted his head and hit the Japanese in the chin.
Oh, are you fighting?! - the Japanese squealed.
- What a bastard!
- Fights, bore! A?
- Into the dark!
- Give me the dark one!..
Panteleev was dragged to the far corner of the class. It’s unknown where the coat came from and was thrown over the new guy’s head. The electricity went out, and in the ensuing silence blows fell one after another on the head of the rebellious newcomer.
No one noticed how the door opened. The electricity flashed brightly. Vikniksor stood in the doorway, his pince-nez gleaming, looking menacingly at the boys.
What's going on here? - rang out his booming, but too calm bass.
The guys managed to run away, only Panteleev was sitting on the floor, near the blackboard, rubbing his snub nose with his fist, from which blood flowed in a thin stream, mixing with tears and with the remains of the ill-fated cake stuck to his chin.
I ask: what is going on here? - Vikniksor repeated louder. The guys stood in their places and were silent. Vikniksor's gaze settled on Panteleev. He had already gotten up and, turning to the corner, was putting himself in order, licking his lips, swallowing tears and the remains of the cake. Vikniksor looked him up and down and seemed to understand something. His lips curled into a disgusted smile.
Come on, follow me! - he ordered the new guy.
Panteleev did not hear, but turned his head towards the manager.
You! You! Follow me, I say.
- Where?
Vikniksor nodded his head towards the door and left. Without looking at the guys, Panteleev followed him. The guys waited a minute, looked at each other and, without saying a word, also rushed out of the classroom.
Through the half-open door of the White Hall, they saw Vikniksor open the door to his apartment, let a new person in, and immediately the tall white door slammed noisily behind them.
The guys looked at each other again.
Well, now it’s a fact! - Sparrow sighed.
“It’s clear, it will come,” agreed Gorbushka gloomily, who was already painfully worried about the loss of the last flatbread.
- Well then. If he rolls up, he’ll be right,” said Yankel, who, it seems, was the only one in the whole class who did not take part in beating the newcomer.
But, regardless of who assessed the moral fortitude of the newcomer, everyone’s soul was dreary and disgusting.
And suddenly something absolutely fantastic happened. The tall white door swung open with a noise - and the eyes of the stunned Shkids were presented with a sight that they had not expected and could not expect: Vikniksor dragged the pale, bloodied Panteleev by the collar and, dragging him across the entire huge hall, growled menacingly at the entire school:
Hey, who's there? Headman! Duty! Call the teacher on duty here!
A sleepy and frightened Shershavy was already running from the teachers' room.
What's the matter, Viktor Nikolaevich?
- To the isolation ward! - Vikniksor croaked, gasping, pointing his finger at Panteleev. - Immediately! For three days!
Roughly fussed, ran for the keys, and five minutes later the new guy was ushered into a cramped room in the isolation ward - the only room in the school whose window was covered with a thick iron grille.
The Shkids became silent and perplexed. But they were even more bewildered by Vikniksor’s speech at dinner.
Guys! - he said, appearing in the dining room and taking several wide, impetuous steps diagonally, which, as is known, testified to the excited state of the Skidsky president. - Guys, today a vile, outrageous incident occurred within the walls of our school. I’ll tell you frankly: I didn’t want to raise this matter as long as it concerned me personally and a person close to me. But after this another event happened, even more vile. You know what and who I'm talking about. One of you - I won’t give his last name, it’s known to all of you - committed a disgusting act. He offended the old man weak person. I repeat, I didn’t want to talk about it, I wanted to remain silent. But later I witnessed an even more disgusting act. I saw you beating your comrade. I understand well, guys, and even to some extent share your indignation, but... But you need to know when to stop. No matter how vilely Panteleev acted, expressing his indignation in such a wild, barbaric way, organizing lynching, resorting to lynching, that is, doing what the descendants of American slave owners do, is shameful and unworthy of you, Soviet people, and almost adults at that. ..
Having ridden his favorite horse - eloquence - Vikniksor spoke for a long time on this topic. He talked about the need to be fair, that Panteleev has a dark past behind him, that he is a guy spoiled by the street, because at the age of fourteen he managed to spend time in both prisons and correctional colonies. This guy was in for a long time bad society, among thieves and bandits, and all this must be taken into account, so to speak, when passing a sentence. And besides, maybe he was also hungry when he committed his low, unworthy act. In a word, you must approach a person condescendingly, you cannot throw a stone at a person without understanding all the motives for his crime, you must cultivate self-control and sensitivity...
Vikniksor spoke for a long time, but the Shkids no longer listened to him. Before we had time to have dinner, high school students gathered in the fourth department.
The guys were clearly excited and even discouraged.
Wow - a nun in pants! - Gypsy exclaimed as soon as he crossed the threshold of the classroom.
“N-yes,” Yankel mumbled meaningfully.
- What is this, brothers? - said the Merchant. - Didn’t roll, then?
- It didn’t roll - fact! - Sparrow assented.
“Well, let’s say this is not a fact, but a hypothesis,” the Japanese said importantly. - I would like to know why on earth Vikniksor is shielding him in this situation?!
“Okay, Jap, shut up,” Yankel said seriously. - Somebody, you should shut up in this situation.
The Japanese blushed, muttered something sarcastic, but still fell silent.
Before going to bed, several people made their way to the isolation ward. The yellowish light of a five-candle coal lamp leaked through the keyhole.
Panteley, are you awake? - Yankel asked quietly. The iron bed creaked behind the door, but there was no answer.
- Panteleev! Lenka! - Gypsy said into the well. - You... don't be angry about this. A? You understand, excuse us. There was an error, you see.
“Okay... roll to the camp,” a dull, gloomy voice came from behind the door. - Don’t disturb a person’s sleep.
- Panteley, don’t you want to eat? - asked Gorbushka.
“I don’t want to,” the same voice cut off.
The guys trampled and left.
But later they finally got together and brought the proud prisoner several slices of bread and a lump of sugar. Since this time there was intense silence outside the door, they slipped this modest transmission into the crack under the door. But even after that the iron bed did not creak.
Lenka was never talkative. He had to become very close friends with the person in order for his tongue to loosen. And here, in Shkida, he had no intention of making friends with anyone. He lived some distracted life, thinking only about how and when he will get away from here.
True, when he came to Shkida, this school seemed to him unlike all the other orphanages and colonies that he had visited so far. The guys here were more well-read. And most importantly, newcomers were welcomed here in a friendly manner; no one beat them or pursued them. And Lenka, taught by bitter experience, was already prepared to give a worthy rebuff to anyone who would approach him.
For the time being, no one approached him. On the contrary, it was as if they stopped even paying attention to him until this incident happened with Sova, which made the whole school talk about Panteleev and made him for some time the most prominent figure in the Shkidsky Republic.
Lenka did not come to Shkida from the Institute of Noble Maidens. It had been a long time since he blushed at the word “theft.” If it had been something else, if the guys had been planning to break into a closet or had gone on some other, more serious matter, perhaps he would have joined them out of a sense of camaraderie. But when he saw that the guys had attacked the blind old woman, he felt disgusted. Such things had previously made him feel disgusted. For example, he was disgusted with picking into someone else's pocket. Therefore, he always looked down on pickpockets and with disdain, apparently believing that stealing a suitcase or breaking into a stall at the market was a more noble and sublime act than pickpocketing.
When the guys attacked Lenka and began to beat him, he was not very surprised. He knew well what shelter morals were, and he himself took part in the “dark” more than once. He didn’t even really resist those who beat him, he only defended his face and other most vulnerable places as much as possible. But when Vikniksor appeared in the class and, instead of standing up for Lenka, growled menacingly at him, Lenka for some reason became furious. Nevertheless, he obediently followed Vikniksor into his office.
Vikniksor closed the door and turned to the new guy, who was still sniffling and wiping his bloody face with his sleeve. Vikniksor, like an avid Sherlock Holmes, decided right off the bat to stun his pupil.
Why did your comrades beat you? - he asked, glaring at Lenka’s face.
Lenka did not answer.
Why are you silent? I think I'm asking you: why were you beaten in class?
Vikniksor looked even more intently into the eyes of the newcomer:
For flatbreads, right?
“Yes,” Lenka muttered.
Vikniksor's face turned bloodshot. One could expect that now he would scream and stamp his feet. But he did not shout, but calmly and clearly, without any expression, as if he was taking a dictation, he said:
Scoundrel! Geek! Degenerate!
- Why are you swearing! - Lenka flushed, - What right do you have?
And then Vikniksor jumped up and roared to the whole school:
What-oh-oh?! As you said? What right do I have?! Cattle! Kanaglia!
“He’s a rascal himself,” Lenka managed to mutter.
Vikniksor gasped, grabbed the newcomer by the collar and dragged him to the door.
Everything else happened before the eyes of the stunned Shkids.
Lenka sat in the isolation ward for the third day and did not know that his fate had excited and worried the whole school.
In the fourth department there were endless debates from morning to night.
Still, guys, this is rudeness,” Yankel fumed. - The guy took the blame on himself, he suffers for unknown reasons, and we...
- What, I wonder, are you proposing? - The Japanese grinned sarcastically.
- What do I offer? We must go as a class to Vikniksor and tell him that Panteleev is not to blame, but we are to blame.
- OK! Look for fools. Go on your own if you want.
- So what? And what do you think? And I'll go...
- Well, please. Good riddance,
“I’ll go and tell you who was the instigator of this whole thing.” And who set the guys against Lenka.
- Oh, that's how it is? Are you going to lie down?
- Quiet, timid! - the Merchant said in a deep voice. - I'll tell you what. Going as a whole class is stupid, of course. If we all go, it means we’ll all get a fifth-class rating...
“The die must be cast,” Mommy squeaked.
- Maybe we should invite the oracle? - the Japanese chuckled.
“No, timidly,” said the Merchant. - There is no need to invite the Oracle. And there is no need to draw lots either. This is what I think... I think I should go alone and take all the blame on myself.
- Who exactly is this? - asked the Japanese.
- Namely, you!
- I?
- Yes... you will go!
This was said in the tone of a categorical order. The Japanese turned pale.
It is unknown how this whole story would have ended if a rumor had not spread throughout Shkida that Panteleev had been released from the detention center. A few minutes later he himself appeared in the classroom. His face, adorned with bruises and marks, was paler than usual. Without greeting anyone, he walked to his desk, sat down and began collecting his belongings. Slowly, he took out of the box and laid out on the desk several books and notebooks, a started pack of Smychka cigarettes, a knitted muffler mended in many places, a box of feathers and pencils, a small bag with the remains of vegetable sugar - and began to tie it all together with a piece of twine.
The class silently watched his manipulations.
Where are you going, Panteley? - Gorbushka broke the silence.
Panteleev did not answer, frowned even more and began to sniffle.
Have you climbed into a bottle? Don't you want to talk? A?
“Come on, Lenka, don’t be angry,” said Yankel, approaching the new guy. He put his hand on Panteleev’s shoulder, but Panteleev threw his hand off with a movement of his shoulder.
“All of you go to the store,” he said through gritted teeth, tightening the knot on his bag and pushing the bag into the desk.
And then a Japanese man approached Panteleev’s desk.
You know, Lenka, you... this is the very thing... you’re great,” he said, blushing and sniffling. - Forgive us, please. I’m saying this not only on my own behalf, but on behalf of the whole class. Right guys?
- Right!!! - the guys started bawling, surrounding Lenka’s desk on all sides. The new guy's high-cheekbone face turned pink! Something like a faint smile appeared on his dry lips.
- Well? Worldwide? - asked the Gypsy, extending his hand to the newcomer.
- What's wrong with you! “Blink,” Lenka murmured, grinning and answering the handshake.
The guys surrounded Lenka, one after another, shaking his hand.
Brothers! Brothers! But we didn’t say the main thing! - Yankel exclaimed, jumping up on his desk. And, addressing the newcomer from this podium, he said: “Panteley, thank you on behalf of the whole class for... you... well, you, in a word, understand yourself.”
- For what? - Lenka was surprised, and it was clear from his face that he did not understand.
- Because... because you didn’t attack us, but took the blame upon yourself.
- What guilt?
- Like which one? You told Vitya that you wrapped the Owl’s cakes, didn’t you? Okay, don't be modest. Didn't he say that?
- I?
- Well, yes! Then who?
- I didn’t think so.
- Why didn’t you think so?
- Am I a fool, or what?
There was silence in the class again. Only Mommy, unable to restrain himself, giggled muffledly several times.
Excuse me, how is this? - Yankel said, rubbing his sweaty forehead. - What the hell?! After all, we thought that Vitya put you in isolation for the cakes.
- Yes. For the flatbreads. But what does that have to do with me?
- How does it have anything to do with it?
- It has nothing to do with it.
- Ugh! - Yankel got angry. - Yes, finally explain, you bore, what’s the matter!
- Very simple. And there is nothing to explain. He asks: “Why were you beaten? For flat cakes?” I said: “Yes, for the flatbreads...”
Panteleev looked at the guys, and the Shkids for the first time saw a cheerful, open smile on his high-cheeked face.
And what? Is Ghazve not pgavda? - he grinned. - Gazve didn’t beat me for the cakes, why?..
The friendly laughter of the whole class did not allow Panteleev to finish.
Peace was concluded. And Panteleev was forever accepted as a full member of the friendly Shkidsky family.
His bundle with feathers, mufflers and lean sugar was unpacked that same day, and its contents went into their places. And after a while Lenka stopped thinking about escaping altogether. The guys loved him, and he also became attached to many of his new comrades. When he thawed out a little and started talking, he told the guys his life.
And it turned out that Vikniksor was right: this quiet, taciturn and shy guy went through, as they say, fire, water and copper pipes. He lost his family early and spent several years as a homeless child, wandering around different cities of the republic. Before Shkida, he managed to visit four or five orphanages and colonies; more than once he had to spend the night in prison cells, and in arrest houses, and in the railway Cheka... Behind him there were several arrests in the criminal investigation department.
Lenka came to Shkida of his own free will; he himself decided to put an end to his dark past. Therefore, the nickname Raider, which the guys gave him instead of the unjustified nickname Nun, did not suit him and outraged him. He got angry and attacked those who called him that with his fists. Then someone came up with a new nickname for him - Lepeshkin...
But then again an event occurred that not only stopped all ridicule of the newcomer, but also raised the newly converted Shkidt to completely unattainable heights.
Once, two weeks before entering Shkida, Lenka watched an American cowboy action movie at the Empire cinema on Sadovaya. Before the session, a divertissement was shown: magicians and jugglers performed, a fish-like singer in a scaly dress sang two romances, two girls in sailor pants danced a matlot, and at the end a coupletist performed, to the accompaniment of a small accordion, “ditties on the topic of the day.” Lenka listened to these ditties, and it seemed to him that he himself could write no worse. Returning home, he tore a piece of paper out of the notebook and, hurrying so as not to lose inspiration, in ten minutes he jotted down six quatrains, among which was this:
Gold rates have risen
Because of the NEP.
In Petrograd on Sennaya
Three lemon turnips.
He entitled this entire essay “Topical ditties.” Then I thought about where to send the ditties, and decided to send them to Krasnaya Gazeta. For several days after this he waited for an answer, but no answer came. And then the events of Lenka’s life began to spin with the speed of an American action movie, and he had no time for ditties or “Red Newspaper”. He forgot about them.
Soon he found himself in Shkida.
And then one day after school, an excited and out of breath third-grader, Kurochka, noisily burst into the class of the fourth department. In his hands he held a crumpled sheet of newspaper.
Panteleev! That's not you? - he shouted as soon as he crossed the threshold.
- What? - Lenka turned pale, barely getting out from behind his desk. His heart began to beat rapidly. My legs and arms were cold.
The chicken raised a sheet of newspaper above his head like a banner.
Have you sent poems to Krasnaya Gazeta?
“Yes... I sent it,” Lenka stammered.
- Here you go. I knew it. And the guys argue, saying - it can’t be.
“Show me,” Lenka said, holding out his hand. They surrounded him. The letters in his eyes jumped around and did not form into lines.
- Where? Where? - they asked around.
- Yes, that's it. “Look below,” Chicken was worried. - Over there, where it says " Mailbox"...
Lenka found the “Mailbox,” the department in which the editors responded to authors. Somewhere in second or third place, his last name, printed, caught his eye large print. When his eyes stopped flickering, he read:
"To ALEXEY PANTELEEV. The "topical ditties" you sent are not ditties, but rhymes from your own composition. It won't work."
For a few seconds, Lenka’s cold legs refused to serve him. All the blood rushed to my ears. It seemed to him that he would not be able to look his comrades in the eyes, that now he would be booed, defamed, and laughed at.
But nothing like that happened. Lenka raised his eyes and saw that the guys surrounding him were looking at him with such an expression, as if standing in front of them, if not Pushkin, then at least Blok or Demyan Bedny.
That's it Panteley! - Mommy squealed enthusiastically.
- Oh yes Lenka! - Gypsy exclaimed not without envy.
- Maybe it's not him? - someone doubted.
- It's you? - they asked Lenka.
“Yes... I,” he answered, lowering his eyes - this time out of sheer modesty.
The newspaper passed from hand to hand.
Give! Give! Show me! Let me have fun! - was heard around.
But soon the Chicken took away the newspaper. And Lenka suddenly felt that something very valuable and dear had been taken away, a piece of his glory, evidence of his triumph had been taken away.
He found the teacher on duty, Alnikpop, and tearfully begged him to be allowed outside for five minutes. The Sashkets, after hesitating, gave him leave. At the corner of Peterhofsky and Ogorodnikov Avenue, Lenka bought the latest issue of Krasnaya Gazeta from a newspaperman for eighteen thousand rubles. While still on the street, returning to Shkida, he unrolled the newspaper five times and looked into the “Mailbox”. And here, as in Kurochkin’s copy, it was printed in black and white: “To Alexey Panteleev...”
Lenka became the hero of the day.
The pilgrimage of the boys from the junior departments continued until the evening. Every now and then the door of the fourth department opened and several faces timidly looked into the classroom.
Panteley, show me the newspaper, will you? - the kids whined pleadingly. Lenka smiled condescendingly, took a newspaper out of his desk drawer and gave it to everyone who wanted it. The guys read it aloud, reread it again, shook their heads, gasped in amazement.
And everyone asked Lenka:
It's you?
“Yes, it’s me,” Lenka answered modestly.
Even in the bedroom, after lights out, the discussion of this extraordinary event continued.
Lenka fell asleep, satiated with glory.
At night, at about four o'clock, he woke up and immediately remembered that something very important had happened the day before. The newspaper, carefully folded, lay under his pillow. He carefully took it out and unfolded it. It was dark in the bedroom. Then he went barefoot, wearing only his underpants, onto the stairs and, in the pale light of a coal lamp, read again:
“To Alexey Panteleev. The ditties you sent are not ditties, but rhymes of your own composition. This will not do.”
So another writer appeared in the Shkid Republic, and this time a writer with a name. A little time passed, and he had to show his abilities already in the Shkid arena - for the benefit of the republic, which became near and dear to him.
hog back | go ahead
Gloomy personality. - Owl. - Lucullus cakes. - Feast at Viknixor's expense. - A nun in pants. - One against all. - “Dark.” - The new guy goes to jail. - Reconciliation. - When the laurels don't let you sleep.
Soon after the fire, the Shkid Republic accepted another citizen as its citizenship.
This gloomy man appeared on the Shkid horizon early in the winter morning. He was not brought in, as many were brought; he came himself, knocked on the gate, and the janitor Meftakhudyn let him in, having learned that this high-cheeked, short, bushy-browed boy had a permit from the commission on juvenile affairs.
At this time, the Shkidians, under the leadership of Vikniksor himself, were sawing wood in the yard. The boy asked who Viktor Nikolaevich would be here, came up and, embarrassed, handed Vikniksor the paper.
A-ah-ah, Panteleev?! - Vikniksor grinned, glancing briefly at the ticket. - I've already heard about you. They say you write poetry? Meet your new friend Alexey Panteleev, guys. By the way, he is a writer and writes poetry.
This recommendation did not make much of an impression on the Shkids. Almost all of the republic’s citizens wrote poetry, starting from Vikniksor himself, whom, as we know, Alexander Blok once envied and imitated. It was difficult to surprise the people of Shkid with poetry. It would be a different matter if the new guy knew how to swallow swords, or play the double bass, or at least had something remarkable in his biography. But he clearly didn’t know how to swallow a sword, and as for his biography, as the Shkids soon realized, it was completely impossible to get anything out of the new guy.
She was an extremely shy and taciturn person. When asked about anything, he would answer “yes” or “no” or simply mumble something and shake his head.
Why were you brought in? - the Merchant asked him when the new guy, having changed his home clothes for government clothes, gloomy and frowning, walked in the corridor.
Panteleev did not answer, looked angrily at the Merchant and blushed like a little girl.
Why, I say, were they driven to Shkida? - Ofenbach repeated the question.
They drove me... so there was a reason for it,” the new guy muttered barely audibly. On top of everything, he also libbed: instead of “drove” he said “pgignali”.
It was difficult to talk to him. Yes, no one tried to do this. An ordinary person, the Shkids decided. Somewhat colorless. Even stupid. We were slightly surprised when, after a routine knowledge test, the new guy was assigned straight to the fourth department. But in class, during lessons, he also did not show himself to be anything special: he answered somehow, was confused; When called to the blackboard, he would often remain silent for a long time, blush, and then, without looking at the teacher, say:
I don’t remember... I forgot.
Only during Russian lessons did he perk up a little. He knew literature.
According to the established procedure in Shkida, for the first two weeks, newcomers, regardless of their behavior, did not go on vacation. But visits with relatives were allowed. In the summer these meetings took place in the courtyard, during the rest of the year - in the White Hall. On the first Sunday, no one visited the new guy. Almost all day he patiently stood on the landing of the stairs at the large window overlooking the courtyard. It was clear that he was really waiting for someone. But they didn’t come to him.
The next Sunday, he didn’t go up the stairs; he sat in the classroom until the evening and read a book taken from the library - stories by Leonid Andreev.
In the evening, before dinner, when the vacationers were already returning, the duty officer looked into the classroom:
Panteleev, to you!
Panteleev jumped up, blushed, dropped the book and, unable to contain his excitement, ran out of the class.
In the dim hallway, at the kitchen door, stood a sad, tear-stained lady in some kind of mourning hat and with her a snub-nosed girl of about ten or eleven years old. The duty officer, standing with the keys at the entrance doors, saw how the new guy, looking around and embarrassed, kissed his mother and sister and immediately dragged them into the White Hall. There he took them to the farthest corner and sat them on a bench. And then the Shkids, to their surprise, discovered that the newcomer could not only speak, but also laugh. Two or three times, while listening to his mother, he laughed loudly and abruptly. But when his mother and sister left, he again turned into a gloomy and unsociable guy. Returning to the classroom, he sat down at his desk and again plunged into the book.
About two minutes later, Sparrow, who was sitting in the fifth category and therefore did not go on vacation, approached his desk.
There's no one to eat, eh? - he asked, looking into the newcomer’s face with an ingratiating smile.
Panteleev took a piece of gray cabbage pie from his desk, broke off half and handed it to Sparrow. At the same time, he said nothing and did not even return a smile. This was offensive, and Sparrow, having accepted the offering, did not feel any gratitude.
Perhaps the new boy would have remained an unnoticed person if not for one event that agitated and turned the entire school against him.
Almost simultaneously with Panteleev, another person appeared in Shkida. This person was not on the list of pupils, nor did she belong to the Chaldean class. It was a decrepit old woman, Vikniksor’s mother, who came to him from nowhere and settled in his director’s apartment. This old woman was almost completely blind. This is probably why the Shkids, who individually could be kind, sensitive, and sympathetic, but in the mass, as is always the case with guys, were ruthless and cruel, nicknamed the old woman Owl. The owl was a harmless creature. She rarely appeared outside the door of Vikniksor's apartment. Only two or three times a day the Shkids saw how, grabbing the wall and door frames with her free hand, she made her way to or from the kitchen with some pot or frying pan. If at that time Vikniksor and other Chaldeans were not nearby, some bolt from the first squad, crossing the old woman’s path, shouted almost right in her ear:
The owl is crawling!.. Du! Owl!..
But the old woman was also, apparently, somewhat deaf. Ignoring these wild cries, with a gentle smile on her gray, wrinkled face, she continued her difficult journey.
And then one day a rumor spread throughout Shkida that Owl was frying some unusual flatbreads in the kitchen. It was at the end of the week, when all the children's household supplies were depleted and their appetite became brutal. The frail Japanese man, who had no relatives in Petrograd and lived on government rations alone and on the willing donations of his comrades, especially developed an appetite.
While the Owl, with the help of the cook Martha, was performing a sacred ritual at the stove, the Shkids crowded at the kitchen door and swallowed their drool.
What a taste! - hungry, envious voices were heard.
Well, flatbreads!
Chic mare!
Oh yes Vitya! Eating delicious...
And the Japanese went completely wild. He ran into the kitchen, greedily sniffed through his nostrils the delicious smell of fried butter dough and, rubbing his hands, ran back out into the corridor.
Brothers! I can not! I'll die! - he burst into tears. - On butter! On creamy! Naturally!..
Then he ran to the kitchen again, got down on one knee behind Owl, raised his hands to the sky and shouted:
Vikniksor! Lucullus! I envy you! I'll die! Half your life for a flatbread.
The guys laughed. The Japanese bowed to the ground to the old woman, who did not see anything of this, and continued to clown around.
August mother! - he shouted. - Porphyry-bearing widow! I bow...
Eventually Martha kicked him out.
But the Japanese had already worked himself up and could not hold back any longer. When ten minutes later the Owl appeared in the corridor with a dish of steaming flatbread in his hands, he was the first to silently jump up to her and, just as noiselessly, with two fingers he pulled the hot flatbread off the dish. For the Shkids, this was a signal to action. Following the Japanese, Yankel, Gypsy, Sparrow, and after them others rushed to the dish. All along the old woman's route - in the corridor, on the stairs, and in the White Hall - gray silent shadows lined up in a long chain. Holding onto the smooth alabaster wall with her left hand, the old woman slowly walked along the parquet floor of the White Hall, and with each step the pile of delicious cakes on the blue earthenware dish melted. When Owl opened the door to the apartment, there was nothing left on the blue dish except greasy stains.
And the Shkids had already fled to their classes.
In the fourth department there was incessant laughter. Stuffing the fifth or sixth flatbread into his mouth and licking his greasy fingers, the Japanese, for the amusement of his comrades, depicted how the Owl entered the apartment with an empty dish and how Vikniksor, anticipating the pleasure of a hearty breakfast, carnivorously rubbed his hands.
Here, please eat, Vitenka. “That’s how much I baked for you, son,” the Japanese muttered, imitating the old woman. And, stretching his skinny neck, widening his eyes, he portrayed a frightened, stunned Vikniksor...
The boys were clutching their stomachs and choking with laughter. Everyone's eyes and lips sparkled. But there were also disturbing notes in this laughter. Everyone understood that the trick would not be in vain, that the crime would soon be punished.
And then someone noticed a newcomer who, frowning, stood at the door and looked at what was happening without a smile. He was the only one whose lips did not shine, he was the only one who did not touch the Owl’s cakes. Meanwhile, many saw him at the kitchen door when the old woman came out of there.
Why were you yawning? - Gypsy asked him. - Oh, you bastard! Didn’t you really manage to slam a single flatbread?!
“Well, screw you,” muttered the new guy.
What?! - Sparrow jumped up to him. - Why to hell with this?
“Because it’s rudeness,” the new guy said, blushing, and his lips began to dance. - Tell me - what kind of gegoi are they: they attacked the staguha!..
There was silence in the class.
How's that? - Gypsy said gloomily, approaching Panteleev. - And you go to Vita and give him a ride.
Panteleev remained silent.
Well, go and try it! - Gypsy advanced on the newcomer.
Such a bastard! Cop! - Sparrow squealed, swinging at the new guy. He grabbed his hand and pushed him away.
And although he pushed away not the Japanese, but the Sparrow, the Japanese squealed wildly and jumped up on his desk.
Citizens! Attention! Quiet! - he shouted. - Brothers! An unprecedented incident in the history of our republic! In our ranks there was an angelic personality, a nun in trousers, a pepinier from the Institute of Noble Maidens...
“Idiot,” Panteleev said through clenched teeth. It was said quietly, but the Japanese heard. His small, eternally red nose turned even redder. Eoshka was silent for several seconds, then jumped off his desk and quickly approached Panteleev.
Are you, my friend, going against the class? Do you want to curry favor?
“Guys,” he turned to his comrades, “does anyone have any cake left?”
“I have one,” said the thrifty Gorbushka, taking out of his pocket a crumpled cake covered in tobacco dust.
“Well, give it here,” said the Japanese, snatching the flatbread. - Eat! - he handed it to Panteleev.
The newcomer recoiled and pressed his lips tightly together.
Eat, they tell you! - Eonin turned purple and put the cake in the newcomer’s mouth.
Panteleev pushed his hand away.
“You better leave,” he said very quietly and grabbed the door handle.
No, you won't wash away! - The Japanese squealed even louder. - Guys, get him down!..
Several people attacked the new guy. Someone hit him under the knee and he fell. The Gypsy and the Merchant held his hands, and the Japanese, puffing and puffing, stuffed a dirty, greasy cake into the newcomer’s mouth. The newcomer twisted his head and hit the Japanese in the chin.
Oh, are you fighting?! - the Japanese squealed.
What a bastard!
Fights, bore! A?
Into the dark!
Give me the dark one!..
Panteleev was dragged to the far corner of the class. It’s unknown where the coat came from and was thrown over the new guy’s head. The electricity went out, and in the ensuing silence blows fell one after another on the head of the rebellious newcomer.
No one noticed how the door opened. The electricity flashed brightly. Vikniksor stood in the doorway, his pince-nez gleaming, looking menacingly at the boys.
What's going on here? - rang out his booming, but too calm bass.
The guys managed to run away, only Panteleev was sitting on the floor, near the blackboard, rubbing his snub nose with his fist, from which blood flowed in a thin stream, mixing with tears and with the remains of the ill-fated cake stuck to his chin.
I ask: what is going on here? - Vikniksor repeated louder. The guys stood in their places and were silent. Vikniksor's gaze settled on Panteleev. He had already gotten up and, turning to the corner, was putting himself in order, licking his lips, swallowing tears and the remains of the cake. Vikniksor looked him up and down and seemed to understand something. His lips curled into a disgusted smile.
Come on, follow me! - he ordered the new guy.
Panteleev did not hear, but turned his head towards the manager.
You! You! Follow me, I say.
Vikniksor nodded his head towards the door and left. Without looking at the guys, Panteleev followed him. The guys waited a minute, looked at each other and, without saying a word, also rushed out of the classroom.
Through the half-open door of the White Hall, they saw Vikniksor open the door to his apartment, let a new person in, and immediately the tall white door slammed noisily behind them.
The guys looked at each other again.
Well, now it’s a fact! - Sparrow sighed.
“It’s clear, it will come,” agreed Gorbushka gloomily, who was already painfully worried about the loss of the last flatbread.
Well then. If he rolls up, he’ll be right,” said Yankel, who, it seems, was the only one in the whole class who did not take part in beating the newcomer.
But, regardless of who assessed the moral fortitude of the newcomer, everyone’s soul was dreary and disgusting.
And suddenly something absolutely fantastic happened. The tall white door swung open with a noise - and the eyes of the stunned Shkids were presented with a sight that they had not expected and could not expect: Vikniksor dragged the pale, bloodied Panteleev by the collar and, dragging him across the entire huge hall, growled menacingly at the entire school:
Hey, who's there? Headman! Duty! Call the teacher on duty here!
A sleepy and frightened Shershavy was already running from the teachers' room.
What's the matter, Viktor Nikolaevich?
To the isolation ward! - Vikniksor croaked, gasping, pointing his finger at Panteleev. - Immediately! For three days!
Roughly fussed, ran for the keys, and five minutes later the new guy was ushered into a cramped room in the isolation ward - the only room in the school whose window was covered with a thick iron grille.
The Shkids became silent and perplexed. But they were even more bewildered by Vikniksor’s speech at dinner.
Guys! - he said, appearing in the dining room and taking several wide, impetuous steps diagonally, which, as is known, testified to the excited state of the Skidsky president. - Guys, today a vile, outrageous incident occurred within the walls of our school. I’ll tell you frankly: I didn’t want to raise this matter as long as it concerned me personally and a person close to me. But after this another event happened, even more vile. You know what and who I'm talking about. One of you - I won’t give his last name, it’s known to all of you - committed a disgusting act. He offended an old, weak man. I repeat, I didn’t want to talk about it, I wanted to remain silent. But later I witnessed an even more disgusting act. I saw you beating your comrade. I understand well, guys, and even to some extent share your indignation, but... But you need to know when to stop. No matter how vilely Panteleev acted, expressing his indignation in such a wild, barbaric way, organizing lynching, resorting to lynching, that is, doing what the descendants of American slave owners do, is shameful and unworthy of you, Soviet people, and almost adults at that...
Having ridden his favorite horse - eloquence - Vikniksor spoke for a long time on this topic. He talked about the need to be fair, that Panteleev has a dark past behind him, that he is a guy spoiled by the street, because at the age of fourteen he managed to spend time in both prisons and correctional colonies. This guy was in bad society for a long time, among thieves and bandits, and all this must be taken into account, so to speak, when passing a sentence. And besides, maybe he was also hungry when he committed his low, unworthy act. In a word, you must approach a person condescendingly, you cannot throw a stone at a person without understanding all the motives for his crime, you must cultivate self-control and sensitivity...
Vikniksor spoke for a long time, but the Shkids no longer listened to him. Before we had time to have dinner, high school students gathered in the fourth department.
The guys were clearly excited and even discouraged.
Wow - a nun in pants! - Gypsy exclaimed as soon as he crossed the threshold of the classroom.
“Yes,” Yankel mumbled meaningfully.
What is this, brothers? - said the Merchant. - Didn’t roll, then?
Didn’t roll - fact! - Sparrow assented.
Well, let’s say this is not a fact, but a hypothesis,” the Japanese said importantly. - I would like to know why on earth Vikniksor is shielding him in this situation?!
Okay, Jap, shut up,” Yankel said seriously. - Somebody, you should shut up in this situation.
The Japanese blushed, muttered something sarcastic, but still fell silent.
Before going to bed, several people made their way to the isolation ward. The yellowish light of a five-candle coal lamp leaked through the keyhole.
Panteley, are you awake? - Yankel asked quietly. The iron bed creaked behind the door, but there was no answer.
Panteleev! Lenka! - Gypsy said into the well. - You… don’t be angry about this. A? You understand, excuse us. There was an error, you see.
Okay... roll to the camp,” a dull, gloomy voice came from behind the door. - Don’t disturb a person’s sleep.
Panteley, don’t you want to eat? - asked Gorbushka.
The guys trampled and left.
But later they finally got together and brought the proud prisoner several slices of bread and a lump of sugar. Since this time there was intense silence outside the door, they slipped this modest transmission into the crack under the door. But even after that the iron bed did not creak.
Lenka was never talkative. He had to become very close friends with the person in order for his tongue to loosen. And here, in Shkida, he had no intention of making friends with anyone. He lived a sort of distracted life, thinking only about how and when he would get away from here.
True, when he came to Shkida, this school seemed to him unlike all the other orphanages and colonies that he had visited so far. The guys here were more well-read. And most importantly, newcomers were welcomed here in a friendly manner; no one beat them or harassed them. And Lenka, taught by bitter experience, was already prepared to give a worthy rebuff to anyone who would approach him.
For the time being, no one approached him. On the contrary, it was as if they stopped even paying attention to him until this incident happened with Sova, which made the whole school talk about Panteleev and made him for some time the most prominent figure in the Shkidsky Republic.
Lenka did not come to Shkida from the Institute of Noble Maidens. It had been a long time since he blushed at the word “theft.” If it had been something else, if the guys had been planning to break into a closet or had gone on some other, more serious matter, perhaps he would have joined them out of a sense of camaraderie. But when he saw that the guys had attacked the blind old woman, he felt disgusted. Such things had previously made him feel disgusted. For example, he was disgusted with picking into someone else's pocket. Therefore, he always looked down on pickpockets and with disdain, apparently believing that stealing a suitcase or breaking into a stall at the market was a more noble and sublime act than pickpocketing.
When the guys attacked Lenka and began to beat him, he was not very surprised. He knew well what shelter morals were, and he himself took part in the “dark” more than once. He didn’t even really resist those who beat him, he only defended his face and other most vulnerable places as much as possible. But when Vikniksor appeared in the class and, instead of standing up for Lenka, growled menacingly at him, Lenka for some reason became furious. Nevertheless, he obediently followed Vikniksor into his office.
Vikniksor closed the door and turned to the new guy, who was still sniffling and wiping his bloody face with his sleeve. Vikniksor, like an avid Sherlock Holmes, decided right off the bat to stun his pupil.
Why did your comrades beat you? - he asked, glaring at Lenka’s face.
Lenka did not answer.
Why are you silent? I think I'm asking you: why were you beaten in class?
Vikniksor looked even more intently into the eyes of the newcomer:
For flatbreads, right?
Yes,” Lenka muttered.
Vikniksor's face turned bloodshot. One could expect that now he would scream and stamp his feet. But he did not shout, but calmly and clearly, without any expression, as if he was taking a dictation, he said:
Scoundrel! Geek! Degenerate!
Why are you swearing! - Lenka flushed, - What right do you have?
And then Vikniksor jumped up and roared to the whole school:
What-oh-oh?! As you said? What right do I have?! Cattle! Kanaglia!
“He’s a rascal himself,” Lenka managed to babble.
Vikniksor gasped, grabbed the newcomer by the collar and dragged him to the door.
Everything else happened before the eyes of the stunned Shkids.
Lenka sat in the isolation ward for the third day and did not know that his fate had excited and worried the whole school.
In the fourth department there were endless debates from morning to night.
Still, guys, this is rudeness,” Yankel fumed. - The guy took the blame on himself, he suffers for unknown reasons, and we...
What, I wonder, are you proposing? - The Japanese grinned sarcastically.
What am I offering? We must go as a class to Vikniksor and tell him that Panteleev is not to blame, but we are to blame.
OK! Look for fools. Go on your own if you want.
So what? And what do you think? And I'll go...
So please. Good riddance.
I’ll go and tell you who was the instigator of this whole thing. And who set the guys against Lenka.
Oh, that's how it is? Are you going to lie down?
Quiet, timid! - the Merchant said in a deep voice. - I'll tell you what. Going as a whole class is stupid, of course. If we all go, it means we’ll all get fifth grade...
The die must be cast,” Mommy squeaked.
Maybe invite the oracle? - the Japanese chuckled.
No, timidly,” said the Merchant. - There is no need to invite the Oracle. And there is no need to draw lots either. This is what I think... I think I should go alone and take all the blame on myself.
Who exactly is this? - asked the Japanese.
Namely - you!
Yes... you go!
This was said in the tone of a categorical order.
The Japanese turned pale.
It is unknown how this whole story would have ended if a rumor had not spread throughout Shkida that Panteleev had been released from the detention center. A few minutes later he himself appeared in the classroom. His face, adorned with bruises and marks, was paler than usual. Without greeting anyone, he walked to his desk, sat down and began collecting his belongings. Slowly, he took out of the box and laid out on the desk several books and notebooks, a started pack of Smychka cigarettes, a knitted muffler mended in many places, a box of feathers and pencils, a small bag with the remains of vegetable sugar - and began to tie it all together with a piece of twine.
The class silently watched his manipulations.
Where are you going, Panteley? - Gorbushka broke the silence.
Panteleev did not answer, frowned even more and began to sniffle.
Have you climbed into a bottle? Don't you want to talk? A?
Come on, Lenka, don’t be angry,” said Yankel, approaching the new guy. He put his hand on Panteleev’s shoulder, but Panteleev threw his hand off with a movement of his shoulder.
“All of you go to the place,” he said through clenched teeth, tightening the knot on his bag and pushing the bag into the desk.
And then a Japanese man approached Panteleev’s desk.
You know, Lenka, you... this is the most... you’re great,” he said, blushing and sniffling. - Forgive us, please. I’m saying this not only on my own behalf, but on behalf of the whole class. Right guys?
Right!!! - the guys started bawling, surrounding Lenka’s desk on all sides. The new guy's high-cheekbone face turned pink! Something like a faint smile appeared on his dry lips.
Well? Worldwide? - asked the Gypsy, extending his hand to the newcomer.
Cheers to you! “Blink,” Lenka murmured, grinning and answering the handshake.
The guys surrounded Lenka, one after another, shaking his hand.
Brothers! Brothers! But we didn’t say the main thing! - Yankel exclaimed, jumping up on his desk. And, addressing the newcomer from this podium, he said: “Panteley, thank you on behalf of the whole class for... you... well, you, in a word, understand yourself.”
For what? - Lenka was surprised, and it was clear from his face that he did not understand.
Because... because you didn’t attack us, but took the blame upon yourself.
What guilt?
Like which one? You told Vitya that you wrapped the Owl’s cakes, didn’t you? Okay, don't be modest. Didn't he say that?
Well, yes! Then who?
I didn't think so.
Why didn't you think so?
Am I a fool, or what?
There was silence in the class again. Only Mommy, unable to restrain himself, giggled muffledly several times.
Excuse me, how is this? - Yankel said, rubbing his sweaty forehead. - What the hell?! After all, we thought that Vitya put you in isolation for the cakes.
Yes. For the flatbreads. But what do I have to do with it?
How does it have anything to do with it?
It has nothing to do with it.
Ugh! - Yankel got angry. - Yes, finally explain, you bore, what’s the matter!
Very simple. And there is nothing to explain. He asks: “Why were you beaten? For scones? I said: “Yes, for the flatbreads...”
Panteleev looked at the guys, and the Shkids for the first time saw a cheerful, open smile on his high-cheeked face.
And what? Is Ghazve not pgavda? - he grinned. - Gazve didn’t beat me for the cakes, why?..
The friendly laughter of the whole class did not allow Panteleev to finish.
Peace was concluded. And Panteleev was forever accepted as a full member of the friendly Shkidsky family.
His bundle with feathers, mufflers and lean sugar was unpacked that same day, and its contents went into their places. And after a while Lenka stopped thinking about escaping altogether. The guys loved him, and he also became attached to many of his new comrades. When he thawed out a little and started talking, he told the guys his life.
And it turned out that Vikniksor was right: this quiet, taciturn and shy guy went through, as they say, fire, water and copper pipes. He lost his family early and spent several years as a homeless child, wandering around different cities of the republic. Before Shkida, he managed to visit four or five orphanages and colonies; more than once he had to spend the night in prison cells, and in arrest houses, and in the railway Cheka... Behind him there were several arrests in the criminal investigation department.
Lenka came to Shkida of his own free will; he himself decided to put an end to his dark past. Therefore, the nickname Raider, which the guys gave him instead of the unjustified nickname Nun, did not suit him and outraged him. He got angry and attacked those who called him that with his fists. Then someone came up with a new nickname for him - Lepeshkin...
But then again an event occurred that not only stopped all ridicule of the newcomer, but also raised the newly converted Shkidt to completely unattainable heights.
Once, two weeks before entering Shkida, Lenka watched an American cowboy action movie at the Empire cinema on Sadovaya. Before the session, a divertissement was shown: magicians and jugglers performed, a fish-like singer in a scaly dress sang two romances, two girls in sailor pants danced a matlot, and at the end a coupletist performed, to the accompaniment of a small accordion, “ditties on the topic of the day.” Lenka listened to these ditties, and it seemed to him that he himself could write no worse. Returning home, he tore a piece of paper out of the notebook and, hurrying so as not to lose inspiration, in ten minutes he jotted down six quatrains, among which was this:
Gold rates have risen
Because of the NEP.
In Petrograd on Sennaya
Three lemon turnips.
He entitled this entire essay “Topical ditties.” Then I thought about where to send the ditties, and decided to send them to Krasnaya Gazeta. For several days after this he waited for an answer, but no answer came. And then the events of Lenka’s life began to spin with the speed of an American action movie, and he had no time for ditties or “Red Newspaper”. He forgot about them.
Soon he found himself in Shkida.
And then one day after school, an excited and out of breath third-grader, Kurochka, noisily burst into the class of the fourth department. In his hands he held a crumpled sheet of newspaper.
Panteleev! That's not you? - he shouted as soon as he crossed the threshold.
What? - Lenka turned pale, barely getting out from behind his desk. His heart began to beat rapidly. My legs and arms were cold.
The chicken raised a sheet of newspaper above his head like a banner.
Have you sent poems to Krasnaya Gazeta?
Yes... I sent it,” Lenka stammered.
Here you go. I knew it. And the guys argue, saying - it can’t be.
Show me,” Lenka said, holding out his hand. They surrounded him. The letters in his eyes jumped around and did not form into lines.
Where? Where? - they asked around.
Yes, that's it. “Look below,” Chicken was worried. - There, where it says “Mailbox”...
Lenka found the “Mailbox,” the department in which the editors responded to authors. Somewhere in second or third place, his last name, printed in large font, caught his eye. When his eyes stopped flickering, he read:
“ALEXEY PANTELEEV. The “topical ditties” sent to you are not ditties, but rhymes of your own composition. It won't work."
For a few seconds, Lenka’s cold legs refused to serve him. All the blood rushed to my ears. It seemed to him that he would not be able to look his comrades in the eyes, that now he would be booed, defamed, and laughed at.
But nothing like that happened. Lenka raised his eyes and saw that the guys surrounding him were looking at him with such an expression, as if standing in front of them, if not Pushkin, then at least Blok or Demyan Bedny.
That's it Panteley! - Mommy squealed enthusiastically.
Oh yes Lenka! - Gypsy exclaimed not without envy.
Maybe it's not him? - someone doubted.
It's you? - they asked Lenka.
Yes... I,” he answered, lowering his eyes - this time out of sheer modesty.
The newspaper passed from hand to hand.
Give! Give! Show me! Let me have fun! - was heard around.
But soon the Chicken took away the newspaper. And Lenka suddenly felt that something very valuable and dear had been taken away, a piece of his glory, evidence of his triumph had been taken away.
He found the teacher on duty, Alnikpop, and tearfully begged him to be allowed outside for five minutes. The Sashkets, after hesitating, gave him leave. At the corner of Peterhofsky and Ogorodnikov Avenue, Lenka bought the latest issue of Krasnaya Gazeta from a newspaperman for eighteen thousand rubles. While still on the street, returning to Shkida, he unrolled the newspaper five times and looked into the “Mailbox”. And here, as in Kurochkin’s copy, it was printed in black and white: “To Alexey Panteleev...”
Lenka became the hero of the day.
The pilgrimage of the boys from the junior departments continued until the evening. Every now and then the door of the fourth department opened and several faces timidly looked into the classroom.
Panteley, show me the newspaper, will you? - the kids whined pleadingly. Lenka smiled condescendingly, took a newspaper out of his desk drawer and gave it to everyone who wanted it. The guys read it aloud, reread it again, shook their heads, gasped in amazement.
And everyone asked Lenka:
Yes, it’s me,” Lenka answered modestly.
Even in the bedroom, after lights out, the discussion of this extraordinary event continued.
Lenka fell asleep, satiated with glory.
At night, at about four o'clock, he woke up and immediately remembered that something very important had happened the day before. The newspaper, carefully folded, lay under his pillow. He carefully took it out and unfolded it. It was dark in the bedroom. Then he went barefoot, wearing only his underpants, onto the stairs and, in the pale light of a coal lamp, read again:
“To Alexey Panteleev. The ditties you sent are not ditties, but rhymes of your own composition. It won't work."
So another writer appeared in the Shkid Republic, and this time a writer with a name. A little time passed, and he had to show his abilities already in the Shkid arena - for the benefit of the republic, which became near and dear to him.
3. Lenka’s childhood is described in more detail in L. Panteleev’s autobiographical story “Lenka Panteleev” (see the collection “Tales and Stories”. Leningrad, Detgiz, 1967).
-- [Page 28] --
Well, let’s say this is not a fact, but a hypothesis,” the Japanese said importantly. I would like to know why on earth Vikniksor is shielding him in this situation?!
“Okay, Jap, shut up,” Yankel said seriously. - Somebody, you should shut up in this situation.
The Japanese blushed, muttered something sarcastic, but still fell silent.
Before going to bed, several people made their way to the isolation ward. The yellowish light of a five-candle coal lamp leaked through the keyhole.
- Panteley, are you awake? - Yankel asked quietly. The iron bed creaked behind the door, but there was no answer.
Panteleev! Lenka! - Gypsy said into the well. - You... don't be angry about this. A? You understand, excuse us. There was an error, you see.
“Okay... roll to the camp,” a dull, gloomy voice came from behind the door. - Don’t disturb a person’s sleep.
- Panteley, don’t you want to eat? - asked Gorbushka.
The guys trampled and left.
But later they finally got together and brought the proud prisoner several slices of bread and a lump of sugar. Since this time there was intense silence outside the door, they slipped this modest transmission into the crack under the door. But even after that the iron bed did not creak.
Lenka was never talkative. He had to become very close friends with the person in order for his tongue to loosen. And here, in Shkida, he had no intention of making friends with anyone. He lived a sort of distracted life, thinking only about how and when he would get away from here.
True, when he came to Shkida, this school seemed to him unlike all the other orphanages and colonies that he had visited so far.
The guys here were more well-read. And most importantly, newcomers were welcomed here in a friendly manner; no one beat them or pursued them. And Lenka, taught by bitter experience, was already prepared to give a worthy rebuff to anyone who would approach him.
For the time being, no one approached him. On the contrary, it was as if they stopped even paying attention to him until this incident happened with Sova, which made the whole school talk about Panteleev and made him for some time the most prominent figure in the Shkid Republic.
Lenka did not come to Shkida from the Institute of Noble Maidens. It had been a long time since he blushed at the word “theft.” If it had been something else, if the guys had been planning to break into a closet or had gone on some other, more serious matter, perhaps he would have joined them out of a sense of camaraderie. But when he saw that the guys had attacked the blind old woman, he felt disgusted. Such things had previously made him feel disgusted. For example, he was disgusted with picking into someone else's pocket. Therefore, he always looked down on pickpockets and with disdain, apparently believing that stealing a suitcase or breaking into a stall at the market was a more noble and sublime act than pickpocketing.
When the guys attacked Lenka and began to beat him, he was not very surprised. He knew well what shelter morals were, and he himself took part in the “dark” more than once. He didn’t even really resist those who beat him, he only defended his face and other most vulnerable places as much as possible. But when Vikniksor appeared in the class and, instead of standing up for Lenka, growled menacingly at him, Lenka for some reason became furious. Nevertheless, he obediently followed Vikniksor into his office.
Vikniksor closed the door and turned to the new guy, who was still sniffling and wiping his bloody face with his sleeve. Vikniksor, like an avid Sherlock Holmes, decided right off the bat to stun his pupil.
- Why did your comrades beat you? - he asked, glaring at Lenka’s face.
Lenka did not answer.
- Why are you silent? I think I'm asking you: why were you beaten in class?
Vikniksor looked even more intently into the eyes of the newcomer:
- For the flatbreads, right?
“Yes,” Lenka muttered.
Vikniksor's face turned bloodshot. One could expect that now he would scream and stamp his feet. But he did not shout, but calmly and clearly, without any expression, as if he was taking a dictation, he said:
- You bastard! Geek! Degenerate!
- Why are you swearing! - Lenka flushed, - What right do you have?
And then Vikniksor jumped up and roared to the whole school:
- What-oh-oh?! As you said? What right do I have?! Cattle! Kanaglia!
“He’s a rascal himself,” Lenka managed to mutter.
Vikniksor gasped, grabbed the newcomer by the collar and dragged him to the door.
Everything else happened before the eyes of the stunned Shkids.
Lenka sat in the isolation ward for the third day and did not know that his fate had excited and worried the whole school.
In the fourth department there were endless debates from morning to night.
Still, guys, this is rudeness,” Yankel fumed. - The guy took the blame on himself, he suffers for unknown reasons, and we...
- What, I wonder, are you proposing? - The Japanese grinned sarcastically.
What am I offering? We must go as a class to Vikniksor and tell him that Panteleev is not to blame, but we are to blame.
- OK! Look for fools. Go on your own if you want.
- So what? And what do you think? And I'll go...
So please. Good riddance, - I’ll go and tell you who was the instigator of this whole thing. And who set the guys against Lenka.
- Oh, that's how it is? Are you going to lie down?
Quiet, timid! - the Merchant said in a deep voice. - I'll tell you what. Going as a whole class is stupid, of course. If we all go, it means we’ll all get a fifth-class rating...
“The die must be cast,” Mommy squeaked.
- Maybe we should invite the oracle? - the Japanese chuckled.
No, timidly,” said the Merchant. - There is no need to invite the Oracle. And there is no need to draw lots either. This is what I think... I think I should go alone and take all the blame on myself.
- Who exactly is this? - asked the Japanese.
- Namely, you!
- Yes... you will go!
This was said in the tone of a categorical order.
The Japanese turned pale. It is unknown how this whole story would have ended if a rumor had not spread throughout Shkida that Panteleev had been released from the isolation ward. A few minutes later he himself appeared in the classroom. His face, adorned with bruises and marks, was paler than usual. Without greeting anyone, he walked to his desk, sat down and began collecting his belongings. Slowly, he took out of the box and laid out on the desk several books and notebooks, a started pack of Smychka cigarettes, a knitted muffler mended in many places, a box of feathers and pencils, a small bag with the remains of vegetable sugar - and began to tie it all together with a piece of twine.
The class silently watched his manipulations.
- Where are you going, Panteley? - Gorbushka broke the silence.
Panteleev did not answer, frowned even more and began to sniffle.
- Did you climb into a bottle? Don't you want to talk? A?
Come on, Lenka, don’t be angry,” said Yankel, approaching the new guy. He put his hand on Panteleev’s shoulder, but Panteleev threw his hand off with a movement of his shoulder.
“All of you go to the place,” he said through clenched teeth, tightening the knot on his bag and pushing the bag into the desk.
And then a Japanese man approached Panteleev’s desk.
You know, Lenka, you... this is the very thing... you’re great,” he said, blushing and sniffling. - Forgive us, please. I’m saying this not only on my own behalf, but on behalf of the whole class. Right guys?
- Right!!! - the guys started bawling, surrounding Lenka’s desk on all sides. The new guy's high-cheekbone face turned pink! Something like a faint smile appeared on his dry lips.
- Well? Worldwide? - asked the Gypsy, extending his hand to the newcomer.
- What's wrong with you! “Blink,” Lenka murmured, grinning and answering the handshake.
The guys surrounded Lenka, one after another, shaking his hand.
Brothers! Brothers! But we didn’t say the main thing! - Yankel exclaimed, jumping up on his desk. And, addressing the new student from this podium, he said: Panteley, thank you on behalf of the whole class for... you... well, you, in a word, understand.
- For what? - Lenka was surprised, and it was clear from his face that he did not understand.
- Because... because you didn’t attack us, but took the blame upon yourself.
- What guilt?
- Like which one? You told Vitya that you wrapped the Owl’s cakes, didn’t you?
Okay, don't be modest. Didn't he say that?
- Well, yes! Then who?
- I didn’t think so.
- Why didn’t you think so?
- Am I a fool, or what?
There was silence in the class again. Only Mommy, unable to restrain himself, giggled muffledly several times.
Excuse me, how is this? - Yankel said, rubbing his sweaty forehead. What the hell?! After all, we thought that Vitya put you in isolation for the cakes.
- Yes. For the flatbreads. But what does that have to do with me?
- How does it have anything to do with it?
- It has nothing to do with it.
- Ugh! - Yankel got angry. - Yes, finally explain, you bore, what’s the matter!
- Very simple. And there is nothing to explain. He asks: “Why were you beaten? For flat cakes?” I said: “Yes, for the flatbreads...”
Panteleev looked at the guys, and the Shkids for the first time saw a cheerful, open smile on his high-cheeked face.
- And what? Is Ghazve not pgavda? - he grinned. - Gazve didn’t beat me for the cakes, why?..
The friendly laughter of the whole class did not allow Panteleev to finish.
Peace was concluded. And Panteleev was forever accepted as a full member of the friendly Shkidsky family.
His bundle with feathers, mufflers and lean sugar was unpacked that same day, and its contents went into their places. And after a while Lenka stopped thinking about escaping altogether. The guys loved him, and he also became attached to many of his new comrades. When he thawed out a little and started talking, he told the guys his life.
And it turned out that Vikniksor was right: this quiet, taciturn and shy guy went through, as they say, fire, water and copper pipes. He lost his family early and spent several years as a homeless child, wandering around different cities of the republic. Before Shkida, he managed to visit four or five orphanages and colonies; more than once he had to spend the night in prison cells, and in arrest houses, and in the railway Cheka... Behind him there were several arrests in the criminal investigation department3.
Lenka came to Shkida of his own free will; he himself decided to put an end to his dark past. Therefore, the nickname Raider, which the guys gave him instead of the unjustified nickname Nun, did not suit him and outraged him. He got angry and attacked those who called him that with his fists. Then someone came up with a new nickname for him - Lepeshkin...
But then again an event occurred that not only stopped all ridicule of the newcomer, but also raised the newly converted Shkidt to completely unattainable heights.
I will explain by referring to the text by V.P. Vasilyeva, as I understand the meaning of the phrase: “My bow to you, my dear rivers!”
However, everything was more complicated: after all, you need to find an approach to everyone, establish discipline in children's team. “I became hoarse, but I understood that twenty-four streams make more noise than one river” (sentence 11).
Another test awaited the novice counselor the next day, when the long-awaited game began in the gorge. One of the guys ended up on a rock, showing “military cunning.” “Right below me, about fifteen meters away, on a tiny ledge there was a boy pressed against the rock” (sentence 49).
Thanks to the help of an experienced camp driver, everything ended well.
The narrator, it would seem, should be broken after such a dangerous situation, which he should have prevented, bearing responsibility for the lives and health of the children! However, the counselor was not even offended by the “severe reprimand” received from the head of the camp, because he understood: being a teacher is work. Even then, for the first time, the narrator felt that he felt a calling to teaching.
Thus, the meaning of the phrase in the text by teacher V.P. Vasiliev becomes clear.
Explain how you understand the meaning of the sentences: “You know, Lenka, you’re great,” said the Japanese, blushing and sniffling. “Please forgive us.” This is not the end, continued below.
Useful material on the topic
I’m saying this not only on my own behalf, but on behalf of the whole class.”
I will explain how I understand the meaning of the sentences in L. Panteleev’s text. In my opinion, the above passage shows how a boorish act by a group of teenagers towards an elderly person can cause a protest from another teenager. I am very glad that the instigator still managed to realize the immorality of what was committed.
The new boy was amazed by such an outburst, but the teenagers wanted Lenka to stoop to their level. Feeling genuine delight, the Japanese “stuffed the cake” into Lenka’s mouth. Thus, having substituted him (No. 39), the Japanese later apologized in front of everyone for the general rudeness.
So, the meaning of sentences 47-49, where the Japanese asks for forgiveness from the whole class, becomes clear.
Effective preparation for the Unified State Exam (all subjects) - start preparing
Updated: 2017-12-04
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