About the product
The story “Alien Blood” by Sholokhov, written in 1926, tells about a difficult time for Russia - the revolution and the subsequent Civil War. Having lost their only son in this fratricidal war, the old people became attached with all their hearts to the boy they were leaving after the shootout.
For a reading diary and preparation for a literature lesson, we recommend reading online a summary of “Alien Blood” chapter by chapter. You can test your knowledge using a test on our website.
Summary
Every night, Gavrila’s grandfather, who lived in the Don village of Filippovka, woke up and thought about his only son, who went missing during the Civil War. When “the time had come to see him off to the front against the Reds,” Gavrila’s grandfather sold two bulls and fully equipped his son: he bought a beautiful combat horse, gave “his grandfather’s saddle and bridle with a silver set.” At parting, he ordered his son Peter to faithfully serve the Tsar and the Fatherland and not disgrace “the Cossack army and the quiet Don.”
*
A month after the farewell, the Reds came to the village as real enemies, and “my grandfather’s ordinary life was turned inside out, like an empty pocket.” Grandfather Gavrila immediately hated the newcomers and, to spite them, walked around in Cossack trousers with stripes, “hanging medals and crosses on his chest, received for serving the monarch faithfully.” The Chairman of the Village Council ordered the “pendants” to be removed, and Grandfather Gavrila submitted, but “the resentment grew in the soul, burst, and began to become related to anger.”
With Peter's departure, the once strong economy began to gradually collapse. The horses were all taken apart: first by their own Cossacks, then by the Reds, and the last useless horse was taken by the Makhnovists. “Everything that had been acquired for decades was smoking in ashes,” and this sad sight made Grandfather Gavrila lose heart even more.
Together with his old woman, he was really looking forward to his son and even bought him a new sheepskin coat and hat, in the timid hope that he would soon return home. One day Gavrila noticed how his wife, clutching her hat to her chest, gently cradled her. Having become enraged, he knocked the old woman off her feet, took away her hat and hid it under lock and key. From then on, he began to notice that “the old woman’s left eye began to twitch and her mouth curled.”
*
After some time, a neighbor, Prokhor Likhovidov, who served with Peter in the same regiment, returned from Turkey. He told the old men terrible news: during the next battle, the Reds “cut Peter down... to death.” The old woman began to sob, and Gavrila furiously shouted at Prokhor, refusing to believe what he heard. At night, he went out into the snowy yard, quietly called his son, after which he “lay down flat on the snow trampled near the stack and closed his eyes heavily.”
*
The surplus appropriation system began in the village, and soon “the chairman showed up to Gavrila, with him three people in short yellow sheepskin coats, with rifles.” They demanded that the surplus wheat be given back, and Gavrila had to submit to the new government. Suddenly, a gang of Kuban residents burst into the old man’s yard and killed all the food detachments.
*
When everything calmed down in the evening, Gavrila discovered that the blond food commissar who demanded wheat from him turned out to be a boy of about nineteen. Touching his frozen body, he “swayed in surprise: through the chilling cold, his palm felt the dying warmth.” Gavrila carried the wounded man into the house, washed him with water and began to rub his body with a woolen stocking until he was tired. Leaning his ear to his chest, Gavrila heard “a dull heartbeat at long intervals.”
*
For four days the blond young man lay like a dead man. Every day Gavrila hardly parted his mouth, and “the old woman poured warmed milk and broth from lamb bones through the reed.” On the fourth day, the food commissar began to have a strong fever: he was delirious, and kept wanting to go somewhere. The old men took turns keeping watch at his bed both day and night.
Looking at his wife, Gavrila “felt in his heart that her unwept love for Peter, her late son, had spread like a fire to this motionless, kissed by death, someone else’s son.”
The wounded man woke up only on the sixteenth day. He said that his name was Nikolai, but the old people persistently called him Peter in memory of their dead son.
*
Nikolai returned to life slowly but surely: the constant care of the elderly did its job, and “youth took precedence over infirmity.” Gavrila, unbeknownst to himself, became so attached to the guy that the image of his own son began to fade in his memory, “and Gavrila felt shame and awkwardness from this.” Nikolai’s terrible wounds had almost healed, and only “his right hand, with the bone mutilated at the forearm, was healing poorly: apparently, it had served its purpose.” When he got to his feet, the old men gave him the clothes they had prepared for Peter.
*
Nikolai called Gavrila father, and this word made his soul feel very warm. They spoke little to each other, but “the relationship was simple and loving.” Nikolai told his rescuers that he was from the Urals. From the age of seven he grew up as an orphan. Afterwards Nikolai became a communist. By that time, the old people had become attached to the young man with all their hearts and invited him to stay in their house forever as their named son. Nikolai thought for a long time, and then agreed to stay for the summer.
*
Despite his injury, Nikolai showed himself to be an excellent assistant. But the life that had become so simple and happy was disrupted by a letter. In it, Nikolai’s comrades called him to the Urals to restore his native land. The young man did not know what to do.
*
For three nights Nikolai suffered from insomnia, and Gavrila realized that he would leave for the Urals, and leave forever. He only asked the named son to deceive the old woman and promise that he would return in time. He himself was afraid to even hope that Nikolai would actually come to them and stay forever.
*
As he saw off Nikolai, “Gavrila spoke incessantly all the way.” But in the end he gave vent to tears and, tearing his wounded heart, asked the named son to return. Looking at the retreating Nikolai’s back, Gavrila realized that he had seen him for the last time...
Alien Blood (SI) - Myasoedov Vladimir Mikhailovich
Vladimir Myasoedov
Someone else's blood
Prologue
The hot, humid air penetrating into the cabin through the slightly open porthole, the soft rustling of the waves that never stopped for a second, the barely noticeable rocking and snatches of lazy bickering among the sailors coming from the upper deck did not in any way contribute to the appetite of the two gentlemen who had tucked napkins into their collars and were having lunch in the cabin - the company of a ship sailing on the sea.
“And yet, my friend, I don’t understand this love of yours for the sea,” Baron John Longtower leaned back on the soft back of his chair, examining with disgusting interest the numerous plates and dishes, from under which only here and there a tabletop covered with a snow-white tablecloth could be seen. – The need to limit myself in everything, honestly, depresses me. The pitching is still okay, you can get used to it. Your cook...Well, given the difficulties with maintaining the freshness of food, I’m ready to give him some discount. But this constant cramped space, to be honest, is simply infuriating! Shauna, why haven't you gotten your burgundy yet?! Can't you see that my glass is already empty?!
A girl with dark brown skin and red hair, startled by a sharp shout, dressed only in a short blue skirt, a top made of two intersecting ribbons of fabric of the same color, and a wide leather collar, put aside the silver knife with which she was cutting a melon exuding breathtaking aromas into neat thin slices and hurried to grab the dark glass bottle towering above the table.
“You are too delicate, cousin,” his cousin William scolded him, ignoring both the address to the girl and the body movements of the slave herself, using a knife and fork to cut off a piece from a piece of fried meat emanating with fragrant steam. “Indeed, you should at least once try sailor’s corned beef instead of the traditional steak, replace the bread baked especially for us in the galley with a biscuit that has been petrified since the time of King Arthur, and spend the night in the hammock of the sailor’s quarters, which is entirely comparable in size to a normal bed.
-Pf, well, say the same! — the baron almost choked on a piece of pie, which he had just thrown into his mouth. - Why should I do this?! Find at least one reason why a man of our position and power should be at least in some way like one of the deck rats born from the mediocre common people!
-Everything is learned by comparison, and it is truly worth trying once the slop that these garbage feed on, so that you can properly appreciate the taste of gourmet food throughout your life. – The Viscount grinned, seeing the expression of shock on his relative’s face. Previously, he clearly could not imagine his older relative and the owner of the ship in such a role. “Besides, a good captain must know how his sailors live.” And I, I dare to hope, am one of the best in the entire merchant fleet of our blessed England...
-All hands on deck!!! “The command that reverberated throughout the entire ship, given in the loud voice of the boatswain, easily penetrated the deck boards and made the two aristocrats who had just sat down at the dining table raise their eyebrows in surprise, and the girl serving them flinch and spill a few drops of wine past the glass, straight onto the baron’s clothes.
- Mean girl! How long can I teach you?! – A powerful slap knocked the slave to the floor and threw her into the opposite part of the wardroom. But the bottle that flew out of her hands was carefully intercepted while still in the air and carefully placed back on the table. - Wait until I sell you, you idiot! I quickly went upstairs and found out why this commotion had started! Well!
“If you really want to sell, then don’t do it in the metropolis,” the ship’s captain melancholy advised his cousin, wiping his hands with a napkin. – There, over the past two years, prices for hybrids of blacks and Irish have completely fallen.
“Too many nurseries were opened in the last century where they are bred,” the baron grimaced and took another sip of wine. “I’m afraid that soon Uncle Francis’s enterprise with such competition may become unprofitable and he will have to breed some exotic species, like American redskins.”
“Or a non-human,” his cousin agreed with him. – Orcs, of course, are unlikely to interest anyone, and elves are protected by their status as the queen’s vassal, but the same nagas, it seems to me, would be popular in our slave markets.
- Well, they grow up for too long, and occasionally learn to cast magic on instincts alone, which is why you won’t have enough overseers for them. – The baron did not agree with the captain of the ship. - Yes, and the demand will not be so hot, because noble squires and small shopkeepers will become afraid of such slaves who may try, even at the cost of their lives, to attack the owner... Well, what is it?!
-A boat has been spotted on the horizon, sir. – The girl who managed to return bowed, on whose cheek a palm print was filling with blood at an unnatural speed. “It seems like she’s meeting us, but we still trusted her.”
-As far as I remember, there are no normal islands nearby, just barren rocks. And a storm capable of carrying fishermen far from the shore has not raged for more than a month. - The Viscount thought, resting his chin on his hand and even putting his knife and fork on this side. - Lifeboat?
“It’s quite possible,” his cousin nodded. – And if so, then luck definitely smiled on us today. The only question is whether it will be worthless human trash, an honored guest capable of thanking him well for his salvation, or a valuable prisoner.
-It would be better if it was the latter, the ship’s altar has not received a good sacrifice for a long time, the owner of the ship chuckled slightly, watching how the slave flinched at these words. “We slaughtered the captured sorcerer more than a year ago, and buying gifted slaves from Her Majesty’s privateers for this purpose is too expensive...
-Anxiety!!! Turn the ship to the east forty-five degrees! – The boatswain’s new loud roar made the captain of the ship instantly forget about eating and gallop to the upper deck as fast as he could. In the voice of the main enemy of all lazy sailors, urging on the crew members who did not show proper efficiency with a strong word and fist, one could hear serious anxiety, almost turning into panic. And this seasoned sea wolf, who over the long decades of service has seen plenty of storms, pirates, and terrifying monsters from the depths of the ocean, certainly would not have bothered over trifles. And more and more orders pouring out of his tinned throat did not at all add to the good mood of the ship’s owner. – Start the magic engine! Guns for battle!!!
-What's wrong?! – The Viscount shouted, quickly taking off onto the aft superstructure, so as not to waste time climbing the steps, which, moreover, were now occupied by sailors trying to either ascend or descend. Only now did he realize that he had climbed onto the deck just as he was. With a napkin tucked into your collar. However, the first person after God on the ship could walk around the deck even completely naked, if such a whim had entered his head or had gotten drunk to the point of delirium tremens.
-Vampires! “The boatswain’s answer made both the captain and his cousin, who had risen after them, simultaneously feel how, despite the warm tropical weather, cold sweat was rolling down their backs. Ordinary sea robbers were never famous for their love of humanity, but still, when meeting them, there was a good chance of surviving. Firstly, pirates used to die after being pierced with steel or stuffed with lead, and secondly, even in the worst case, captives are also quite a hot commodity in almost any state in the world, and slavery can be escaped or ransomed with a bit of luck . But the walking dead could ignore such wounds that would kill any living creature three times, with very rare exceptions they were not afraid of pain or the cessation of their physical existence, and they preferred not to keep people and non-humans in collars, but to simply and unpretentiously eat them. The exceptions, which served them as long-term canned goods and livestock, were rumored to live an order of magnitude shorter and worse than the inhabitants of the most terrible plantations or quarries.
