Read online “History Teacher. The problem of the teacher’s influence on the fate of students (according to Yakovlev’s text) (Unified State Examination in Russian)

Jaresko Alisa

Yuri Yakovlev - children's writer. Most of his works were created about children and for children, more precisely for teenagers who have not yet entered into adulthood. new life, but are already on the verge of new discoveries and achievements. He sets high goals for his heroes, the achievement of which requires solving difficult issues and unpredictable problems.

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Yuri Yakovlev is a children's writer. Most of his works were created about children and for children, more precisely for teenagers who have not yet entered a new life, but are already on the verge of new discoveries and achievements. He sets high goals for his heroes, the achievement of which requires solving difficult issues and unpredictable problems.

Teacher - this is the name of the work of this writer that I am considering. The theme of the Teacher and his role in the life of every person will be relevant at all times. After all, our new stage development, and the Teacher is our faithful mentor and assistant.

The story is told from the perspective of an adult man remembering his childhood. And it seems to me that we're talking about specifically about the first Teacher, who discovered an “unknown” world, full of surprises and impressions. It should be noted that here is a generalized image of the Teacher. The narrator does not address anyone in particular, depicting an abstract, abstract character. This is the peculiarity of the image. Throughout the entire story, a bit of sad mood remains. We understand this from the very first lines: “... The teacher is no longer needed... left alone on an empty platform...”.

What did the first Teacher give, what knowledge did he invest? These are, of course, school lessons. In them, the hero remembered, in addition to the material, the very process of conducting the lesson: “He knew how to turn ordinary things with such an unexpected facet that they immediately changed and acquired a new meaning.” But the most important thing that the Teacher taught was the moral lessons that are so necessary for learning about adult life.

The main science of the Teacher was that in any situation a person remains a person worthy of the respect of others. He also taught the boy to keep other people's secrets, the ability to stand up for himself and defend his position.

Each work has techniques that allow you to create a certain picture, and this is no exception. It can be noted that the author began his story with a description of the platform and the Teacher standing alone on it. And at the end, Yakovlev also resumes the beginning in our memory and returns to the station, the Teacher, and the children crowding on the platform. The writer used a ring design to link together the past, present and future.

The author pays special attention to the description of the Teacher’s eyes: “His eyes are moving, alive – two blue circles.” And immediately clear, large, sincere eyes appear in our consciousness. From them you can consider a person, his thoughts, intentions. It’s not without reason that they say that the eyes are the mirror of the soul. And by what kind of soul one can judge the heart - this “perpetual motion machine”. “Two small screens,” this is what the boy calls the Teacher’s eyes, using a metaphor, which means that in them you can see literally everything: from “volcanic eruption” to “rain of frogs,” from unpleasant reproach to well-deserved praise.

As for the very personality of the Teacher. At the beginning, the author says: “And then the Teacher will immediately forget about the departed train and the empty platform.” Why will he forget? Is it possible that a Teacher who has devoted himself, even for a short time, to raising children, will simply forget everything? I think this is impossible. Every child, every class, in one way or another, leaves a mark on the soul of every Teacher. At the same time, I liked the enthusiasm, awe, respect and reverence with which the narrator says about Him: “Forgive me, Teacher!”

Time passes... Everything is forgotten, but... the memories of the person who pushed you and gave you an incentive to achieve all your goals and dreams, who was sometimes strict, but, oddly enough, fair... His name is Teacher. Are there many in our difficult life such people? Only a few, and some were never lucky enough to have such a treasure. The teacher does not teach how to live, what to do - he gives direction, lays the foundations for our development. “...you didn’t have time to teach me to weigh every word...” Should you? The Teacher’s task is to educate us, first of all, as a true person, to give us the knowledge necessary for our happy future. Take care of our Teachers and remember that they prepare us for a new level of life and help us overcome the barrier of fear and uncertainty.

Yuri Yakovlev

A HISTORY TEACHER

SCHOOL CORRIDORS

Long live Dubrovnik - ancient city, facing the sea, with his back to the mountains. Long live its impenetrable fortress walls of light stone, stone pavements and floors in houses - also stone. Lanterns on chains, wrought iron locks, rusty hinges and an antique drinking fountain that looks like an iron carousel. And galvanized weather vanes sitting on the pipes like doves. And just Sisari doves living in smoky loopholes. Long live the anchors from sunken ships, lazily lounging on the pier - pawed, with a cast-iron earring in their only ear. And a drawbridge with counterweights and garlands of malmal balls is smaller. And a cannon that choked on its own cannonball in battle.

We are tourists. We poke our noses everywhere. For the suffering of bruised, buzzing legs, for lack of sleep, for hunger after breakfast - a bun, jam, coffee - we demand compensation. We look through the windows - how do Dubrovians live? We look at drying clothes - what do they wear on their bodies? We catch the smells of Dubrovnik kitchens with our noses - what do they eat?

And we drink juices from the guide: huh? What? Why? at what year? under which king? Of what? For what? For what?

Our guide is unaccustomed to it - he is a military man, recently retired, and is stunned by questions. He is looking for salvation and leads us along a street, at an angle of 45 degrees, up the mountain. His trick is that shortness of breath makes it difficult to ask questions. But he does not take into account that answering is even more difficult. We walk along the narrow gallery and turn left.

We find ourselves in a dead end. We are having a hard time getting out of it. And the deafening blue hits our eyes - a window into the sea. Squares of azure are set into a rusty lattice. We immediately forget “why?” and “for what?”, “when?” and who?". We breathe pure blue and feel how it spreads through our veins. We are getting younger and lighter. And the stone around us becomes lighter. An oak grove grows in Croatian style, dubrova - the leaves of oak trees are blue, and their sound is sea-like.

Fuck-fuck-fuck! Bang! Bang!

I look around. There is a flock of guys in a narrow street. Wooden guns in hands. One boy with glasses, with a thick book under his arm.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A warlike flock is approaching.

I ask:

Who are they?

Answer:

Partisans!

The word “partisans” sounds the same in Croatian as in Russian.

I nod at the boy with the book:

Answer:

A history teacher.

The boys look at me questioningly: what else can I ask?

I don't know what to ask, so I say slowly:

We are from Moscow. And among us there is also a history teacher.

I try to call our teacher, but he doesn’t respond. Lost in the labyrinth of ancient Dubrovnik. And the “partisans” also disappear. The street is empty.

Our history teacher, Joseph Ionovich, like a galley slave, is chained to a movie camera. The movie camera tortures its slave: it forces him, limping, to climb rocks, slip under waterfalls, run, jump, squat. At the same time, a frivolous spark of boyish excitement lights up in his eyes, which even bushy eyebrows cannot hide.

For a moment I imagined our guys playing Joseph Ionovich. And he laughed. One. In an empty street.

Our guide Rada was painfully looking for a way to take a break from tourists and decided to take us to a large aquarium located in the basement of the maritime museum. We got carried away by the fish and immediately forgot about the “partisans”. I've never seen a stingray swim, and it looks like an underwater bird flapping its large elastic wings. He blinked amazing eyes - not fish or bird, but rather human. Some mysterious thought froze in them.

In a deep pool, at the bottom, lay a turtle. Huge autumn leaf: head - stalk, pattern on the shell - veins. What tree brought this leaf here from? Why does a lonely turtle smell of sadness? The shell saves her from the sun, from the teeth of predators, from blows, but cannot save her from loneliness...

And then I felt a gaze boring into my back, and I looked back. “Partisans” stood against the wall. They were apparently not interested in stingrays or other fish. They looked at us. Silently. Not daring to speak. Without “opening fire”. Something attracted the Dubrovnik guys to us.

Then they appeared in the temple, where the mistral, the warm wind from the sea, did not reach, and therefore it was cool.

Last time we saw them on the drawbridge. I waved to them. They raised their weapons above their heads in greeting. And the boy with glasses picked up the book.

...The hotel where we stayed was called “Lapot”. We immediately renamed it “Lapot”. Lapot on the shores of the Adriatic Sea! A few steps from Laptya, around the corner, a small wine cellar was discovered. Three steps down - and the salty spirit of the sea was immediately interrupted by another spirit, mysterious and tart, emanating from the darkened oak barrels. The bronze-faced man ruled here old man, who poured wine with disinterested cordiality and received money from us with noticeable embarrassment, as if apologizing.

The wine was light and cool. It did not awaken unbridled joy, but put us in an elegiac mood and served as a translator for us and the owner of the cellar. He turned out to be a former partisan.

Participated in the Battle of Neretva. And his name was completely Russian - Danila. Danila kept up the conversation, but he did not forget about his duties: he approached one barrel, then another. The contents of each barrel had its own taste, its own color, its own smell. Seizing the moment, I asked Danila about the mysterious “partisans” of old Dubrovnik.

Oh, these pilots! - he exclaimed. (“Poletarci” means “chicks” in Croatian). - These polotarians always play partisans. Who else should they play?

But one of them, I noticed, was a history teacher.

“And history teachers also play,” Danila said, and suddenly the fun in his eyes began to fade. The eyes grew cold. - Have you heard about Kragujevac? There, in one night, the Nazis shot seven thousand civilians. Half of those shot were schoolchildren. There is now a monument there. The big Roman five made of concrete. The children nicknamed this five - a monument to the fifth grade... So, there was a history teacher there.

The conversations of my companions somehow began to decline on their own.

Everyone began to listen to Danila’s story. Everyone moved closer to the counter where he stood, as if behind a pulpit. Someone took a sip from the glass, and the sip sounded like a gunshot.

So here it is. The history teacher was returning to Kragujevac in the evening.

And German guards detained him. Either the Germans took pity on him, or they didn’t want to bother with him. But they told him: “Go away. You won’t feel good there!” - “My students are there!” - objected the Teacher.

“They will be gone soon. No one! Leave!" The stubborn Teacher continued to stand his ground: “I taught them. I have to be with them!” The Germans were so tired of him that they decided: to hell with him, if he wants to die, let him go!

He was afraid of being late and ran all the way, and when he got to Kragujevac, he could barely stand on his feet. And there they were already herding people into a column. And they shouted: “Schneller, schneller!” And the crying of children was heard.

He was a fifth grade teacher. He found his class. He gathered all his students. And they lined up in pairs, just like they lined up when they went to class. And many more children joined this fifth grade, because when the teacher is nearby, it’s not so scary.

“Children,” said the Teacher, “I taught you history. I told you how real people died for their Motherland. Now it's our turn.

Do not Cry! Raise your head higher! Let's go! Your final “history” lesson begins.”

And the fifth grade followed their Teacher.

The wine became bitter. I wanted to immediately go to the fortified city, where the lanterns hanging on chains now burned dimly and the shutters were closed. I wanted to find a familiar “partisan detachment” and talk to the “History Teacher”. The detachment needed him as a demolitionist, machine gunner, and grenade launcher. Without him, war is not war. But, probably at this hour, the little “History Teacher” was sleeping along with the rest of the “fighters” sent to bed by their mothers.

The bus rushed forward along the rugged rocky shore of the Adriatic Sea, skirting bays, fjords, and estuaries. And on the left - from the sea - the windows of the bus were steadily blue.

On the way, Joseph Ionovich approached me and asked if I remembered the name of the History Teacher from Kragujevac. But partisan Danila did not mention his name at all.

It’s a pity,” said our teacher, “because his fate is very similar to the fate of Janusz Korczak.” I should know his name.

But until the end of the trip it was not possible to find out the name of the fifth grade teacher. Everyone simply called him History Teacher.

Go ahead, tourists! Not a moment's rest! Are you really going to fall asleep without seeing the palace of the Roman Emperor Diocletian! They say that the sphinxes (in Croatian - sphinxes) of Ramses the Third have been preserved. We throw our suitcases.

Fuck! Fuck! Tax! Bang!

A bunch of boys with wooden guns. Good day! Hello! Did our Dubrovnik acquaintances really rush after us, having traveled four hundred kilometers? And the faces are the same.

And frayed shorts. And guns. But the main thing among them is the constant History Teacher: wearing glasses, with a thick book under his arm.

And it all happened again:

Who are they?

Partisans!

A history teacher.

And we are from Moscow. And among us there is also a history teacher...

And again the movie camera took its slave through the narrow streets.

And again at the right moment.

Finding Diocletian's palace was not so easy, although, according to the description, it stood on the seashore. The skeleton of the ruined palace was overgrown with many houses, small houses, nooks - many family hearths. And the courtyard was occupied by a cafe.

It was here in the evening that we became guests of a local photographer. At first he just sat down next to us and listened to our conversation for a long time.

The purpose of the lesson: reveal the image of the teacher reflected in the stories of Yu. Yakovlev

Lesson objectives:

1) check students’ knowledge of the content of Yu. Yakovlev’s stories;

2) cultivate an attentive attitude towards teachers, classmates, and school;

3) develop students’ creative abilities, the ability to generalize, and draw conclusions;

4) develop communication skills.

Equipment: a collection of stories by Yu. Yakovlev, a portrait of the writer, a poster for the game, cards with crosses and toes, recordings of songs.

Preliminary preparation: students read stories by Yu. Yakovlev, proposed by the teacher, the team of each class prepares a dramatization of an excerpt from one story.

During the classes

I. The song “Tic Tac Toe” plays.

II. Teacher's word.

You listened to the children's song “Tic Tac Toe”. And this is no coincidence. Today we will talk about childhood, about school years. The teacher plays a significant role in the life of a student. Many works have been written about the teacher. In our lesson we will talk about the stories of Yuri Yakovlev (1922 - 1996). He knows firsthand about the work of a teacher, and as he himself admits: “Everything that I experienced, I suffered myself - all this left a mark on my work.” Yuri Yakovlevich Yakovlev was born in Leningrad in 1922 and graduated from school in 1940. After graduating from the Literary Institute. Gorky traveled a lot around the country, studying the work of teachers in the Ryazan region. He began publishing in 1947, wrote poems, short stories, novellas, scripts (the song of the Bear from the cartoon “Umka”, which you heard at recess before class - also with words by Yu. Yakovlev, composer - Evg. Krylatov).

The song “Tic Tac Toe” was also played because our lesson will take the form of a game “Tic Tac Toe” between two teams. One team will be called “Tic-Tac-Toe”, and the other - “Toe” (the teacher explains the conditions of the game “Tic-Tac-Toe”, the idea of ​​​​this game was taken from the book by I.A. Agapova, M.A. Davydova “ Themed games and holidays on literature”, filling it with new content). To put a cross or a zero in a square (poster on the board), you must answer my questions correctly (questions are asked to the teams one by one, if a team does not answer, the question goes to the other team). Spectators are active participants, since they will also be asked questions.

III. Progress of the game

1. The “Cross” team shows a pre-prepared dramatization of an excerpt from Yu. Yakovlev’s story “Bambus” (the beginning of the story is the first episode).

Question for the audience: What work is this excerpt from? (“Bambus”, Bambus is a nickname given to a boy at school).

2. Question to the “Cross” team: what is bambus? ( musical instrument traveling musicians).

Question for the audience: Why did Bambus come to school to see his former classmate?

3. Question to the “Noliki” team: What did the students call the music teacher at school? (Singer Tra-la-la)

4. Questions for viewers:

Why did Bambus decide to find the music teacher many years later? (I wanted to apologize for shooting her with a slingshot once during class and, as I thought, hitting her in the eye).

Why did the teacher bring Bambus to school? (To prove that it is not Bambus’s fault that one of her eyes is not her own). The teacher reads this excerpt from the story:

“...Bambus quickly approached her. He looked into his eyes and lowered his head.

Sorry,” said Bambus. – I thought that this would be forgotten... over the years... But there are things that are stronger than us. You can’t run away from them even to the ends of the earth. Fate threw me around like a boy with a groundhog, but I always thought, on occasion, to get to my hometown, find you and say: “Sorry.”

The singer Tra-la-la thoughtfully approached the piano. She opened the lid and suddenly started playing an old song... And Bambus sang in a dull, colorless voice...”

5. Question to the “Cross” team: What song were the teacher and Bambus singing? (“The groundhog is always with me” - this song sounds).

6. Question to the “Noliki” team: What did the teacher answer to Bambusu’s question: “Why did I shoot you with a slingshot?” (“Transitional age. Boys are possessed by some kind of demon who does everything against their will...”)

7. The “Noughts” team shows a pre-prepared dramatization from the story “Persecution of Redheads” by Yu. Yakovlev.

Question for the audience: What story is this excerpt from? Why is it called that? (“Persecution of Redheads”, in main character Tanya Vyunik's story had red hair, and she considered it the cause of all her misfortunes).

8. Question to the “Cross” team:

You looked at an excerpt from which you learned that Henrietta Pavlovna came to the training unit with a complaint about Tanya Vyunik. What happened in class? “...this is what happened: one Tanya forgot, the other looked back. Henrietta Pavlovna noticed that the girl was not looking at the board and was not listening to the explanations. The teacher watched Tanya for some time. Then she said in an icy voice...” What did the teacher say? (“- Vyunik, don’t look at Knyazev.”) “She could have said: “Vyunik, listen to the lesson.” Or “Vyunik, don’t turn around.” But she said: “Vyunik, don’t look at Knyazev.” A poisonous laugh rolled through the class.”

9. Question for viewers: What decision did Tanya make after this story? (Leave school, go to work).

10. Question to the audience: Who helped her return to school? (Head of teacher Mikhail Ivanovich).

11. Listen to an excerpt from the story: “Tanya decisively headed to flower shop.

In winter, a flower shop is like an oasis. Just push the light glass door and you will immediately go from winter to summer. The wind, snow, raised collars, blue noses will remain behind your back... And the fragrant, gentle freshness of a summer morning will blow into your face.

Tanya stood on the checkered tiled floor and looked at the flora of the small oasis. The white chrysanthemums looked like shaggy lap dogs that curled up into balls and hid their black, cold noses with warm fur. In the hard dark green foliage, a lemon turns yellow like a burning Christmas tree lantern. The cacti looked like green hedgehogs. The trunk of the palm tree is wrapped in brown felt...

But all this was not a miracle. The miracle was small, transparent, fragile... How did the resident of the spring forest get here? How did he manage to deceive time, overcome the cold and bloom in a December city where light bulbs shine instead of the sun?..

Tanya carefully took the flower in her hands and hid it under her jacket, carefully so as not to damage the inflorescence and roots. She left the store and walked along the snowy streets...

Tanya walked for a long time, pressing the flower with her hand so that it would not freeze. She warmed him, trying to replace this living creature spring sun with its warmth. Then she found herself at the school building. It was too late. The lights in the house were off, but several windows were still lit.

Tanya immediately thought about Mikhail Ivanovich.

For some time, Tanya stood in thought in front of the school, pressing a flower with her hand. Then she went up the steps.

Aunt, Pasha, Mikhail Ivanovich here? - she asked the nanny, who was drinking tea from a saucer.

I was here just now.

I'll look at his coat.

Look.

Tanya entered the teacher's locker room and immediately saw a brown, rather greasy sheepskin coat. It was his sheepskin coat...

Tanya took a flower out of her bosom and carefully put it in the deep pocket of the teacher’s fur coat.”

Question to the “Noughts” team: What flower was it? (Lily of the valley)

12. Tanya returned to school. After talking with the teachers, she went out into the school yard. He was waiting for her there . Question to the audience: who is he? (Knyazev).

The teacher reads an excerpt from the story:

“He was walking nearby... Suddenly he said:

I love snow.

I love Antonov apples, Tanya responded.

I love blue twilight.

And I love bison.

There wasn't much point in their quiet chatter. But every phrase began with the words “I love”...

I love the smell of linden blossoms.

I love the singing of trams as they turn.

“I love the dew on the leaves,” he said.

“I love sea lions,” she responded.

And suddenly he stopped, looked at Tanya and said in the same rhythm...”

Question to the “Cross” team: What did Knyazev say? (“And I love...redheads”).

13. In the story “Persecution of Redheads” there is a statement about the work and profession of a teacher: “I don’t understand how real people grow up from such red-haired girls? But they grow! But before they grow up, they will eat our bald spots, fray our nerves, and make us look like the fools. And as a result, we will still find ourselves guilty. A? What do you say to this?.. Here you have to be a superman. Be silent. To suffer and smile. And yet, you and I have worthwhile work...”

Question to the “Noughts” team: Who owns these words? (To the head teacher of the school, Mikhail Ivanovich).

14. One of Yu. Yakovlev’s stories is called “Party”.

Question for the audience: why is the story called that?

15. One of the participants in this teachers’ party was “... the oldest teacher of the school, Prokofy Andreevich, whom all generations of students and colleagues called Prokop behind his back...”.

Question to the “Cross” team: what subject did old Prokop teach at school? (Biology. “Do you think old Prokop knew nothing except amphibians and waterfowl?”)

16. Question to the audience: Why do you think Yu. Yakovlev depicted teachers in an environment that is not familiar to them (at the blackboard, in class), but at a party?

17. In this regard, I would like to read the words of the same Prokofy Andreevich: “We, teachers, are a special caste. Sometimes respected, sometimes rejected. And people sometimes make the same demands on us as they do on monks. Are we monks? We are earthly. And I was tried as a monk. And as an apostate monk they were declared a heretic and excommunicated from the temple. Kicked out of school. And all this happened because I violated the unwritten charter...”

Question to the “Noliki” team: What unwritten charter did Prokofy Andreevich violate? (“...fell in love with my student”).

18. Question to the audience: In connection with what were the words of Prokofy Andreevich spoken: “It’s easy to raise your hands, but it’s difficult to raise your eyes”? How do you understand them?

19. In the story by Yu. Yakovlev “The History Teacher” we read the following lines: “The teacher must be the first to do what he teaches his students.”

Question for the audience: How does the story told by the writer support this idea?

20. The teacher reads an excerpt from the story “The History Teacher”: “On the way, Joseph Ivanovich approached me and asked if I remembered the name of the Teacher from Kragujevac. But partisan Danila did not mention his name at all.

It’s a pity,” said our teacher, “because his fate is very similar to the fate...”.

Question to the “Cross” team: whose fate is similar to the fate of this history teacher? (with the fate of the Polish teacher and writer Janusz Korczak).

21. In the story by Yu. Yakovlev “Teacher”, whose name the author does not name, but simply writes “Teacher” with capital letters(why?) pronounces the following words: “Each of us has a perpetual motion machine.”

Question to the “Toe” team: what did the Teacher mean? (Heart).

Summing up the game.

Teacher's final words.

I hope that today in the lesson your perpetual motion machine worked properly. At the end of our lesson, I want to read an excerpt from Yu. Yakovlev’s story “Teacher”: “They say that the time comes when the Teacher is no longer needed. He taught what he could teach, and the train moved on, and the Teacher was left alone on the platform. And if you lean out of the window, you will see for a long time the small, lonely figure of a man seeing off the train. Then the train will turn into a point, the iron sound of the wheels will freeze, and it will still stand. And he will painfully want to stop the train, to return it, because with this train a part of himself, the most precious part, leaves forever. And then, when, contrary to his wishes, the train disappears and, as it were, dissolves in the fog, merges with the fields and groves, the Teacher looks back and is surprised to see that the platform is full of children. They impatiently shift from foot to foot, breathe down each other's necks, push neighbors - they wait for their turn. And in their eyes it is written: “Hurry up, Teacher, we are waiting for you!” You are ours, and we don’t want to share you with anyone. Let’s go, Teacher!”

I hope that the stories you read by Yu. Yakovlev and our lesson helped you take a different look at those who walk next to you throughout your school life, those who not only teach you, but strive to make you honest, kind and happy people.

Homework: write an essay about your favorite story by Yu. Yakovlev.

Literature:

1. Agapova I.A., Davydova M.A. Themed games and holidays based on literature: Toolkit for the teacher. – M.: TC Sfera, 2004.
2. Yakovlev Yu.Ya. Favorites: For average school age. – M.: Education, 1992.

Yakovlev Yuri

A history teacher

Yuri Yakovlevich Yakovlev

A HISTORY TEACHER

SCHOOL CORRIDORS

Long live Dubrovnik - an ancient city facing the sea, with its back to the mountains. Long live its impenetrable fortress walls of light stone, stone pavements and floors in houses - also stone. Lanterns on chains, wrought iron locks, rusty hinges and an antique drinking fountain that looks like an iron carousel. And galvanized weather vanes sitting on the pipes like doves. And just Sisari doves living in smoky loopholes. Long live the anchors from sunken ships, lazily lounging on the pier - pawed, with a cast-iron earring in their only ear. And a drawbridge with counterweights and garlands of malmal balls is smaller. And a cannon that choked on its own cannonball in battle.

We are tourists. We poke our noses everywhere. For the suffering of bruised, buzzing legs, for lack of sleep, for hunger after breakfast - a bun, jam, coffee - we demand compensation. We look through the windows - how do Dubrovians live? We look at drying clothes - what do they wear on their bodies? We catch the smells of Dubrovnik kitchens with our noses - what do they eat?

And we drink juices from the guide: huh? What? Why? at what year? under which king? Of what? For what? For what?

Our guide is unaccustomed to it - he is a military man, recently retired, and is stunned by questions. He is looking for salvation and leads us along a street, at an angle of 45 degrees, up the mountain. His trick is that shortness of breath makes it difficult to ask questions. But he does not take into account that answering is even more difficult. We walk along the narrow gallery and turn left.

We find ourselves in a dead end. We are having a hard time getting out of it. And the deafening blue hits our eyes - a window into the sea. Squares of azure are set into a rusty lattice. We immediately forget “why?” and "for what?", "when?" and who?". We breathe pure blue and feel how it spreads through our veins. We are getting younger and lighter. And the stone around us becomes lighter. An oak grove grows in Croatian style, dubrova - the leaves of oak trees are blue, and their sound is sea-like.

Fuck-fuck-fuck! Bang! Bang!

I look around. There is a flock of guys in a narrow street. Wooden guns in hands. One boy with glasses, with a thick book under his arm.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A warlike flock is approaching.

I ask:

Who are they?

Answer:

Partisans!

The word "partisans" sounds the same in Croatian as in Russian.

I nod at the boy with the book:

Answer:

A history teacher.

The boys look at me questioningly: what else can I ask?

I don't know what to ask, so I say slowly:

We are from Moscow. And among us there is also a history teacher.

I try to call our teacher, but he doesn’t respond. Lost in the labyrinth of ancient Dubrovnik. And the “partisans” also disappear. The street is empty.

Our history teacher, Joseph Ionovich, like a galley slave, is chained to a movie camera. The movie camera tortures its slave: it forces him, limping, to climb rocks, slip under waterfalls, run, jump, squat. At the same time, a frivolous spark of boyish excitement lights up in his eyes, which even bushy eyebrows cannot hide.

For a moment I imagined our guys playing Joseph Ionovich. And he laughed. One. In an empty street.

Our guide Rada was painfully looking for a way to take a break from tourists and decided to take us to a large aquarium located in the basement of the maritime museum. We got carried away by the fish and immediately forgot about the “partisans”. I've never seen a stingray swim, and it looks like an underwater bird flapping its large elastic wings. He blinked amazing eyes - not fish or bird, but rather human. Some mysterious thought froze in them.

In a deep pool, at the bottom, lay a turtle. A huge autumn leaf: the head is a stalk, the pattern on the shell is veins. What tree brought this leaf here from? Why does a lonely turtle smell of sadness? The shell saves her from the sun, from the teeth of predators, from blows, but cannot save her from loneliness...

And then I felt a gaze boring into my back, and I looked back. The "partisans" stood against the wall. They were apparently not interested in stingrays or other fish. They looked at us. Silently. Not daring to speak. Without "opening fire". Something attracted the Dubrovnik guys to us.

Then they appeared in the temple, where the mistral, the warm wind from the sea, did not reach, and therefore it was cool.

The last time we saw them was on the drawbridge. I waved to them. They raised their weapons above their heads in greeting. And the boy with glasses picked up the book.

The hotel we stayed at was called Lapot. We immediately renamed it “Lapot”. Lapot on the shores of the Adriatic Sea! A few steps from Laptya, around the corner, a small wine cellar was discovered. Three steps down - and the salty spirit of the sea was immediately interrupted by another spirit, mysterious and tart, emanating from the darkened oak barrels. It was run by a bronze-faced elderly man who poured wine with disinterested cordiality and received money from us with noticeable embarrassment, as if apologizing.

The wine was light and cool. It did not awaken unbridled joy, but put us in an elegiac mood and served as a translator for us and the owner of the cellar. He turned out to be a former partisan.

Participated in the Battle of Neretva. And his name was completely Russian - Danila. Danila kept up the conversation, but he did not forget about his duties: he approached one barrel, then another. The contents of each barrel had its own taste, its own color, its own smell. Seizing the moment, I asked Danila about the mysterious “partisans” of old Dubrovnik.

Oh, these pilots! - he exclaimed. (“Poletarci” means “chicks” in Croatian). - These polotarians always play partisans. Who else should they play?

But one of them, I noticed, was a history teacher.

“And history teachers also play,” Danila said, and suddenly the fun in his eyes began to fade. The eyes grew cold. - Have you heard about Kragujevac? There, in one night, the Nazis shot seven thousand civilians. Half of those shot were schoolchildren. There is now a monument there. The big Roman five made of concrete. The children nicknamed this five - a monument to the fifth grade... So, there was a history teacher there.

The conversations of my companions somehow began to decline on their own.

Everyone began to listen to Danila’s story. Everyone moved closer to the counter where he stood, as if behind a pulpit. Someone took a sip from the glass, and the sip sounded like a gunshot.

So here it is. The history teacher was returning to Kragujevac in the evening.

And German guards detained him. Either the Germans took pity on him, or they didn’t want to bother with him. But they told him: “Go away. It won’t be good for you there!” - “My students are there!” - objected the Teacher.

"Soon they will be gone. Not a single one! Go away!" The stubborn Teacher continued to stand his ground: “I taught them. I must be with them!” The Germans were so tired of him that they decided: to hell with him, if he wants to die, let him go!

He was afraid of being late and ran all the way, and when he got to Kragujevac, he could barely stand on his feet. And there they were already herding people into a column. And they shouted: “Schneller, schneller!” And the crying of children was heard.

He was a fifth grade teacher. He found his class. He gathered all his students. And they lined up in pairs, just like they lined up when they went to class. And many more children joined this fifth grade, because when the teacher is nearby, it’s not so scary.

“Children,” said the Teacher, “I taught you history. I told you how real people died for their Motherland. Now our turn has come.

Do not Cry! Raise your head higher! Let's go! Your final "history" lesson begins.

And the fifth grade followed their Teacher.

The wine became bitter. I wanted to immediately go to the fortified city, where the lanterns hanging on chains now burned dimly and the shutters were closed. I wanted to find a familiar “partisan detachment” and talk to the “History Teacher”. The detachment needed him as a demolitionist, machine gunner, and grenade launcher. Without him, war is not war. But probably at this hour the little "History Teacher"

slept with the rest of the “fighters” sent to bed by their mothers.

The bus rushed forward along the rugged rocky shore of the Adriatic Sea, skirting bays, fjords, and estuaries. And on the left - from the sea - the windows of the bus were steadily blue.

On the way, Joseph Ionovich approached me and asked if I remembered the name of the History Teacher from Kragujevac. But partisan Danila did not mention his name at all.

It’s a pity,” said our teacher, “because his fate is very similar to the fate of Janusz Korczak.” I should know his name.

But until the end of the trip it was not possible to find out the name of the fifth grade teacher. Everyone simply called him History Teacher.

Go ahead, tourists! Not a moment's rest! Are you really going to fall asleep without seeing the palace of the Roman Emperor Diocletian! They say that the sphinxes (in Croatian - sphinxes) of Ramses the Third have been preserved. We throw our suitcases.

Fuck! Fuck! Tax! Bang!

A bunch of boys with wooden guns. Good day! Hello! Did our Dubrovnik acquaintances really rush after us, having traveled four hundred kilometers? And the faces are the same.

On this page of the site there is literary work A history teacher the author whose name is Yakovlev Yuri Yakovlevich. On the website you can either download the book History Teacher for free in RTF formats, TXT, FB2 and EPUB, or read online e-book Yakovlev Yuri Yakovlevich - History teacher without registration and without SMS.

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