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The mathematician Kharlampiy Diogenovich was noticeably different from his sloppy colleagues. With his appearance, strict discipline was established in the class. The lessons were so quiet that the school principal could not believe that the students were in their places and not in the stadium. Silence reigned as soon as the teacher entered the classroom and lasted until the end of the lesson. Sometimes laughter was heard. Kharlampy Diogenovich allowed himself to joke, and the guys had fun laughing. For example, he could show the greatest respect to a late student by giving him way to class and calling him after him the Prince of Wales. The teacher never swore or called parents to school. The guys didn’t cheat on the tests because they knew that Kharlampy Diogenovich would immediately recognize such work and make fun of the careless student. The narrator did not escape the fate of being funny in front of the whole class.
One day he couldn't solve a problem. Having not completed his homework, he came to school. After making sure that the other guys also didn’t agree with the answer, the boy ran off to play football. Just before the start of the lesson, he learned that the excellent student Sakharov had completed the task. And Adolf Komarov’s desk neighbor also had his problem solved. The narrator froze in anticipation of being asked. A doctor and a nurse came into the classroom. They were looking for the fifth "A" class to vaccinate. Out of fear, the boy volunteered to show where this class was and the teacher gave him permission. On the way, he learns that their class is scheduled to be vaccinated at the next lesson and informs the doctors that the class will go to the museum. Running into the classroom in front of the doctor, the narrator saw that Shurik Avdeenko was solving the problem at the blackboard, but he could not explain the solution. The teacher sent him to his place, and praised Adolf for the solved problem.
The doctors returned and said that the children needed to be vaccinated and the teacher allowed them to take the lesson. Avdeenko was the first to be called for vaccination. He did it without fear, because the vaccination saved him from a possible failure. Adolf Komarov was pale. His desk neighbor consoled him, but it had no effect. The injection made Alik even paler, and the doctor had to give him ammonia. The narrator was proud to Alik that he did not feel the injection, although this was not true. The doctors left.
There was little time left until the end of the lesson. Kharlampy Diogenovich, thoughtfully, began a story about the twelve labors of Hercules and about a certain young man who decided with his thirteenth labor to correct greek mythology. The teacher said that this feat was accomplished out of cowardice, and why it was done, he asked the narrator to explain, calling him to the board. Kharlampy Diogenovich asked the boy to tell how he solved a homework problem. The student tried to stall for time, but he looked more and more ridiculous. Since then, the boy has become more serious about fulfilling homework. Reasoning, he came to the conclusion that the worst thing is that a person ceases to be afraid of being funny. This could bring him bad luck. The arrogant Roman emperors did not see in time how ridiculous they really were, and that is why the great empire perished.
Year of publication of the story: 1964
The story “The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules” was written in 1964. The work is included in the story “The School Waltz, or the Energy of Shame” and is largely autobiographical. The story, along with the entire story, occupies a worthy place among readers and is deservedly included in the school curriculum.
The story “The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules” summary
At the beginning of the story “The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules” we can read that all the mathematics teachers with whom the narrator was familiar were not particularly accurate and, despite all their genius, were rather weak-willed people. But then one day a new teacher appeared at school. His name was Kharlampy Diogenovich and by origin he, like Pythagoras, was Greek. From the very first days of work, he was able to gain authority among his students. During his lessons there was such silence in the classroom that sometimes the director came in to check if the children had run away from class to the stadium.
And students often ran to the stadium. The reason was the watchman Uncle Vasya, whom the children liked to anger with their appearance. The school management even wrote a complaint to the director of the stadium asking that it be moved to some other place so as not to disturb educational process. But the complaint was not heard. The only thing the stadium management did was replace the wooden fence with a stone one.
Often students went to the stadium, skipping singing lessons. But no watchman, Uncle Vasya, could make the children run away from math class. Respect for the teacher was so strong that as soon as Kharlampy Diogenovich entered the class, silence reigned there, which lasted until the end of the lesson. Sometimes the teacher would brighten up the atmosphere in class with some witty joke.
For example, if a student was a few seconds late for class and ran into Kharlampy Diogenovich at the door, the teacher did not shout or get angry. With a respectful gesture, he invited the latecomer to enter the classroom, as if hinting that he was letting some important person go ahead. And when the student awkwardly entered the office, the teacher, announcing who this important person was, said something witty. For example:
- Prince of Wales!
All the children started laughing. They had no idea who this Prince of Wales was, but they knew for sure that the latecomer was not him.
Kharlampy Diogenovich was short, always neatly dressed and quite calm. Even during tests, he did not walk around the class, but sat calmly at his desk and read something. And, despite the lack of control, students very rarely cheated. They knew that the teacher would immediately notice such work and ridicule it in front of the whole class.
The main feature of Kharlampy Diogenovich was the ability to make his student look ridiculous in front of everyone. He didn't shout, didn't call his parents to school, didn't get angry at those who had bad grades or bad behavior in class. He made them look funny in front of his classmates. And when everyone started laughing at such a student, he felt ashamed without unnecessary shouting and moralizing.
One day, the main character of the story had the same fate - to become funny in front of his own friends. The boy didn't do his homework. More precisely, he tried to solve the problem about an artillery shell, but the resulting answer did not agree with what was in the problem book itself. When the student came to school, he asked his football classmate if he managed to solve this problem. And, having heard that his answer also did not agree with what was in the book, they decided that the error was in the textbook and went to play football. Before the lesson itself, the boy asked the excellent student Sakharov if he had completed his homework, and he gave an affirmative answer.
Then the bell rang and Kharlampy Diogenovich entered the class. The main character was very afraid that the teacher would sense his excitement and call him to the board. He sat down in his seat. His desk neighbor was Adolf Komarov, who, because of the war, was embarrassed by his name and asked everyone to call him Alik. But the children still sometimes teased him about Hitler.
Further in Iskander’s story “The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules” it is told how Kharlampy Diogenovich begins the lesson. There was no student on duty in the class and the teacher was waiting for the prefect to wipe the board and was about to start the lesson when a nurse entered the class. She asked if Class 5-A was in this office. Kharlampy Diogenovich sharply answered them that 5-B was sitting here. He understood that the nurse wanted to give vaccinations, but he really didn’t want the lesson to be disrupted. The nurse and doctor came out. Because the main character sitting not far from the doors, he asked the teacher if he could quickly go out and show the doctor where class 5-A was. He released the student.
The boy happily left the class and ran for the doctors. Having caught up with the women, he asked if they would give injections in his class. He was told that medical workers would come to 5-B during the next lesson. But the student lied, saying that just in the next lesson their whole class was heading to the library. Then the doctor and nurse decided to return and vaccinate the students of class 5-A. The boy was happy. He suffered from malaria since childhood, suffered many injections and was no longer afraid of them. 
They returned to class. Shurik Avdeenko stood near the board and tried to solve a problem about an artillery shell. The doctor announced that she and the nurse would now vaccinate the entire class against typhus. They decided to call the children to the doctors according to the list from the magazine. Avdeenko, who had just sat down at his desk, was supposed to go first. At that time, Alik Komarov was waiting in horror for his turn. The main character tried to calm him down, but the boy was terrified of injections.
When it was time to give Komarov an injection, he went to the doctor as if he were going to hard labor. As soon as the injection was given, the boy suddenly turned white and lost consciousness. Everyone in the class was scared. The doctor sat Alik down on a chair, slipped a bottle under the boy’s nose, and he came to his senses. The boy returned to his place confidently and efficiently, as if he had not died a few minutes ago.
When the main character was given an injection, he didn’t even feel it. The doctor praised the boy for his courage and sent him to his place. Even later, all the students were given injections, the doctors said goodbye and left the office.
Further in the work “The 13th Labor of Hercules” we can read that Kharlampy Diogenovich asked to open the window to get rid of the smell of medicine in the classroom. He sat down at the table, took out his rosary and began to sort out the beads from them one after another. The students knew that at such moments he was telling something very interesting and instructive.
He began his story by saying that, according to ancient greek mythology it was absolutely . But now a man has appeared who has decided to perform the thirteenth feat of the hero. Only in Hercules did all his deeds out of courage, and this young man out of cowardice. In Iskander's story, the feat of Hercules, of course, had a metaphorical meaning, since everyone knows that the ancient Greek hero performed only twelve labors.
Further in the short story “The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules” you will learn that the main character suspected something was wrong. Kharlampy Diogenovich called the boy to the blackboard and asked him to solve a homework problem. For a long time the main character thought about how to get out of this situation, and at the same time the boy felt terribly ashamed. He stood at the board and could not say anything except the phrase “artillery shell.” The teacher asked if he had swallowed this shell about which he had been talking for so long. The boy was confused and said that he swallowed it.
"13th Labor of Hercules" summary For reader's diary will remind you of the events in the story.
“The 13th labor of Hercules” very brief summary
The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules- a story written in 1964 by Fazil Iskander.
The narration is told from the first person - a fifth grade student.
In the new school year, a new mathematics teacher appears at the school, the Greek Kharlampiy Diogenovich. The mathematician manages to establish “exemplary silence” in the lessons; he intrigued his students by the fact that he never raised his voice, did not force them to study, or threatened to call their parents to school. His main weapon was humor. If a student did something wrong, Kharlampy Diogenovich joked at him, and the whole class could not help but laugh..
When the time came to write tests, everyone wrote with their own minds and did not copy, because they knew that Kharlampy Diogenovich would immediately spot the cheater and, in addition, would laugh.
One day, a student of grade 5-B, the main character of the story, having not completed his homework, fearfully awaits his lesson. At the beginning of the lesson, a doctor and a nurse enter the class and vaccinate against typhus among school students. First, injections were supposed to be given to class 5-“A”, but they entered class 5-“B” by mistake. The boy decides to take advantage of the opportunity and offers to take them to class 5-“A”. On the way, he convinces the doctor that it is better to start giving injections from their class. So he wanted to wait until the end of the lesson.
When one of the students in the class became ill during vaccination, our hero decides to call an ambulance. But the nurse brings the boy to his senses. After the nurse and doctor leave, Kharlampy Diogenovich calls our hero to the board, but he fails to cope with the task. The wise teacher tells the class about the 12 labors of Hercules and says that 13 have now been completed. But Hercules performed his labors out of courage, and the boy performed this feat because of his cowardice.
The hero “began to take homework more seriously” and thought about the nature of laughter. He realized that laughter helps fight lies, falsehood, deception; I realized that “being too afraid to look funny is not very smart, but it’s much worse not to be afraid of it at all.” That is, anyone can find themselves in a funny position, but it’s bad not to understand that you’re funny, to be stupid. The hero is grateful to the teacher: with laughter he “tempered our crafty children’s souls and taught us to treat ourselves with a sufficient sense of humor.”
The essay was sent by a site visitor, supplemented and corrected according to the information sent.
Story " The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules" written Soviet writer Kharlampy Diogenovich and published in one thousand nine hundred and sixty-four. The work examines the relationships of schoolchildren and presents the story of the transformation of one boy.
The narrator and main character of the story “The 13th Labor of Hercules” is an ordinary boy who studied in the fifth grade. In his character and attitude towards his classmates, the author finds bad sides. The boy loved to play football with his friends, but did not like to do his homework, especially, as it seemed to me, mathematics. Ingenuity and intelligence were also inherent in him, but he did not always use these qualities for good deeds.
The narrator notices only the bad in his comrades. For example, he considers Shurik Avdeenko gloomy, long, awkward and a boy who also did not like to do his homework.
He also did not like the excellent student Sakharov, because he wanted to look diligent and good, often without regard for general opinion or desires. The main character noticed quiet behavior. Adolf's neat appearance, whom everyone teased and offended, hurt the narrator's feelings.
Kharlampy Diogenovich compared the actions of the narrator with the exploits of Hercules because Hercules was very good, brave hero, who did extraordinary things for the benefit of the whole city and even the world, but the main character was the complete opposite of Hercules, and he helped his comrades so that they would not get bad grades, made sure that the nurses came to his class first, asked them to conduct so that they would not get lost, and he managed to do this in one lesson, these were extraordinary feats, but false and useless, which he performed to protect himself from bad grades and from the ridicule of classmates.
The main character of the story evaluates his actions as wrong and slightly stupid actions that did not lead to anything good, and remembered it as good lesson for life. At first he was outraged by an incomprehensible task, then he forgot about the problem while playing football, then he remained fearful and nervous for a long time after he approached an excellent student to ask about the task, began to argue with him, worry and realized that the teacher had noticed his excitement and guessed that the problem was not solved. Now he began to hide it in every possible way. When the narrator grew up, he realized that there was no need to do such slightly strange and funny things, but he should have just sat quietly in place and, if anything happened, just confessed everything. But the narrator learned the lesson well and for a long time from Kharlampy Diogenovich.
The attitude of the author of the story towards the main character was positive. He said that he did not regret anything at all, and he wanted to gratefully proclaim the method of Kharlampy Diogenovich. After all, with laughter, he, of course, tempered their crafty children's souls and taught them to treat themselves with a sufficient sense of humor.
All the mathematicians I met at school and after school were sloppy people, weak-willed and quite brilliant. So the statement that Pythagorean pants are supposedly equal in all directions is unlikely to be absolutely accurate.
Perhaps this was the case with Pythagoras himself, but his followers probably forgot about it and paid little attention to their appearance.
And yet there was one mathematician in our school who was different from all the others. He could not be called weak-willed, much less sloppy. I don’t know whether he was a genius - it’s difficult to establish now. I think most likely it was.
His name was Kharlampy Diogenovich. Like Pythagoras, he was Greek by birth. He appeared in our class from the new school year. Before this, we had not heard of him and did not even know that such mathematicians could exist.
He immediately established exemplary silence in our class. The silence was so eerie that sometimes the director opened the door in fright, because he could not understand whether we were there or had fled to the stadium.
The stadium was located next to the school yard and constantly, especially during big competitions, interfered with pedagogical process. The director even wrote somewhere to be moved to another place. He said that the stadium made schoolchildren nervous. In fact, it was not the stadium that made us nervous, but the stadium commandant, Uncle Vasya, who unmistakably recognized us, even if we were without books, and drove us out of there with anger that did not fade over the years.
Fortunately, our director was not listened to and the stadium was left in place, only wooden fence replaced with stone. So now those who had previously looked at the stadium through the cracks in the wooden fence had to climb over.
Nevertheless, our director was in vain afraid that we might run away from the mathematics lesson. It was unthinkable. It was like going up to the director at recess and silently throwing off his hat, although everyone was pretty tired of it. He always, in winter and summer, wore the same hat, evergreen, like a magnolia. And I was always afraid of something.
From the outside it might seem that he was most afraid of the commission from the city administration; in fact, he was most afraid of our head teacher. It was a demonic woman. Someday I will write a poem about her in the Byronian spirit, but now I am talking about something else.
Of course, there was no way we could escape from math class. If we ever ran away from a lesson, it was usually a singing lesson.
It used to be that as soon as our Kharlampy Diogenovich entered the class, everyone immediately became quiet, and so on until the very end of the lesson. True, sometimes he made us laugh, but it was not spontaneous laughter, but fun organized from above by the teacher himself. It did not violate discipline, but served it, like a proof from the opposite in geometry.
It went something like this. Let's say another student is a little late for class, about half a second after the bell rings, and Kharlampy Diogenovich is already walking through the door. The poor student is ready to fall through the floor. Maybe I would have failed if there hadn’t been a teacher’s room right under our class.
Some teachers will not pay attention to such a trifle, others will rashly scold, but not Kharlampy Diogenovich. In such cases, he stopped at the door, transferred the magazine from hand to hand and, with a gesture filled with respect for the student’s personality, pointed to the passage.
The student hesitates, his confused face expresses a desire to somehow slip through the door after the teacher. But the face of Kharlampy Diogenovich expresses joyful hospitality, restrained by decency and understanding of the unusualness of this moment. He makes it known that the very appearance of such a student is a rare holiday for our class and for him personally, Kharlampy Diogenovich, that no one expected him, and since he came, no one will dare to reproach him for this little tardiness, especially since he is modest a teacher who, of course, will go into the classroom after such a wonderful student and will close the door behind him as a sign that the dear guest will not be released soon.
All this lasts for several seconds, and in the end the student, awkwardly squeezing through the door, staggers to his place.
Kharlampy Diogenovich looks after him and says something magnificent. For example:
Prince of Wales.
The class laughs. And although we do not know who the Prince of Wales is, we understand that he cannot possibly appear in our class. He simply has nothing to do here, because the princes mainly engage in deer hunting. And if he gets tired of hunting for his deer and wants to visit some school, then he will definitely be taken to the first school, which is near the power plant. Because she is exemplary. At the very least, if he had decided to come to us, we would have been warned long ago and prepared the class for his arrival.
That’s why we laughed, realizing that our student could not possibly be a prince, especially some kind of Welsh one.
But then Kharlampy Diogenovich sits down. The class instantly falls silent. The lesson begins.
Big Headed, vertically challenged, neatly dressed, carefully shaved, he held the class in his hands with authority and calm. In addition to the journal, he had a notebook where he wrote something down after the interview. I don’t remember him yelling at anyone, or trying to persuade them to study, or threatening to call their parents to school. All these things were of no use to him.
During tests, he did not even think about running between the rows, looking into desks, or vigilantly raising his head at every rustle, as others did. No, he was calmly reading something to himself or fingering a rosary with beads as yellow as a cat’s eyes.
It was almost useless to copy from him, because he immediately recognized the work he had copied and began to ridicule it. So we wrote it off only as a last resort, if there was no other way out.
It happened during test work looks up from his rosary or book and says:
Sakharov, please change seats with Avdeenko.
Sakharov stands up and looks at Kharlampy Diogenovich questioningly. He does not understand why he, an excellent student, should change seats with Avdeenko, who is a poor student.
Have pity on Avdeenko, he can break his neck.
Avdeenko looks blankly at Kharlampy Diogenovich, as if not understanding, and perhaps not really understanding, why he could break his neck.
Avdeenko thinks he is a swan,” explains Kharlampy Diogenovich. “Black swan,” he adds after a moment, hinting at Avdeenko’s tanned, gloomy face. “Sakharov, you can continue,” says Kharlampy Diogenovich.
Sakharov sits down.
And you too,” he turns to Avdeenko, but something in his voice barely noticeably shifted. A precisely dosed dose of ridicule poured into him. - ...Unless, of course, you break your neck... black swan! - he firmly concludes, as if expressing courageous hope that Alexander Avdeenko will find the strength to work independently.
Shurik Avdeenko sits, furiously bending over his notebook, showing the powerful efforts of mind and will thrown into solving the problem.
Kharlampy Diogenovich's main weapon is to make a person funny. Student retreating from school rules, - not a lazy person, not a loafer, not a hooligan, but just funny man. Or rather, not just funny, as many would probably agree, but somehow offensively funny. Funny, not realizing that he is funny, or being the last to realize it.
And when the teacher makes you look funny, the mutual responsibility of the students immediately breaks down, and the whole class laughs at you. Everyone laughs against one another. If one person is laughing at you, you can still deal with it somehow. But it is impossible to make the whole class laugh. And if you turned out to be funny, you wanted to prove at all costs that, although you were funny, you were not so completely ridiculous.
It must be said that Kharlampy Diogenovich did not give anyone privileges. Anyone could be funny. Of course, I also did not escape the common fate.
That day I did not solve the problem assigned for homework. There was something about an artillery shell flying somewhere at a certain speed and over a certain period of time. It was necessary to find out how many kilometers he would have flown if he had flown at a different speed and almost in a different direction.
In general, the task was somewhat confusing and stupid. My solution didn't match the answer. And by the way, in the problem books of those years, probably because of pests, the answers were sometimes incorrect. True, very rarely, because by that time almost all of them had been caught. But, apparently, someone was still operating in the wild.
But I still had some doubts. Pests are pests, but, as they say, don’t be a bad person either.
So the next day I came to school an hour before class. We studied in the second shift. The most avid football players were already there. I asked one of them about the problem, and it turned out that he didn’t solve it either. My conscience finally calmed down. We divided into two teams and played until the bell.
And now we enter the class. Having barely caught my breath, just in case I ask the excellent student Sakharov:
Well, how's the task?
Nothing, he says, he decided. At the same time, he briefly and significantly nodded his head in the sense that there were difficulties, but we overcame them.
How did you decide, because the answer is wrong?
Correct,” he nods his head at me with such disgusting confidence on his smart, conscientious face that I immediately hated him for his well-being, although well-deserved, it was all the more unpleasant. I still wanted to doubt it, but he turned away, depriving me of the last consolation of those falling: to grab the air with my hands.
It turns out that at that time Kharlampy Diogenovich appeared at the door, but I did not notice him and continued to gesticulate, although he was standing almost next to me. Finally, I guessed what was going on, scared and slammed the book and froze.
Kharlampy Diogenovich walked to the place.
I was scared and scolded myself for first agreeing with the football player that the task was wrong, and then not agreeing with the excellent student that it was correct. And now Kharlampy Diogenovich probably noticed my excitement and will be the first to call me.
A quiet and modest student sat next to me. His name was Adolf Komarov. Now he called himself Alik and even wrote Alik on his notebook, because the war had begun and he did not want to be teased as Hitler. Still, everyone remembered what his name was before, and on occasion they reminded him of it.
I liked to talk, and he liked to sit quietly. We were put together so that we could influence each other, but, in my opinion, nothing came of it. Everyone remained the same.
Now I noticed that even he solved the problem. He sat over his open notebook, neat, thin and quiet, and because his hands were lying on a blotter, he seemed even quieter. He had this stupid habit of keeping his hands on the blotter, which I couldn’t wean him off.
“Hitler is kaput,” I whispered in his direction. He, of course, didn’t answer anything, but at least he removed his hands from the blotting cloth, and it became easier.
Meanwhile, Kharlampy Diogenovich greeted the class and sat down on a chair. He slightly pulled up the sleeves of his jacket, slowly wiped his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, for some reason then looked at the handkerchief and put it in his pocket. Then he took off his watch and began leafing through the magazine. It seemed that the executioner's preparations went faster.
But then he noted those who were absent and began to look around the class, choosing a victim. I held my breath.
Who's on duty? - he asked unexpectedly. I sighed, grateful for the break.
There was no duty officer, and Kharlampy Diogenovich forced the headman himself to erase from the board. While he was doing the laundry, Kharlampy Diogenovich impressed upon him what the headman should do when there was no duty officer. I hoped that he would tell some parable about this from school life, or Aesop's fable, or something from Greek mythology. But he did not tell anything, because the creak of a dry rag on the board was unpleasant, and he waited for the headman to quickly finish his tedious wiping. Finally the elder sat down.
The class froze. But at that moment the door opened and a doctor and a nurse appeared in the doorway.
Excuse me, is this the fifth "A"? - asked the doctor.
No,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich with polite hostility, feeling that some kind of sanitary measure could disrupt his lesson. Although our class was almost the fifth “A”, because he was the fifth “B”, he said “no” so decisively, as if there was and could not be anything in common between us.
Sorry,” the doctor said again and, for some reason, hesitantly hesitated and closed the door.
I knew that they were going to give injections against typhus. Some classes have already done this. Injections were never announced in advance, so that no one could sneak out or pretend to be sick and stay home.
I was not afraid of injections, because I was given a lot of injections for malaria, and these are the most disgusting of all existing injections.
And then the sudden hope that illuminated our class with its snow-white robe disappeared. I couldn't leave it like that.
Can I show them where the fifth “A” is? - I said, insolent with fear.
Two circumstances to some extent justified my insolence. I sat opposite the door, and they often sent me to the teachers' room to get chalk or something else. And then the fifth “A” was in one of the outbuildings in the school yard, and the doctor really could have gotten confused, because she rarely visited us, she always worked at the first school.
Show me,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich and slightly raised his eyebrows.
Trying to restrain myself and not show my joy, I rushed out of the classroom.
I caught up with the doctor and nurse in the corridor of our floor and went with them.
“I’ll show you where the fifth “A” is,” I said. The doctor smiled as if she was not giving injections, but handing out candy.
What won’t you do for us? - I asked.
“You’ll be in the next lesson,” said the doctor, still smiling.
“We’re going to the museum for our next lesson,” I said, somewhat unexpectedly even for myself.
Actually, we were talking about going to the local history museum and examine the traces of a parking lot there primitive man. But the history teacher kept postponing our trip because the director was afraid that we would not be able to go there in an organized manner.
The fact is that last year one boy from our school stole the dagger of an Abkhaz feudal lord from there in order to escape with it to the front. There was a big fuss about this, and the director decided that everything turned out this way because the class went to the museum not in a line of two, but in a crowd.
In fact, this boy had everything figured out in advance. He did not immediately take the dagger, but first thrust it into the straw that covered the Hut of the Pre-Revolutionary Poor. And then, a few months later, when everything had calmed down, he came there in a coat with a cut out lining and finally took away the dagger.
“We won’t let you in,” the doctor said jokingly.
“What are you talking about,” I said, starting to worry, “we’ll gather in the courtyard and go to the museum in an orderly manner.”
So it's organized?
Yes, in an organized manner,” I repeated seriously, afraid that she, like the director, would not believe in our ability to go to the museum in an organized manner.
Well, Galochka, let’s go to the fifth “B”, otherwise they will actually leave,” she said and stopped. I always liked such neat doctors in little white caps and white coats.
But they told us first at the fifth “A,” this Galochka became stubborn and looked at me sternly. It was clear that she was pretending to be an adult with all her might.
I didn’t even look in her direction, showing that no one thought of her as an adult.
“What difference does it make,” said the doctor and turned decisively.
The boy can't wait to test his courage, huh?
“I’m a malaria patient,” I said, putting aside personal interest, “I’ve been given injections a thousand times.”
“Well, painter, lead us,” said the doctor, and we went.
Having made sure that they would not change their minds, I ran forward to eliminate the connection between myself and their arrival.
When I entered the class, Shurik Avdeenko was standing at the blackboard, and although the solution to the problem in three actions was written on the blackboard in his beautiful handwriting, he could not explain the solution. So he stood at the board with a furious and gloomy face, as if he had known before, but now he could not remember the course of his thoughts.
“Don’t be afraid, Shurik,” I thought, “you don’t know anything, and I’ve already saved you.” I wanted to be affectionate and kind.
Well done, Alik,” I said quietly to Komarov, “he solved such a difficult problem.”
Alik was considered a capable C student. He was rarely scolded, but even less often praised. The tips of his ears turned pink in gratitude. He leaned over his notebook again and carefully placed his hands on the blotter. This was his habit.
But then the door opened, and the doctor’s wife and this Galochka entered the classroom. The doctor said that this is how the guys need to be given injections.
If this is necessary right now,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich, glancing at me briefly, “I cannot object.” Avdeenko, take your place,” he nodded to Shurik.
Shurik put down the chalk and went to his place, continuing to pretend that he remembered the solution to the problem.
The class became agitated, but Kharlampy Diogenovich raised his eyebrows, and everyone became silent. He put his notebook in his pocket, closed the journal and gave way to the doctor. He himself sat down at a desk nearby. He seemed sad and a little offended.
The doctor and the girl opened their suitcases and began to lay out jars, bottles and hostilely sparkling instruments on the table.
Well, which of you is the bravest? - said the doctor, predatorily sucking out the medicine with a needle and now holding this needle with the tip up so that the medicine does not spill out.
She said this cheerfully, but no one smiled, everyone looked at the needle.
We will call from the list,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich, “because here there are solid heroes. He opened the magazine.
Avdeenko,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich and raised his head.
The class laughed nervously. The doctor smiled too, although she didn’t understand why we were laughing.
Avdeenko walked up to the table, long, awkward, and it was clear from his face that he had not decided whether it was better to get a bad mark or to go first for the injection.
He took off his shirt and now stood with his back to the doctor, still as awkward and undecided as to what was best. And then, when the injection was given, he was not happy, although now the whole class was jealous of him.
Alik Komarov became paler and paler. It was his turn. And although he continued to keep his hands on the blotter, it was clear that this did not help him.
I tried to somehow cheer him up, but nothing worked. With every minute he became more stern and paler. He stared at the doctor's needle without stopping.
Turn away and don’t look,” I told him.
“I can’t turn away,” he answered in a haunted whisper.
It won't hurt as much at first. The main pain is when they administer the medicine, I prepared it.
“I’m thin,” he whispered back to me, barely moving his white lips, “I’ll be in a lot of pain.”
“Nothing,” I answered, “as long as the needle doesn’t get into the bone.”
“I have only bones,” he whispered desperately, “they will definitely hit.”
“Relax,” I told him, patting him on the back, “then they won’t get hit.”
His back was as hard as a board from tension.
“I’m already weak,” he answered, not understanding anything, “I’m anemic.”
“Thin people are not anemic,” I sternly objected to him. - Malaria patients are anemic because malaria sucks blood.
I had chronic malaria, and no matter how much the doctors treated it, they could not do anything about it. I was a little proud of my incurable malaria.
By the time Alik was called, he was completely ready. I don’t think he even knew where he was going or why.
Now he stood with his back to the doctor, pale, with glazed eyes, and when he was given an injection, he suddenly turned white as death, although it seemed there was nowhere to turn pale. He turned so pale that freckles appeared on his face, as if they had jumped out from somewhere. No one had ever thought he was freckled before. Just in case, I decided to remember that he has hidden freckles. This could be useful, although I didn’t yet know why.
After the injection, he almost fell over, but the doctor held him and sat him on a chair. His eyes rolled back, we were all afraid that he was dying.
- “Ambulance”! - I shouted. - I’ll run and call!
Kharlampy Diogenovich looked at me angrily, and the doctor deftly slipped a bottle under his nose. Of course, not to Kharlampy Diogenovich, but to Alik.
At first he did not open his eyes, and then suddenly jumped up and busily went to his place, as if he had not just died.
“I didn’t even feel it,” I said when I was given the injection, although I felt everything perfectly.
Well done, painter,” said the doctor. Her assistant quickly and casually wiped my back after the injection. It was obvious that she was still angry with me for not letting them into the fifth "A".
Rub again, I said, so that the medicine disperses.
She rubbed my back with hatred. The cold touch of the alcohol-soaked cotton wool was pleasant, and the fact that she was angry with me and still had to wipe my back was even more pleasant.
Finally it was all over. The doctor and her Galochka packed their bags and left. They left a pleasant smell of alcohol and an unpleasant smell of medicine in the classroom. The students sat, shivering, carefully testing the injection site with their shoulder blades and talking as if they were victims.
Open the window,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich, taking his place. He wanted the spirit of hospital freedom to leave the classroom with the smell of medicine.
He took out his rosary and thoughtfully fingered the yellow beads. There was little time left until the end of the lesson. At such intervals he usually told us something instructive and ancient Greek.
As is known from ancient Greek mythology, Hercules performed twelve labors,” he said and stopped. Click, click - he moved two beads from right to left. “One young man wanted to correct Greek mythology,” he added and stopped again. Click, click.
“Look what you wanted,” I thought about it young man, understanding that no one is allowed to correct Greek mythology. It may be possible to correct some other, stale mythology, but not Greek, because everything has been corrected there a long time ago and there cannot be any mistakes.
He decided to perform the thirteenth labor of Hercules, continued Kharlampy Diogenovich, and he partially succeeded.
We immediately understood from his voice how false and useless a feat this was, because if Hercules had needed to perform thirteen labors, he would have done them himself, and since he stopped at twelve, it means that’s how it was supposed to be and there was nothing to be done climb with your amendments.
Hercules performed his exploits like a brave man. And this young man accomplished his feat out of cowardice... - Kharlampy Diogenovich thought and added: - We will now find out in the name of what he committed his feat...
Click. This time only one bead fell from right side to the left. He pushed her sharply with his finger. She somehow fell badly. It would be better if two fell like before than one like this.
I felt that there was some kind of danger in the air. It was as if not a bead clicked, but a small trap slammed shut in the hands of Kharlampy Diogenovich.
“...I think I guess,” he said and looked at me.
I felt my heart slam into my back from his gaze.
Please,” he said and motioned me to the board.
Yes, exactly you, fearless painter,” he said.
I trudged to the board.
“Tell me how you solved the problem,” he asked calmly and, “click, click,” two beads rolled from the right side to the left. I was in his arms.
The class looked at me and waited. He expected me to fail, and he wanted me to fail as slowly and as interestingly as possible.
I looked at the board out of the corner of my eye, trying to reconstruct the reason for these actions from the recorded actions. But I didn't succeed. Then I began to angrily erase from the board, as if what Shurik had written confused me and prevented me from concentrating. I still hoped that the bell would ring and the execution would have to be called off. But the bell did not ring, and it was impossible to endlessly erase from the board. I put down a rag so as not to make myself ridiculous ahead of time.
“We are listening to you,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich, without looking at me.
“An artillery shell,” I said cheerfully in the jubilant silence of the class and fell silent.
“An artillery shell,” I repeated stubbornly, hoping, by the inertia of these words, to break through to other equally correct words. But something held me tightly on a leash that tightened as soon as I uttered these words. I concentrated with all my might, trying to imagine the progress of the task, and once again rushed to break this invisible tether.
An artillery shell,” I repeated, shuddering with horror and disgust.
Muffled giggles rang out in the class. I felt that a critical moment had come and decided not to make myself funny under any circumstances, it was better to just get a bad mark.
Did you swallow an artillery shell? - asked Kharlampy Diogenovich with benevolent curiosity.
He asked this so simply, as if he was asking if I had swallowed a plum pit.
“Yes,” I said quickly, sensing a trap and deciding to confuse his calculations with an unexpected answer.
Then ask the military instructor to clear the mines for you,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich, but the class was already laughing.
Sakharov laughed, trying not to stop being an excellent student while laughing. Even Shurik Avdeenko, the gloomiest person in our class, whom I saved from an inevitable failure, laughed. Komarov laughed, who, although he is now called Alik, remained Adolf as he was.
Looking at him, I thought that if we didn’t have a real redhead in our class, he would pass for him, because his hair was blond, and the freckles, which he hid as well as his real name, were revealed during injection. But we had a real redhead, and no one noticed Komarov’s reddishness. And I also thought that if we hadn’t torn off the class sign from our doors the other day, maybe the doctor wouldn’t have come to see us and nothing would have happened. I vaguely began to guess about the connection that exists between things and events.
The ringing, like a funeral bell, cut through the laughter of the class. Kharlampy Diogenovich marked me in the journal and wrote something else in his notebook.
Since then, I began to take my homework more seriously and never went to the football players with unsolved problems. To each his own.
Later I noticed that almost all people are afraid of seeming funny. Women and poets are especially afraid of appearing funny. Perhaps they are too afraid and therefore sometimes look funny. But no one can make a person look funny as cleverly as a good poet or a good woman.
Of course, being too afraid to look funny is not very smart, but it’s much worse to not be afraid of it at all.
I think that Ancient Rome died because his emperors, in their bronze arrogance, stopped noticing that they were funny. If they had acquired jesters in time (you should at least hear the truth from a fool), perhaps they would have been able to hold out for some time longer. And so they hoped that if something happened, the geese would save Rome. But the barbarians arrived and destroyed Ancient Rome along with its emperors and geese.
Of course, I don’t regret this at all, but I would like to gratefully exalt Kharlampy Diogenovich’s method. With laughter, he certainly tempered our crafty children's souls and taught us to treat ourselves with a sufficient sense of humor. In my opinion, this is a completely healthy feeling, and I resolutely and forever reject any attempt to question it.
