Brief summary of the story “Timur and his team” for the reader’s diary
Full name of the author : Gaidar Arkady Petrovich
Title : Timur and his team
Number of pages : 112. Gaidar A.P. “Timur and his team.” Publishing house "Prof-Press". 2021
Genre : Story
Year of writing : 1940
The material was prepared jointly with a teacher of the highest category, Ilyina Galina Sergeevna.
Experience as a teacher of Russian language and literature - 36 years.
Text of the book “Timur and his team”
Arkady Gaidar Timur and his team
© Astrel Publishing House LLC, 2010
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© The electronic version of the book was prepared by liters company (www.litres.ru)
For three months now, the commander of the armored division, Colonel Alexandrov, has not been home. He was probably at the front.
In the middle of summer, he sent a telegram in which he invited his daughters Olga and Zhenya to spend the rest of the holidays near Moscow at the dacha.
Pushing her colored scarf to the back of her head and leaning on a brush stick, a frowning Zhenya stood in front of Olga, and she said to her:
– I went with my things, and you will clean the apartment. You don’t have to twitch your eyebrows or lick your lips. Then lock the door. Take the books to the library. Don’t visit your friends, but go straight to the station. From there, send this telegram to dad. Then get on the train and come to the dacha... Evgenia, you must listen to me. I'm your sister...
- And I'm yours too.
– Yes... but I’m older... and, in the end, that’s what dad ordered.
When a car drove away in the yard, Zhenya sighed and looked around. There was ruin and disorder all around. She walked up to the dusty mirror, which reflected the portrait of her father hanging on the wall.
Fine! Let Olga be older and for now you need to obey her. But she, Zhenya, has the same nose, mouth, and eyebrows as her father. And, probably, the character will be the same as his.
She tied her hair up tightly with a scarf. She kicked off her sandals. I took a rag. She pulled the tablecloth off the table, put a bucket under the tap and, grabbing a brush, dragged a pile of garbage to the threshold.
Soon the kerosene stove began to puff and the primus hummed.
The floor was flooded with water. Soap suds hissed and burst in the zinc washtub. And passers-by on the street looked in surprise at the barefoot girl in a red sundress, who, standing on the third floor window sill, boldly wiped the glass of the open windows.
The truck was speeding along a wide sunny road. With her feet on the suitcase and leaning on the soft bundle, Olga sat in a wicker chair. A red kitten lay on her lap and was fiddling with a bouquet of cornflowers with its paws.
At the thirty kilometer they were overtaken by a marching Red Army motorized column. Sitting on wooden benches in rows, the Red Army men held their rifles pointed to the sky and sang together.
At the sound of this song, the windows and doors in the huts opened wider. Overjoyed children flew out from behind fences and gates. They waved their arms, threw still unripe apples to the Red Army soldiers, shouted “Hurray” after them, and immediately started fights, battles, cutting into the wormwood and nettles with swift cavalry attacks.
The truck turned into a holiday village and stopped in front of a small cottage covered with ivy.
The driver and assistant folded back the sides and began unloading things, and Olga opened the glassed-in terrace.
From here one could see a large neglected garden. At the bottom of the garden stood a clumsy two-story shed, and a small red flag fluttered above the roof of this shed.
Olga returned to the car. Here a lively old woman ran up to her - it was a neighbor, a thrush. She volunteered to clean the dacha, wash the windows, floors and walls.
While the neighbor was sorting out the basins and rags, Olga took the kitten and went into the garden.
Hot resin glistened on the trunks of cherry trees pecked by sparrows. There was a strong smell of currants, chamomile and wormwood. The mossy roof of the barn was full of holes, and from these holes some thin rope wires stretched across the top and disappeared into the foliage of the trees.
Olga made her way through the hazel tree and brushed the cobwebs from her face.
What's happened? The red flag was no longer over the roof, and only a stick stuck out there.
Then Olga heard a quick, alarming whisper. And suddenly, breaking dry branches, a heavy ladder - the one that was placed against the window of the attic of the barn - flew along the wall with a crash and, crushing burdocks, hit the ground loudly.
The rope wires above the roof began to tremble. Scratching his hands, the kitten tumbled into the nettles. Perplexed, Olga stopped, looked around, and listened. But neither among the greenery, nor behind someone else’s fence, nor in the black square of the barn window was anyone seen or heard.
She returned to the porch.
“It’s the kids who are making mischief in other people’s gardens,” the thrush explained to Olga. “Yesterday, two neighbors’ apple trees were shaken and a pear tree was broken. Such people went... hooligans. I, dear, sent my son to serve in the Red Army. And when I went, I didn’t drink any wine. “Goodbye,” he says, “Mom.” And he went and whistled, dear. Well, by the evening, as expected, I became sad and cried.
And at night I wake up and it seems to me that someone is darting around the yard, sneaking around. Well, I think I’m a lonely person now, there’s no one to intercede... How much do I, an old man, need? Hit my head with a brick and I’m ready. However, God had mercy - nothing was stolen. They sniffed, sniffed and left. There was a tub in my yard - it was made of oak, you couldn’t turn it over with two people - so they rolled it about twenty steps towards the gate. That's all. And what kind of people they were, what kind of people they were, is a dark matter.
At dusk, when the cleaning was finished, Olga went out onto the porch. Here, from a leather case, she carefully took out a white, sparkling mother-of-pearl accordion - a gift from her father, which he sent her for her birthday.
She put the accordion on her lap, threw the strap over her shoulder and began to match the music to the words of a song she had recently heard:
Oh, if only I could see you once again, Oh, if only... once... And two... and three... And you won’t understand On a fast plane, How I was waiting for you until the morning dawn. Yes! Pilot pilots! Bombs-machine guns! So they flew away on a long journey. When will you be back? I don’t know if it will be soon, Just come back... at least someday.
Even while Olga was humming this song, several times she cast short, wary glances towards a dark bush that grew in the yard near the fence. Having finished playing, she quickly stood up and, turning to the bush, asked loudly:
- Listen! Why are you hiding and what do you want here?
A man in an ordinary white suit came out from behind a bush. He bowed his head and answered her politely:
- I am not hiding. I'm a bit of an artist myself. I didn't want to disturb you. And so I stood and listened.
– Yes, but you could stand and listen from the street. You climbed over the fence for some reason.
“Me?.. Over the fence?..” the man was offended. - Sorry, I'm not a cat. There, in the corner of the fence, boards were broken, and I entered from the street through this hole.
- It's clear! – Olga grinned. - But here is the gate. And be kind enough to sneak through it back onto the street.
The man was obedient. Without saying a word, he walked through the gate and locked the latch behind him, and Olga liked it.
- Wait! – Descending from the steps, she stopped him. - Who are you? Artist?
“No,” the man answered. – I am a mechanical engineer, but in my free time I play and sing in our factory opera.
“Listen,” Olga unexpectedly simply suggested to him. - Walk me to the station. I'm waiting for my little sister. It’s already dark, late, and she’s still not there. Understand, I'm not afraid of anyone, but I don't know the local streets yet. But wait, why are you opening the gate? You can wait for me at the fence.
She carried the accordion, threw a scarf over her shoulders and went out into the dark street that smelled of dew and flowers.
Olga was angry with Zhenya and therefore spoke little to her companion along the way. He told her that his name is Georgy, his last name is Garayev, and he works as a mechanical engineer at an automobile plant.
While waiting for Zhenya, they had already missed two trains, and finally the third and last one passed.
“With this worthless girl you will have a lot of grief!” – Olga exclaimed sadly. - Well, if only I were forty or at least thirty years old. Because she’s thirteen, I’m eighteen, and that’s why she doesn’t listen to me at all.
- No need for forty! – Georgy resolutely refused. – Eighteen is much better! Don't worry in vain. Your sister will arrive early in the morning.
The platform was empty. Georgy took out his cigarette case. Two dashing teenagers immediately approached him and, while waiting for the fire, took out their cigarettes.
“Young man,” said Georgy, lighting a match and illuminating the elder’s face. - Before you reach for me with a cigarette, you need to say hello, because I already had the honor of meeting you in the park, where you were hardworkingly breaking out a board from a new fence. Your name is Mikhail Kvakin. Is not it?
The boy sniffled and backed away, and Georgy put out the match, took Olga by the elbow and led her to the house.
When they walked away, the second boy put a dirty cigarette behind his ear and casually asked:
– What kind of propagandist have you found? Local?
“Here,” Kvakin answered reluctantly. – This is Timki Garayev’s uncle. Timka needs to be caught and beaten. He has chosen his own company, and they seem to be building a case against us.
Then both friends noticed under the lamp at the end of the platform a gray-haired, respectable gentleman who, leaning on a stick, was going down the stairs.
It was a local resident, Doctor F. G. Kolokolchikov. They rushed after him, loudly asking if he had any matches. But their appearance and voices did not please this gentleman at all, because, turning around, he threatened them with a gnarled stick and sedately went his way.
From the Moscow station, Zhenya did not have time to send a telegram to her father, and therefore, getting off the country train, she decided to find the village post office.
Walking through the old park and collecting bells, she unnoticed came to the intersection of two streets fenced with gardens, the deserted appearance of which clearly showed that she was not at all where she needed to be.
Not far away she saw a small, nimble girl dragging a stubborn goat by the horns, cursing.
“Tell me, dear, please,” Zhenya shouted to her, “how can I get from here to the post office?”
But then the goat rushed, twisted its horns and galloped across the park, and the girl ran after her screaming. Zhenya looked around: it was already getting dark, but there were no people around. She opened the gate of someone's gray two-story dacha and walked along the path to the porch.
“Tell me, please,” Zhenya asked loudly, but very politely, without opening the door, “how can I get to the post office from here?”
They didn't answer her. She stood, thought, opened the door and walked through the corridor into the room. The owners were not at home. Then, embarrassed, she turned to leave, but then a large light red dog silently crawled out from under the table. She carefully examined the dumbfounded girl and, growling quietly, lay down across the path by the door.
- You're stupid! – Zhenya screamed, spreading her fingers in fear. - I'm not a thief! I didn't take anything from you. This is the key to our apartment. This is a telegram to dad. My dad is a commander. Do you understand?
The dog was silent and did not move. And Zhenya, slowly moving towards the open window, continued:
- Here you go! You lie? And lie there... A very good dog... looks so smart and cute.
But as soon as Zhenya touched the window sill with her hand, the cute dog jumped up with a menacing growl, and, jumping onto the sofa in fear, Zhenya drew her legs up.
“Very strange,” she said, almost crying. - You catch robbers and spies, and I... am a man. Yes! “She stuck her tongue out at the dog. - Stupid!
Zhenya put the key and telegram on the edge of the table. We had to wait for the owners.
But an hour passed, then another... It was already dark. Through the open window I could hear the distant whistles of steam locomotives, the barking of dogs and the hits of a volleyball. Somewhere they were playing guitar. And only here, near the gray dacha, everything was dull and quiet.
Laying her head on the hard cushion of the sofa, Zhenya began to cry quietly.
Finally she fell fast asleep.
She only woke up in the morning.
Lush, rain-washed foliage rustled outside the window. A well wheel creaked nearby. Somewhere they were sawing wood, but here, at the dacha, it was still quiet.
A soft leather pillow now lay under Zhenya's head, and her legs were covered with a light sheet. There was no dog on the floor.
So someone came here at night!
Zhenya jumped up, threw back her hair, straightened her rumpled sundress, took the key and the unsent telegram from the table and wanted to run.
And then on the table she saw a sheet of paper on which was written in large blue pencil:
“Girl, when you leave, slam the door tight.” Below was the signature: “Timur.”
“Timur? Who is Timur? I should see and thank this man.”
She looked into the next room. There was a desk with an inkstand, an ashtray, and a small mirror on it. On the right, near the leather car leggings, lay an old, tattered revolver. Right next to the table, in a peeling and scratched scabbard, stood a crooked Turkish saber. Zhenya put down the key and the telegram, touched the saber, took it out of its sheath, raised the blade above her head and looked in the mirror.
The look was stern and menacing. It would be nice to act like that and then bring the card to school! One could lie that her father once took her with him to the front. You can take a revolver in your left hand. Like this. This will be even better. She pulled her eyebrows together, pursed her lips, and, aiming at the mirror, pulled the trigger.
A roar hit the room. Smoke covered the windows. A table mirror fell onto an ashtray. And, leaving both the key and the telegram on the table, the stunned Zhenya flew out of the room and rushed away from this strange and dangerous house.
Somehow she found herself on the bank of a river. Now she had neither the key to the Moscow apartment, nor the receipt for the telegram, nor the telegram itself. And now Olga had to tell everything: about the dog, and about spending the night in an empty dacha, and about the Turkish saber, and, finally, about the shot. Bad! If there was a dad, he would understand. Olga won't understand. Olga will get angry or, what’s good, she’ll cry. And this is even worse. Zhenya knew how to cry herself. But at the sight of Olga’s tears, she always wanted to climb a telegraph pole, a tall tree, or a roof chimney.
For courage, Zhenya took a bath and quietly went to look for her dacha.
When she walked up the porch, Olga stood in the kitchen and lit the primus stove. Hearing footsteps, Olga turned around and silently stared at Zhenya with hostility.
- Olya, hello! – Zhenya said, stopping on the top step and trying to smile. - Olya, won’t you swear?
- Will! – Olga answered without taking her eyes off her sister.
“Well, swear,” Zhenya agreed obediently. - Such, you know, a strange case, such an extraordinary adventure! Olya, I beg you, don’t twitch your eyebrows, it’s okay, I just lost the key to the apartment, I didn’t send a telegram to dad...
Zhenya closed her eyes and took a breath, intending to blurt it all out at once. But then the gate in front of the house swung open with a bang. A shaggy goat, covered in burrs, jumped into the yard and, lowering its horns low, rushed into the depths of the garden. And behind her, a barefoot girl already familiar to Zhenya rushed with a scream.
Taking advantage of this opportunity, Zhenya interrupted the dangerous conversation and rushed into the garden to drive out the goat. She caught up with the girl as she, breathing heavily, held the goat by the horns.
- Girl, haven’t you lost anything? – the girl quickly asked Zhenya through gritted teeth, still kicking the goat.
“No,” Zhenya didn’t understand.
-Whose is this? Not yours? – And the girl showed her the key to the Moscow apartment.
“Mine,” Zhenya answered in a whisper, timidly looking towards the terrace.
“Take the key, the note and the receipt, and the telegram has already been sent,” the girl muttered just as quickly and through clenched teeth.
And, thrusting a paper bundle into Zhenya’s hand, she hit the goat with her fist.
The goat galloped to the gate, and the barefoot girl, straight through the thorns, through the nettles, like a shadow, rushed after. And at once they disappeared behind the gate.
Squeezing her shoulders, as if she had been beaten and not a goat, Zhenya opened the package:
“This is the key. This is a telegraphic receipt. So, someone sent a telegram to my father. But who? Yep, here's a note! What is it?"
This note was written in large blue pencil:
“Girl, don’t be afraid of anyone at home. Everything is fine, and no one will know anything from me.” And below was the signature: “Timur.”
As if spellbound, Zhenya quietly put the note in her pocket. Then she straightened her shoulders and calmly walked towards Olga.
Olga stood still there, near the unlit primus stove, and tears were already appearing in her eyes.
- Olya! – Zhenya then exclaimed sadly. - I was joking. Well, why are you angry with me? I cleaned the whole apartment, I wiped the windows, I tried, I washed all the rags, washed all the floors. Here's the key, here's the receipt from dad's telegram. And let me kiss you better. You know how much I love you! Do you want me to jump off the roof into the nettles for you?
And, without waiting for Olga to answer anything, Zhenya threw herself on her neck.
“Yes... but I was worried,” Olga spoke with despair. - And you always make ridiculous jokes... But my dad told me... Zhenya, leave it alone! Zhenya, my hands are covered in kerosene! Zhenya, you better pour the milk and put the pan on the primus stove!
“I... I can’t live without jokes,” Zhenya muttered while Olga stood near the washbasin.
She dumped a pot of milk on the primus stove, touched the note in her pocket and asked:
- Olya, is there a God?
“No,” Olga answered and put her head under the washbasin.
- Who is there?
- Leave me alone! – Olga answered with annoyance. - Nobody here!
Zhenya was silent and asked again:
- Olya, who is Timur?
“This is not God, this is one such king,” Olga reluctantly answered, soaping her face and hands, “angry, lame, from the middle story.”
- And if not the king, not evil and not from the average, then who?
- Then I don’t know. Leave me alone! And what did you want Timur for?
- And because, it seems to me, I really love this person.
- Whom? – And Olga raised her face covered with soap foam in bewilderment. - Why are you mumbling and making things up, not letting me wash my face in peace! Just wait, dad will come, and he will understand your love.
- Well, dad! – Zhenya exclaimed mournfully and with pathos. – If he comes, it won’t be for long. And he, of course, will not offend a lonely and defenseless person.
– Are you the one who is lonely and defenseless? – Olga asked incredulously. - Oh, Zhenya, I don’t know what kind of person you are and what kind of person you were born into!
Then Zhenya lowered her head and, looking at her face reflected in the cylinder of the nickel-plated teapot, proudly and without hesitation answered:
- To dad. Only. Into him. One. And no one else in the world.
An elderly gentleman, Doctor F. G. Kolokolchikov, was sitting in his garden and repairing a wall clock.
His grandson Kolya stood in front of him with a sad expression on his face.
It was believed that he was helping his grandfather with his work. In fact, for a whole hour now he had been holding a screwdriver in his hand, waiting for his grandfather to need this tool.
But the steel coil spring that needed to be driven into place was stubborn, and grandfather was patient. And it seemed that there would be no end to this expectation. This was insulting, especially since the curly head of Sima Simakov, a very efficient and knowledgeable man, had already poked out from behind the neighboring fence several times. And this Sima Simakov gave Kolya signs with his tongue, head and hands, so strange and mysterious that even Kolya’s five-year-old sister Tatyanka, who, sitting under a linden tree, was intently trying to push a burdock into the mouth of a lazily lounging dog, suddenly screamed and pulled her grandfather’s trouser leg, after whereupon Sima Simakov’s head instantly disappeared.
Finally the spring fell into place.
“A person must work,” the gray-haired gentleman F.G. Kolokolchikov said instructively, raising his damp forehead and turning to Kolya. “Your face looks as if I’m treating you to castor oil.” Give me a screwdriver and take some pliers. Work ennobles a person. You just lack spiritual nobility. For example, yesterday you ate four servings of ice cream, but did not share with your younger sister.
– She’s lying, shameless! – exclaimed the offended Kolya, throwing an angry look at Tatyanka. “Three times I gave her two bites.” She went to complain about me and on the way she stole four kopecks from my mother’s table.
“And you were climbing on a rope from the window at night,” Tatyanka blurted out coolly, without turning her head. – You have a lantern under your pillow. And yesterday some hooligan threw a stone at our bedroom. Throws and whistles, throws and whistles.
Kolya Kolokolchikov’s spirit was taken away by these impudent words of the unscrupulous Tatyanka. Trembling ran through my body from head to toes. But, fortunately, the grandfather, busy with work, did not pay attention to such dangerous slander or simply did not hear it. Very opportunely, a milkmaid came into the garden with cans and, measuring out milk in mugs, began to complain:
“And, Father Fyodor Grigorievich, swindlers almost stole an oak tub from my yard at night.” And today, people say that as soon as it was light they saw two people on my roof: they were sitting on a chimney, damned, and dangling their legs.
- That is, like on a pipe? For what purpose is this, please? – the surprised gentleman began to ask.
But then a clanging and ringing sound was heard from the direction of the chicken coop. The screwdriver in the gray-haired gentleman's hand trembled, and the stubborn spring, flying out of its socket, hit the iron roof with a squeal. Everyone, even Tatyanka, even the lazy dog, turned around at once, not understanding where the ringing came from and what was happening. And Kolya Kolokolchikov, without saying a word, darted like a hare through the carrot beds and disappeared behind the fence.
He stopped near a cow barn, from inside which, just like from a chicken coop, sharp sounds were coming, as if someone was hitting a piece of steel rail with a weight. It was here that he ran into Sima Simakov, to whom he excitedly asked:
– Listen... I don’t understand. What is this?.. Anxiety?
- Not really! This appears to be the number one form of the general call sign.
They jumped over the fence and dived into a hole in the park fence. Here the broad-shouldered, strong boy Geika encountered them. Vasily Ladygin jumped up next. Another and someone else. And silently, quickly, using only familiar moves, they rushed towards some goal, briefly exchanging words as they ran:
- Is this an alarm?
- Not really! This is form number one call sign general.
-What's your call sign? This is not “three - stop”, “three - stop”. This is some idiot hitting the wheel ten times in a row.
- But let's see!
- Yeah, let's check it out!
- Forward! Lightning!
And at this time, in the room of the very dacha where Zhenya spent the night, stood a tall, dark-haired boy of about thirteen. He was wearing light black trousers and a dark blue sleeveless vest with a red star embroidered on it.
A gray-haired, shaggy old man approached him. His linen shirt was poor. Wide pants with patches. A rough piece of wood was strapped to the knee of his left leg. In one hand he held a note, in the other he clutched an old, tattered revolver.
“Girl, when you leave, slam the door tight,” the old man read mockingly. “So, maybe you can tell me who spent the night on our couch today?”
“A girl I know,” the boy answered reluctantly. “The dog detained her without me.”
- So you’re lying! - the old man got angry. - If she were familiar to you, then here, in the note, you would call her by name.
– When I wrote, I didn’t know. And now I know her.
- Did not know. And you left her alone this morning... in the apartment? You, my friend, are sick, and you need to be sent to a madhouse. This rubbish broke the mirror and smashed the ashtray. Well, it’s good that the revolver was loaded with blanks. What if it contained live ammunition?
- But, uncle... you don’t have live ammunition, because your enemies have guns and sabers... just wooden ones.
It looked like the old man was smiling. However, shaking his shaggy head, he said sternly:
- Look! I notice everything. Your affairs, as I see, are dark, and as if for them I would not send you back to your mother.
Tapping the piece of wood, the old man walked up the stairs. When he disappeared, the boy jumped up, grabbed the dog that ran into the room by the paws and kissed it on the face.
- Yeah, Rita! You and I got caught. It's okay, he's kind today. He will sing now.
And exactly. A cough was heard from upstairs in the room. Then a sort of tra-la-la!.. And finally a low baritone sang:
…I haven’t slept for the third night. I still imagine the same secret movement in gloomy silence...
- Stop, crazy dog! - Timur shouted. - Why are you tearing my pants and where are you dragging me?
Suddenly he noisily slammed the door that led upstairs to his uncle’s, and followed the dog through the corridor and jumped out onto the veranda.
In the corner of the veranda, near a small telephone, a bronze bell tied to a rope twitched, jumped and banged against the wall.
The boy held it in his hand and wrapped the string around the nail. Now the shuddering string has weakened - it must have snapped somewhere.
Then, surprised and angry, he grabbed the phone.
An hour before all this happened, Olga was sitting at the table. In front of her lay a physics textbook.
Zhenya came in and took out a bottle of iodine.
“Zhenya,” Olga asked displeasedly, “where did you get the scratch on your shoulder?”
“And I was walking,” Zhenya answered carelessly, “and there was something so prickly or sharp standing in the way.” That's how it happened.
- Why isn’t anything prickly or sharp standing in my way? – Olga mimicked her.
- Not true! A math exam is standing in your way. It is both prickly and sharp. Look, you’ll cut yourself!.. Olechka, don’t become an engineer, go become a doctor,” Zhenya spoke, slipping a table mirror to Olga. - Well, look: what kind of engineer are you? An engineer should be - here... here... and here... (She made three energetic grimaces.) And for you - here... here... and here... - Here Zhenya rolled her eyes, raised her eyebrows and smiled very tenderly.
- Stupid! – Olga said, hugging her, kissing her and gently pushing her away. - Go away, Zhenya, and don’t bother me. You'd better run to the well for water.
Zhenya took an apple from the plate, went to a corner, stood by the window, then unfastened the accordion case and spoke:
- You know, Olya! Some guy comes up to me today. So he looks wow - blond, in a white suit, and asks: “Girl, what’s your name?” I say: “Zhenya...”
“Zhenya, don’t interfere and don’t touch the instrument,” Olga said without turning around or looking up from the book.
“And your sister,” Zhenya continued, taking out the accordion, “I think her name is Olga?”
- Zhenya, don’t interfere and don’t touch the instrument! – Olga repeated, involuntarily listening.
“Very well,” he says, “your sister plays well. Doesn’t she want to study at the conservatory?” (Zhenya took out an accordion and threw the strap over her shoulder.) “No,” I tell him, “she is already studying for a reinforced concrete specialty.” And then he says: “Ah!” (Here Zhenya pressed one key.) And I said to him: “Bee!” (Here Zhenya pressed another key.)
- Bad girl! Put the tool back! – Olga shouted, jumping up. – Who allows you to enter into conversations with some guys?
“Well, I’ll put it down,” Zhenya was offended. - I didn’t join. It was he who entered. I wanted to tell you further, but now I won’t. Just wait, dad will come, he will show you!
- To me? This will show you. You're stopping me from studying.
- No, you! – Zhenya responded from the porch, grabbing an empty bucket. “I’ll tell him how you chase me a hundred times a day, now for kerosene, now for soap, now for water!” I am not your truck, horse or tractor.
She brought water and put the bucket on the bench, but since Olga, without paying attention to it, sat bending over a book, the offended Zhenya went into the garden.
Having climbed onto the lawn in front of the old two-story barn, Zhenya took a slingshot from her pocket and, pulling the elastic band, launched a small cardboard parachutist into the sky.
Having taken off upside down, the paratrooper turned over. A blue paper dome opened above him, but then the wind blew stronger, the parachutist was dragged to the side, and he disappeared behind the dark attic window of the barn.
Accident! The cardboard man had to be rescued. Zhenya walked around the barn, through the holey roof of which thin rope wires ran in all directions. She dragged a rotten ladder to the window and, climbing it, jumped onto the floor of the attic.
Very strange! This attic was inhabited. On the wall hung coils of rope, a lantern, two crossed signal flags and a map of the village, all covered with incomprehensible signs. In the corner lay an armful of straw covered with burlap. There was an overturned plywood box right there. A large wheel, similar to a steering wheel, stuck out near the holey mossy roof. A homemade telephone hung above the wheel.
Zhenya looked through the crack. In front of her, like the waves of the sea, the foliage of dense gardens swayed. Pigeons were playing in the sky. And then Zhenya decided: let the pigeons be seagulls, let this old barn with its ropes, lanterns and flags be a big ship. She herself will be the captain.
She felt happy. She turned the steering wheel. The tight rope wires began to tremble and hum. The wind rustled and drove green waves. And it seemed to her that it was her barn-ship that was slowly and calmly turning around on the waves.
- Left rudder on board! – Zhenya commanded loudly and leaned harder on the heavy wheel.
Breaking through the cracks of the roof, narrow direct rays of the sun fell on her face and dress. But Zhenya realized that the enemy ships were groping for her with their searchlights, and she decided to give them battle.
She controlled the creaky wheel with force, maneuvering left and right, and imperiously shouted out the words of command.
But the sharp direct beams of the searchlight faded and went out. And this, of course, is not the sun setting behind the clouds. This defeated enemy squadron was going down.
The fight was over. Zhenya wiped her forehead with a dusty palm, and suddenly the phone rang on the wall. Zhenya did not expect this; she thought this phone was just a toy. She felt uneasy. She picked up the phone.
The voice, clear and sharp, asked:
- Hello! Hello! Answer. What kind of donkey cuts wires and gives signals that are stupid and incomprehensible?
“This is not a donkey,” muttered the puzzled Zhenya. – It’s me, Zhenya!
- Crazy girl! – the same voice shouted sharply and almost in fear. - Leave the steering wheel and run away. Now... people will rush in and they will beat you up.
Zhenya hung up, but it was too late. Then someone’s head appeared in the light: it was Geika, followed by Sima Simakov, Kolya Kolokolchikov, and more and more boys climbed after him.
- Who you are? – Zhenya asked in fear, retreating from the window. - Go away!.. This is our garden. I didn't call you here.
But shoulder to shoulder, like a dense wall, the guys silently walked toward Zhenya. And, finding herself pressed to the corner, Zhenya screamed.
At the same moment, another shadow flashed through the gap. Everyone turned around and stepped aside. And in front of Zhenya stood a tall, dark-haired boy in a blue sleeveless vest with a red star embroidered on the chest.
- Quiet, Zhenya! – he said loudly. - No need to shout. Nobody will touch you. Are we familiar. I am Timur.
- Are you Timur?! – Zhenya exclaimed incredulously, opening her eyes wide and full of tears. “Did you cover me with a sheet at night?” Did you leave a note on my desk? You sent a telegram to dad at the front, and sent me the key and receipt? But why? For what? Where do you know me from?
Then he approached her, took her hand and answered:
- But stay with us! Sit down and listen, and then everything will become clear to you.
The guys settled down on the straw covered with sacks around Timur, who had laid out a map of the village in front of him.
Main characters
Zhenya is a thirteen-year-old girl, cheerful, kind, romantic.
Olga is Zhenya’s older sister, a strict, careful, caring girl.
Timur is a brave, decisive, responsible, kind boy.
Grigory Garayev is Timur’s uncle, an engineer, reliable, calm.
Mishka Kvakin is the leader of a gang of hooligans.
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The main characters of “Timur and his team”
Plot
Sisters Olga and Zhenya, at the request of their father, a front-line soldier, came to the dacha during the summer holidays. While examining an old barn, Zhenya accidentally discovered the headquarters of the “Timurites” - a small detachment of boys under the leadership of the decisive and persistent Timur. The guys provided voluntary assistance to people who needed it. They especially looked after the families of those whose relatives fought at the front.
In addition to helping local residents, Timur's men waged their own little war against a gang of hooligans who were stealing other people's gardens. My wife really liked the activities of these guys, and she joined Timur’s team. However, Olga, having accidentally seen the boy in the company of the notorious hooligan Mishka Kvakin, strictly forbade her sister to make friends with him.
Meanwhile, Olga herself made a close acquaintance with Georgiy Garayev, Timur’s uncle. Having learned about this, the girl began to accuse the boy of turning Zhenya against her. The children were forbidden to communicate.
Timur's men managed to defeat the local gang of hooligans. They ambushed and exposed Mishka Kvakin and his accomplices, locking them in a booth in the square.
Olga left for Moscow, and left Zhenya at the dacha as punishment. At home, she received an urgent telegram - the father would come to see his daughters, and he only had three hours. Zhenya found out about this late in the evening, when the trains were no longer running, and besides, she was looking after her neighbor’s little daughter and could not leave. The girl was very upset, but Timur came to her aid - he asked his comrades to look after the child, and he took Zhenya to Moscow on a motorcycle. Olga realized that she was wrong in relation to the boy. Georgy Garayev received a summons to the front, and he was escorted out by the entire village.
Review
Timur was a surprisingly modest boy - he did good deeds, fought against bullies, but never boasted about his good deeds. This showed the nobility of his nature. He saw his mission in doing good to people, and he did not need fame and gratitude.
Drawing-illustration for the story Timur and his team.
Where did the idea come from?
Arkady Petrovich came up with a story about a brave boy who became a role model for millions of Soviet pioneers on the eve of the war. Gaidar copied his image from the scouts who patronized the families of the St. George Knights who gave their lives for the Fatherland during the First World War. The writer collected in Timur the best pioneer qualities: the fervor of an activist and at the same time simplicity, the desire to help others, a great love for the Motherland.
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