Call and come
IT'S NOT MY BUSINESS
I study at the same school where my mother and father once studied. For some reason no one remembered Dad. And many people remembered my mother. “She had excellent appearance!” – a literature teacher, who also runs our drama club, once said. And she looked at me meticulously.
That would be nothing: there are no marks for “external data” yet. But it turned out that my mother’s internal characteristics were also much better than mine. For example, everyone remembered that my mother never hit cans with a hockey stick and did not like to play “breaker.”
I didn’t know any more details about my mother’s past. But then one day my grandmother, who came to help my mother with the housework, said:
– And Serezha became a laureate of the All-Russian competition!
- Which Seryozha? – I asked.
- Seryozha Potapov. All cultured people know him!
- The first time I've heard. And who is it? - I said. And suddenly I noticed that dad looked at me with love. Or rather, with gratitude. I did not get anything…
And only later in the kitchen did my grandmother explain to me that Seryozha Potapov had once studied at a school for musically gifted children and my mother loved him when she was in the fifth grade.
The music school is located directly opposite ours, across the road. If a student leaves our school, it is difficult to immediately determine whether he is gifted or not. And if from the doors of the school, which is across the road, it is immediately clear: a gifted person is coming!
We leave our school with briefcases, and the musically gifted leave with cases. At first, Seryozha Potapov attracted a lot of attention because his case was larger than others, because he played the cello. And then, already in the fifth grade, she fell in love with him. Mom was probably also gifted, because even though I’m in the sixth grade, I’ve never loved anyone before.
– Yes, Seryozha has come a long way! - Grandma said at dinner.
And dad lit a cigarette in the room, although he usually went out into the corridor or into the kitchen to do this.
- What are you doing?! This is such a distant past... This is stupid childhood! - Mom said. And she laughed. She was having fun. And dad didn’t smile once the entire evening.
- He's gone far! Far away!.. - the grandmother repeated, putting away the dishes.
Grandmother loved to raise us. But she did it somehow in her own way.
“And my neighbor’s son learned to cook soup,” she said, and I had to understand that it wouldn’t hurt for me to learn this too.
“And Kolya, who graduated from medical school with you, became the head of the department,” she told dad. And dad had to conclude that it wouldn’t hurt for him to become a manager either. “Yes, Seryozha has come a long way!” - this phrase should have told dad that it was time for him to take a step somewhere.
Two years ago I had my tonsils removed. “Nonsense operation!” - everyone said. But somehow I didn’t feel it... The surgeon who removed them seemed to me an amazing person. He caused me terrible pain, and I should have hated him, but I treated him with, as they say, admiration. With fear and admiration! And it was hard for me to imagine that he would take off his white coat, his rubber gloves and become just like everyone else. Or maybe he’ll even go to the buffet...
Dad performs operations almost every day. And maybe every day someone looks at him the same way. the way I looked at that surgeon.
– Have you ever had surgery? – I asked my grandmother.
It turned out that she had not had a single operation in sixty years! Could she really appreciate dad?
– People achieve such success as Seryozha Potapov! - the grandmother wailed, already pulling on her coat.
“When you have a migraine attack again,” I said, “call not the doctor, but this... cellist of yours!” Let him help you!
Just before going to bed, I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom and suddenly I heard my mom say to my dad:
“This is funny...” She still, unlike dad, wanted to laugh. - Well, not seriously, honestly. This was in fifth grade!
“It started at five…” Dad said quietly. And I felt that his hand again reached into his pocket for cigarettes.
I, as they say, shuddered.
So it just started in fifth grade? I wonder where it ended? It's good if it's in the sixth. What if in the seventh or even the ninth?
“After all, dad and mom studied in the same class,” I reasoned. – And the school for the gifted, as now, was across the street. And dad, therefore, was a witness to their love. How worried he was, poor thing! What if he is still suffering?”
Something had to be done. But what? Could I have consulted anyone?
For example, if you consulted with your grandmother, she would say: “And my neighbor’s son never interferes in the affairs of his elders!”
Maybe it really wasn't my business? May be…
A few days later, while getting ready for school, I will hear in the program guide that Sergei Potapov will speak on TV in the evening. Fortunately, no one heard this except me.
In the evening, a quarter of an hour before the concert of the winners of the All-Russian competition, I sat down to do my homework in the room where the TV was.
- Tomorrow is a test! – I said. And everyone began to move on tiptoe.
A week later I discovered that Sergei Potapov was going to speak on the radio. Fifteen minutes before his speech, I laid out my notebooks in the kitchen, where we have a radio.
- There's a test again tomorrow! - I said.
And the receiver was silent all evening.
But Sergei Potapov continued to persecute our family!
Once, returning from the cinema, I saw a poster with his portrait at the very place where mom and dad boarded the tram every morning. At first I wanted to tear down the poster and destroy it. He approached, tried on, adjusted... But still didn’t break it.
Returning home, I began to convince my parents that riding a trolleybus was much more convenient than riding a tram.
“But the trolleybus stop is so far away,” dad objected.
Oh, if only he knew!
“I’ll take you through the passageways, and you’ll see how close it is.”
- Very close! - I said.
“It’s always dark and dangerous in the courtyards,” the grandmother intervened. It was as if she deliberately wanted to bring my mother face to face with her past!
In the morning I took mom and dad through the passage yards.
“You see how convenient it is,” I said. - Very close! And you take a modern form of transport... True, not the metro, but at least not the tram! And one more advantage. We walk together almost all the way to my school!
Actually, I didn’t want my parents to escort me, a sixth-grader, to school every morning right in front of everyone. But now I was ready for absolutely anything! And I led them away from the poster with the portrait...
Of course, mom could have seen this poster somewhere else. But there was nothing I could do about it!
A few days later I reported:
– We wrote an essay on the topic “Who should we be?” And imagine, almost all the guys want to become doctors! Almost everyone... Not pilots, not divers... not cellists, but doctors! The teacher said that this was not surprising. The most noble profession in the world! They want to treat, heal, save...
One Sunday I brought my friend Vaska-Paganini to our house.
Paganini is, of course, a nickname. Vaska plays the violin and studies at a school for the gifted.
– Do you love Sergei Prokofiev? – I asked Vaska when our whole family was assembled.
- Still would! - Vaska answered.
– And Sergei Rachmaninov?
– Who doesn’t love him?
– And Sergei Potapov?
- I don’t know this...
– Never heard of it? Think carefully! Remember...
- No, I haven’t heard of him. Why are you interested in this particular thing... what’s his last name? Why? – Vaska was surprised so naturally, as if he and I had not rehearsed this scene in the bathroom fifteen minutes ago.
- Well, if Paganini doesn’t know him! – I exclaimed and looked around at all the members of our family.
But my mother’s past did not give up, did not retreat!
One day two postcards from our school arrived in the mail at once. I generally don't like it when my parents receive postcards from school. And somehow I accidentally read it... This time it wasn’t about me. Mom and dad were invited to a traditional “united” evening for graduates of two schools at once: ours and the music one. They invited us a week in advance and asked them to tell all their former classmates about the evening about whom they knew something.
I immediately realized that Sergei Potapov would be present there. “The party is being held to bring joy to former students,” I reasoned. – But what kind of joy will my dad experience if my mom has different memories? And they will definitely arise... at least for a minute. And dad will smoke without going out into the corridor..."
I hid the cards. He put them in his briefcase.
The first thing I saw in the school lobby was a huge announcement about the traditional “union” evening. At the bottom it was written in black and white: “The laureate of the All-Russian competition S. Potapov will perform in the artistic part.”
“Okay, I see...” I thought. “That means he will demonstrate his art in front of everyone.” He will be applauded. But dad won’t be able to demonstrate his art in front of everyone. After all, he can’t cut out someone’s appendix right on stage! Or, more precisely, the appendix..."
I opened my briefcase and hid the postcards deeper. The day after the traditional evening, the literature teacher, who remembered my mother’s external characteristics so well, asked:
– Why wasn’t your mother there?
She asked as if I didn’t have a dad at all. I spread my arms questioningly.
I have known this method for a long time: when you don’t want to lie, you don’t want to say “yes” or “no,” you need to spread your arms to the sides questioningly. Let them think what they want!
That same day, my mother returned from work and walked into the room wearing her coat. When she walks into the room so quickly, without stopping in the corridor, I know that nothing good should be expected.
– Didn’t they send anything to dad and me from school? – she asked.
I tried to vaguely spread my arms to the sides. But she repeated:
– They didn’t send us anything?
“Something seemed to happen,” I answered.
- How is this “something”? Don't you remember what exactly?
- Oh yes! I remembered! They sent you postcards. I absent-mindedly put them in my briefcase. That day there was a test and I somehow...
- What, you have tests every day now?
– Not everyone... But quite often. And here are these cards... Please!
I handed the cards to my mother. But she didn’t even look at them: she couldn’t take her eyes off me!
– What did you do if you were so afraid of our appearance at school?!
- I didn’t do anything. And I wasn't afraid. I just forgot, that’s all.
- But they say there was an advertisement there!
- I somehow didn’t pay attention to him...
- Forgot! Didn't pay attention! This is the worst. Because it speaks of your indifference. It's killing me! Don't you understand how much pleasure it would give me to meet my friends? Which I haven't seen for so many years!..
Mom, without taking off her coat, without even unbuttoning it, sat down heavily on a chair.
- Well, okay... You didn’t want to bring me joy. But I would think about my father!
Is he really indifferent to you? What could I answer her?
Fortunately, at that moment my grandmother entered the room and said:
“And my neighbor’s son got an A again.” And I learned how to cook compote!
Call and come :: Aleksin Anatoly
——————————————— Anatoly Aleksin
Call and come
1. NONE OF MY BUSINESS
I study at the same school where my mother and father once studied. For some reason no one remembered Dad. And many people remembered my mother. “She had excellent appearance!” – a literature teacher, who also runs our drama club, once said. And she looked at me meticulously. That would be nothing: there are no marks for “external data” yet. But it turned out that my mother’s internal characteristics were also much better than mine. For example, everyone remembered that my mother never hit cans with a hockey stick and did not like to play “breaker.”
I didn’t know any more details about my mother’s past. But then one day my grandmother, who came to help my mother with the housework, said:
– And Serezha became a laureate of the All-Russian competition!
- Which Seryozha? – I asked.
- Seryozha Potapov. All cultured people know him!
- The first time I've heard. And who is it? - I said. And suddenly I noticed that dad looked at me with love. Or rather, with gratitude. I did not get anything…
And only later, in the kitchen, my grandmother explained to me that Seryozha Potapov once studied at a school for musically gifted children and his mother loved him when she was in the fifth grade.
The music school is located directly opposite ours, across the road. If a student leaves our school, it is difficult to immediately determine whether he is gifted or not. And if from the doors of the school, which is across the road, it is immediately clear: a gifted person is coming!
We leave our school with briefcases, and the musically gifted leave with cases. At first, Seryozha Potapov attracted a lot of attention because his case was larger than others, because he played the cello. And then, already in the fifth grade, she fell in love with him. Mom was probably also gifted, because even though I’m in the sixth grade, I’ve never loved anyone before.
– Yes, Seryozha has come a long way! - Grandma said at dinner.
And dad lit a cigarette in the room, although he usually went out into the corridor or into the kitchen to do this.
- What are you doing?! This is such a distant past... This is stupid childhood! - Mom said. And she laughed. She was having fun. And dad didn’t smile once the entire evening.
- He's gone far! Far away!.. - the grandmother repeated, putting away the dishes.
Grandmother loved to raise us. But she did it somehow in her own way.
“And my neighbor’s son learned to cook soup,” she said, and I had to understand that it wouldn’t hurt for me to learn this too.
“And Kolya, who graduated from medical school with you, became the head of the department,” she told dad. And dad had to conclude that it wouldn’t hurt for him to become a manager either. “Yes, Seryozha has come a long way!” - this phrase should have told dad that it was time for him to take a step somewhere.
Two years ago I had my tonsils removed. “Nonsense operation!” - everyone said. But somehow I didn’t feel it... The surgeon who removed them seemed to me an amazing person. He caused me terrible pain, and I should have hated him, but I treated him with, as they say, admiration. With fear and admiration! And it was hard for me to imagine that he would take off his white coat, his rubber gloves and become just like everyone else. Or maybe he’ll even go to the buffet...
Dad performs operations almost every day. And maybe every day someone looks at him the same way. the way I looked at that surgeon.
– Have you ever had surgery? – I asked my grandmother.
It turned out that she had not had a single operation in sixty years! Could she really appreciate dad?
– People achieve such success as Seryozha Potapov! - the grandmother wailed, already pulling on her coat.
“Call and come” read online
Anatoly Aleksin Call and come
Anatoly Aleksin
1. NONE OF MY BUSINESS
I study at the same school where my mother and father once studied. For some reason no one remembered Dad. And many people remembered my mother. “She had excellent appearance!” – a literature teacher, who also runs our drama club, once said. And she looked at me meticulously. That would be nothing: there are no marks for “external data” yet. But it turned out that my mother’s internal characteristics were also much better than mine. For example, everyone remembered that my mother never hit cans with a hockey stick and did not like to play “breaker.”
I didn’t know any more details about my mother’s past. But then one day my grandmother, who came to help my mother with the housework, said:
– And Serezha became a laureate of the All-Russian competition!
- Which Seryozha? – I asked.
- Seryozha Potapov. All cultured people know him!
- The first time I've heard. And who is it? - I said. And suddenly I noticed that dad looked at me with love. Or rather, with gratitude. I did not get anything…
And only later, in the kitchen, my grandmother explained to me that Seryozha Potapov once studied at a school for musically gifted children and his mother loved him when she was in the fifth grade.
The music school is located directly opposite ours, across the road. If a student leaves our school, it is difficult to immediately determine whether he is gifted or not. And if from the doors of the school, which is across the road, it is immediately clear: a gifted person is coming!
We leave our school with briefcases, and the musically gifted leave with cases. At first, Seryozha Potapov attracted a lot of attention because his case was larger than others, because he played the cello. And then, already in the fifth grade, she fell in love with him.
Mom was probably also gifted, because even though I’m in the sixth grade, I’ve never loved anyone before.
– Yes, Seryozha has come a long way! - Grandma said at dinner.
And dad lit a cigarette in the room, although he usually went out into the corridor or into the kitchen to do this.
- What are you doing?! This is such a distant past... This is stupid childhood! - Mom said. And she laughed. She was having fun. And dad didn’t smile once the entire evening.
- He's gone far! Far away!.. - the grandmother repeated, putting away the dishes.
Grandmother loved to raise us. But she did it somehow in her own way.
“And my neighbor’s son learned to cook soup,” she said, and I had to understand that it wouldn’t hurt for me to learn this too.
“And Kolya, who graduated from medical school with you, became the head of the department,” she told dad. And dad had to conclude that it wouldn’t hurt for him to become a manager either. “Yes, Seryozha has come a long way!” - this phrase should have told dad that it was time for him to take a step somewhere.
Two years ago I had my tonsils removed. “Nonsense operation!” - everyone said. But somehow I didn’t feel it... The surgeon who removed them seemed to me an amazing person. He caused me terrible pain, and I should have hated him, but I treated him with, as they say, admiration. With fear and admiration! And it was hard for me to imagine that he would take off his white coat, his rubber gloves and become just like everyone else. Or maybe he’ll even go to the buffet...
