Kuprin white poodle excerpt. White poodle Kuprin story

A. I. Kuprin took the plot of the story “White Poodle” from real life. After all, his own dacha in Crimea was visited more than once by traveling artists, whom he often left for lunch.

Among these guests were Sergei and the organ grinder. The boy told a story about what happened to the dog. She was very interested in the writer and later formed the basis of the story.

A. I. Kuprin, “White Poodle”: contentsIchapters

A small wandering troupe was making its way along the path along the southern one. Artaud, with his poodle haircut, ran ahead. Following him was Sergei, a 12-year-old boy. In one hand he carried a dirty and cramped cage with a goldfinch, which had been taught to get notes with fortunes, and in the other a rolled up rug. The procession was completed by the oldest member of the troupe, Martyn Lodyzhkin. On his back he carried a barrel organ, as ancient as himself, that played only two melodies. Five years ago, Martyn took Sergei from a drinking widower-shoemaker, promising to pay him 2 rubles every month. But soon the drunkard died, and Sergei remained with his grandfather forever. The troupe went performing from one holiday village to another.

A. I. Kuprin, “White Poodle”: summaryIIchapters

It was summer. It was very hot, but the artists kept going. Seryozha was amazed at everything: strange plants, old parks and buildings. Grandfather Martyn assured that he would see something else: ahead and further - Turks and Ethiopians. It was a bad day: they were turned away from almost everywhere or paid very little. And one lady, after watching the whole performance, threw the old man a coin that was no longer in use. Soon they reached the Druzhba dacha.

The artists approached the house along the gravel path. As soon as they prepared to perform, a boy of 8-10 years old in a sailor suit suddenly jumped out onto the terrace, followed by six adults. The child fell to the ground, squealed, fought, and everyone begged him to take the medicine. Martyn and Sergei first watched this scene, and then grandfather gave the command to begin. Hearing the sounds of the barrel organ, everyone became quiet. Even the boy fell silent. The artists were initially driven away, they packed their things and almost left. But then the boy began to demand that they be called. They returned and began their performance. At the end, Artaud, holding his cap in his teeth, approached the lady who had taken out her wallet. And then the boy began to scream heart-rendingly that he wanted this dog to be left to him forever. The old man refused to sell Artaud. The artists were driven out of the yard. The boy continued to scream. Leaving the park, the artists went down to the sea and stopped there to swim. Soon the old man noticed that a janitor was approaching them.

The lady sent the janitor to buy a poodle after all. Martyn does not agree to sell his friend. The janitor says that the boy’s father, engineer Obolyaninov, builds railways throughout the country. The family is very rich. They have only one child and are not denied anything. The janitor achieved nothing. The troupe left.

Vchapter

The travelers stopped near a mountain stream to have lunch and rest. After eating they fell asleep. Through his drowsiness, it seemed to Martyn that the dog was growling, but he could not get up, but only called the dog. Sergei woke up first and realized that the poodle was gone. Martyn found a piece of sausage and traces of Artaud nearby. It became clear that the dog was taken away by the janitor. The grandfather is afraid to approach the judge, since he lives on someone else’s passport (he lost his), which a Greek once made for him for 25 rubles. It turns out that he is actually Ivan Dudkin, a simple peasant, and not Martyn Lodyzhkin, a tradesman from Samara. On the way to their overnight stay, the artists deliberately passed by “Friendship” again, but they never saw Artaud.

Summary: Kuprin, “White Poodle”,VIchapter

In Alupka they stopped for the night in a dirty coffee shop of the Turk Ibrahim. At night, Sergei, wearing only tights, made his way to the ill-fated dacha. Artaud was tied up and locked in the basement. Having recognized Sergei, he began to bark furiously. The janitor went into the basement and began to beat the dog. Sergei screamed. Then the janitor ran out of the basement without closing it to catch the boy. At this time, Artaud broke away and ran out into the street. Sergei wandered around the garden for a long time until, completely exhausted, he realized that the fence was not so high and he could jump over it. Artaud jumped out after him, and they ran away. The janitor did not catch up with them. The fugitives returned to their grandfather, which made him incredibly happy.

White poodle

Alexander Kuprin
White poodle
1
A small traveling troupe made its way along narrow mountain paths, from one dacha village to another, along the southern coast of Crimea. Usually running ahead, with his long pink tongue hanging to one side, was Artaud's white poodle, shorn like a lion. At intersections he stopped and, wagging his tail, looked back questioningly. By some signs known to him alone, he always unmistakably recognized the road and, cheerfully wagging his furry ears, rushed forward at a gallop. Following the dog was a twelve-year-old boy, Sergei, who held a rolled-up carpet for acrobatic exercises under his left elbow, and in his right he carried a cramped and dirty cage with a goldfinch, trained to pull out of the box multi-colored pieces of paper with predictions for the future life. Finally, the eldest member of the troupe, grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin, trudged behind, with a barrel organ on his crooked back.
The barrel organ was an old one that suffered from hoarseness, coughing and had undergone dozens of repairs in its lifetime. She played two things: the sad German waltz of Launer and the gallop from “Travels in China” - both of which were in fashion thirty or forty years ago, but are now forgotten by everyone. In addition, there were two treacherous pipes in the barrel organ. One - the treble - lost her voice; She didn’t play at all, and therefore, when it was her turn, all the music began to stutter, limp and stumble. Another trumpet, which produced a low sound, did not immediately close the valve: once it began to sound, it continued to play the same bass note, muffling and knocking down all other sounds, until it suddenly felt the desire to be silent. Grandfather himself was aware of these shortcomings of his car and sometimes remarked jokingly, but with a tinge of secret sadness:
- What can you do?.. An ancient organ... a cold... If you play, the summer residents are offended: “Ugh, they say, what disgusting!” But the plays were very good, fashionable, but the current gentlemen do not adore our music at all. Now give them “Geisha”, “Under the Double-Headed Eagle”, from “The Bird Seller” - a waltz. Again, these pipes... I took the organ to the repairman - and they couldn’t fix it. “It’s necessary,” he says, “to install new pipes, but the best thing,” he says, “is to sell your sour rubbish to a museum... sort of like some kind of monument...” Well, oh well! She fed you and me, Sergei, until now, God willing and will feed us again.
Grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin loved his barrel organ as one can only love a living, close, perhaps even kindred creature. Having gotten used to her over many years of hard, wandering life, he finally began to see something spiritual, almost conscious, in her. It sometimes happened that at night, during an overnight stay, somewhere in a dirty inn, a barrel organ, standing on the floor next to grandfather’s headboard, would suddenly emit a faint sound, sad, lonely and trembling: like an old man’s sigh. Then Lodizhkin quietly stroked her carved side and whispered tenderly:
- What, brother? Are you complaining?.. And you are patient...
As much as he loved the barrel organ, maybe even a little more, he loved his younger companions in his eternal wanderings: the poodle Artaud and little Sergei. He rented the boy five years ago from a drunkard, a widowed shoemaker, obliging to pay two rubles a month for it. But the shoemaker soon died, and Sergei remained forever connected with his grandfather and soul, and small everyday interests.
2
The path ran along a high coastal cliff, meandering in the shadow of hundred-year-old olive trees. The sea sometimes flashed between the trees, and then it seemed that, going into the distance, it at the same time rose up like a calm, mighty wall, and its color was even bluer, even thicker in the patterned cuts, among the silver-green foliage. In the grass, in the dogwood and wild rose bushes, in the vineyards and on the trees, cicadas were pouring everywhere; the air trembled from their ringing, monotonous, incessant scream. The day turned out to be sultry, windless, and the hot earth burned the soles of my feet.
Sergei, walking, as usual, ahead of his grandfather, stopped and waited until the old man caught up with him.
- What are you doing, Seryozha? - asked the organ grinder.
- It’s hot, Grandpa Lodyzhkin... there’s no patience! I'd like to take a swim...
As he walked, the old man adjusted the barrel organ on his back with a habitual movement of his shoulder and wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve.
- What would be better! - he sighed, eagerly looking down at the cool blue of the sea. - But after swimming he will become even more tired. One paramedic I know told me: this salt has an effect on a person... it means, they say, it relaxes... It’s sea salt...
- Lied, maybe? - Sergei noted doubtfully.
- Well, he lied! Why should he lie? He's a respectable man, he doesn't drink... he has a house in Sevastopol. And then there’s nowhere to go down to the sea. Wait, we’ll get all the way to Miskhor, and there we’ll rinse our sinful bodies. Before dinner, it’s flattering to take a swim... and then, that means, get some sleep... and that’s a great thing...
Artaud, who heard the conversation behind him, turned and ran up to the people. His kind blue eyes squinted from the heat and looked touchingly, and his long protruding tongue trembled from rapid breathing.
- What, brother doggie? Warm? - Grandfather asked.
The dog yawned intensely, curled his tongue, shook his whole body and squealed subtly.
“Yes, my brother, nothing can be done... It is said: by the sweat of your brow,” Lodyzhkin continued instructively. - Let’s say that you, roughly speaking, have not a face, but a muzzle, but still... Well, he went, he went forward, there’s no need to move around under your feet... And I, Seryozha, I must admit, I love it when this very warmth . The organ is just in the way, otherwise, if it weren’t for work, I would lie down somewhere on the grass, in the shade, with my belly up, and lie down. For our old bones, this very sun is the first thing.
The path went down, connecting with a wide, rock-hard, dazzling white road. Here began the ancient count's park, in the dense greenery of which beautiful dachas, flower beds, greenhouses and fountains were scattered. Lodyzhkin knew these places well; Every year he walked around them one after another during the grape season, when the entire Crimea is filled with elegant, rich and cheerful people. The bright luxury of southern nature did not touch the old man, but many things delighted Sergei, who was here for the first time. Magnolias, with their hard and shiny, like varnished leaves and white flowers, the size of a large plate; arbors entirely woven with grapes, heavy clusters hanging down; huge centuries-old plane trees with their light bark and powerful crowns; tobacco plantations, streams and waterfalls, and everywhere - in flower beds, on hedges, on the walls of dachas - bright, magnificent fragrant roses - all this never ceased to amaze the naive soul of the boy with its living blooming charm. He expressed his delight out loud, tugging at the old man’s sleeve every minute.
- Grandfather Lodyzhkin, and grandfather, look, there are golden fish in the fountain!.. By God, grandfather, they are golden, I should die on the spot! - the boy shouted, pressing his face against the lattice enclosing the garden with a large pool in the middle. - Grandfather, what about peaches! How much Bona! On one tree!
- Go, go, you fool, why did you open your mouth! - the old man jokingly pushed him. - Wait, we’ll get to the city of Novorossiysk and that means we’ll move south again. There really are places there - there is something to see. Now, roughly speaking, Sochi, Adler, Tuapse will suit you, and there, my brother, Sukhum, Batum... You'll look at it cross-eyed... Let's say, about a palm tree. Astonishment! Its trunk is shaggy, like felt, and each leaf is so large that it’s just enough for both of us to cover ourselves.
- By God? - Sergei was joyfully surprised.
- Wait, you'll see for yourself. But who knows what there is? Apeltsyn, for example, or at least, say, the same lemon... I suppose you saw it in a shop?
- Well?
- It just grows in the air. Without anything, right on a tree, like ours, that means an apple or a pear... And the people there, brother, are completely outlandish: Turks, Persians, Circassians of all kinds, all in robes and with daggers... Desperate little people! And then there are Ethiopians there, brother. I saw them in Batum many times.
- Ethiopians? I know. These are the ones with horns,” Sergei said confidently.
- Let’s assume they don’t have horns, they’re liars. But they are black, like boots, and even shiny. Their lips are red, thick, and their eyes are white, and their hair is curly, like on a black ram.
- Are these Ethiopians scary?
- How to say to you? Out of habit, it’s true... you’re a little afraid, well, but then you see that other people are not afraid, and you yourself will become bolder... There’s a lot of stuff out there, my brother. Come and see for yourself. The only bad thing is the fever. That’s why there are swamps, rot, and also heat all around. Nothing affects the local residents, but the newcomers have a bad time. However, you and I, Sergei, will be wagging our tongues. Climb through the gate. The gentlemen who live at this dacha are very nice... Just ask me: I already know everything!
But the day turned out to be bad for them. From some places they were driven away as soon as they were seen from afar, in others, at the very first hoarse and nasal sounds of the barrel organ, they waved their hands at them from the balconies annoyedly and impatiently, in others the servants declared that “the gentlemen have not arrived yet.” At two dachas, they were, however, paid for the performance, but very little. However, grandfather did not disdain any low pay. Coming out of the fence onto the road, he jingled the coppers in his pocket with a contented look and said good-naturedly:
- Two and five, a total of seven kopecks... Well, brother Serezhenka, that’s money too. Seven times seven - so he ran up fifty dollars, which means that all three of us are full, and we have a place to stay for the night, and old Lodyzhkin, due to his weakness, can have a drink, for the sake of many ailments... Eh, gentlemen don’t understand this! It’s a pity to give him two kopecks, but it’s a shame to give him a penny... so they tell him to go away. You’d better give me at least three kopecks... I’m not offended, I’m okay... why be offended?
In general, Lodyzhkin was of a modest disposition and, even when he was persecuted, did not complain. But today, too, he was brought out of his usual complacent calm by one beautiful, plump, seemingly very kind lady, the owner of a beautiful dacha surrounded by a garden with flowers. She listened attentively to the music, looked even more attentively at Sergei’s acrobatic exercises and Artaud’s funny “tricks”, after which she asked the boy for a long time and in detail about how old he was and what his name was, where he learned gymnastics, who was his relation to the old man, what did he do? his parents, etc.; then she ordered me to wait and went into the rooms.
She didn’t appear for about ten minutes, or even a quarter of an hour, and the longer the time dragged on, the more the artists’ vague but tempting hopes grew. Grandfather even whispered to the boy, covering his mouth with his palm like a shield out of caution:
- Well, Sergei, our happiness, just listen to me: I, brother, know everything. Maybe something will come from a dress or shoes. This is true!..
Finally, the lady went out onto the balcony, threw a small white coin into Sergei’s hat and immediately disappeared. The coin turned out to be an old ten-kopeck piece, worn out on both sides and, in addition, with holes in it. Grandfather looked at her for a long time in bewilderment. He had already gone out onto the road and walked far from the dacha, but still held the ten-kopeck piece in his palm, as if weighing it.
- N-yes... Clever! - he said, suddenly stopping. - I can say... But we, three fools, tried. It would be better if she at least gave me a button, or something. At least you can sew it somewhere. What am I going to do with this rubbish? The lady probably thinks: anyway, the old man will let someone down at night, on the sly, that is. No, sir, you are very mistaken, madam. Old man Lodyzhkin will not deal with such nasty things. Yes, sir! Here's your precious ten-kopeck piece! Here!
And he indignantly and proudly threw the coin, which, clinking faintly, was buried in the white dust of the road.
Thus, the old man with the boy and the dog walked around the entire dacha village and were about to go down to the sea. On the left side there was one more, last, dacha. She was not visible because of the high white wall, above which, on the other side, towered a dense formation of thin, dusty cypress trees, like long black-gray spindles. Only through the wide cast-iron gates, similar in their intricate carvings to lace, could one see a corner of a fresh lawn, like bright green silk, round flower beds and in the distance, in the background, a covered through alley, all entwined with thick grapes. A gardener stood in the middle of the lawn, watering roses from his long sleeve. He covered the hole in the pipe with his finger, and this caused the sun to play with all the colors of the rainbow in the fountain of countless splashes.
Grandfather was about to pass by, but, looking through the gate, he stopped in bewilderment.
“Wait a little, Sergei,” he called out to the boy. - No way, are people moving there? That's the story. I've been coming here for many years, and never see a soul. Come on, get out, brother Sergei!
“Dacha Druzhba,” entry to outsiders is strictly prohibited,” Sergei read the inscription skillfully carved on one of the pillars that supported the gate.
“Friendship?..” asked the illiterate grandfather. - Whoa! This is the real word - friendship. We've been stuck all day, and now you and I will take it. I can smell it with my nose, like a hunting dog. Artaud, son of a dog! Go ahead, Seryozha. You always ask me: I already know everything!
3
The garden paths were strewn with smooth, coarse gravel that crunched underfoot, and the sides were lined with large pink shells. In the flower beds, above a motley carpet of multi-colored herbs, rose strange bright flowers, from which the air smelled sweetly. Clear water gurgled and splashed in the ponds; from beautiful vases hanging in the air between the trees, climbing plants descended in garlands, and in front of the house, on marble pillars, stood two shiny mirror balls, in which the traveling troupe was reflected upside down, in a funny, curved and stretched form.
In front of the balcony there was a large, trampled area. Sergei spread his rug on it, and grandfather, having installed the organ on a stick, was already preparing to turn the handle, when suddenly an unexpected and strange sight attracted their attention.
A boy of eight or ten years old jumped out onto the terrace from the inner rooms like a bomb, emitting piercing screams. He was in a light sailor suit, with bare arms and bare knees. His blond hair, all in large curls, was tousled carelessly over his shoulders. Six more people ran out after the boy: two women in aprons; an old fat footman in a tailcoat, without a mustache and without a beard, but with long gray sideburns; a lean, red-haired, red-nosed girl in a blue checkered dress; a young, sickly-looking, but very beautiful lady in a lace blue hood and, finally, a fat bald gentleman in a pair of combs and gold glasses. They were all very alarmed, waving their hands, talking loudly and even pushing each other. One could immediately guess that the cause of their concern was the boy in a sailor suit who had so suddenly flown out onto the terrace.
Meanwhile, the culprit of this commotion, without stopping his squeal for a second, fell with a run on his stomach on the stone floor, quickly rolled onto his back and with great ferocity began to jerk his arms and legs in all directions. The adults began to fuss around him. An old footman in a tailcoat pressed both hands to his starched shirt with a pleading look, shook his long sideburns and said plaintively:
- Father master!.. Nikolai Apollonovich!.. Don’t be so kind as to upset your mother - get up... Be so kind - eat it, sir. The mixture is very sweet, just syrup, sir. Please rise...
Women in aprons clasped their hands and chirped in servile and frightened voices. The red-nosed girl shouted with tragic gestures something very impressive, but completely incomprehensible, obviously in a foreign language. A gentleman in gold glasses persuaded the boy in a reasonable bass voice; at the same time, he tilted his head first to one side or the other and sedately spread his arms. And the beautiful lady moaned languidly, pressing a thin lace scarf to her eyes:
- Oh, Trilly, oh, my God!.. My angel, I beg you. Listen, mom is begging you. Well, take it, take the medicine; you will see, you will immediately feel better: your tummy and your head will go away. Well, do it for me, my joy! Well, Trilly, do you want mom to kneel in front of you? Well, look, I'm on my knees in front of you. Do you want me to give you a gold one? Two gold? Five gold, Trilly? Do you want a live donkey? Do you want a live horse?.. Tell him something, doctor!..
“Listen, Trilly, be a man,” boomed the fat gentleman with glasses.
- Ay-yay-yay-ah-ah-ah! - the boy screamed, wriggling around the balcony and desperately swinging his legs.
Despite his extreme excitement, he still tried to hit his heels in the stomachs and legs of the people fussing around him, who, however, quite deftly avoided this.
Sergei, who had been looking at this scene with curiosity and surprise for a long time, quietly pushed the old man in the side.
- Grandfather Lodyzhkin, what’s wrong with him? - he asked in a whisper. No way, will they beat him up?
- Well, fuck off... This guy will whip anyone himself. Just a blessed boy. Must be sick.
- Shamashed? - Sergei guessed.
- How do I know? Quiet!..
- Ay-yay-ah! Rubbish! Fools!.. - the boy cried louder and louder.
- Start, Sergei. I know! - Lodyzhkin suddenly ordered and with a decisive look turned the handle of the organ.
The nasal, hoarse, false sounds of an ancient gallop rushed through the garden. Everyone on the balcony perked up at once, even the boy fell silent for a few seconds.
- Oh, my God, they will upset poor Trilly even more! - the lady in the blue hood exclaimed mournfully. - Oh, yes, drive them away, drive them away quickly! And this dirty dog ​​is with them. Dogs always have such terrible diseases. Why are you standing there, Ivan, like a monument?
With a tired look and disgust, she waved her handkerchief at the artists, the gaunt red-nosed girl made terrible eyes, someone hissed threateningly... A man in a tailcoat quickly and softly rolled off the balcony and, with an expression of horror on his face, with his arms spread wide to the sides, ran up to the organ grinder.
- What a disgrace this is! - he wheezed in a strangled, frightened and at the same time, bossily angry whisper. - Who allowed? Who missed it? March! Out!..
The barrel organ, squeaking sadly, fell silent.
“Good sir, allow me to explain to you...” grandfather began delicately.
- None! March! - the tail-coated man shouted with some kind of whistling in his throat.
His fat face immediately turned purple, and his eyes opened incredibly wide, as if they had suddenly popped out and began to roll around. It was so scary that grandfather involuntarily took two steps back.
“Get ready, Sergei,” he said, hastily throwing the barrel organ onto his back. - Let's go!
But before they had time to take even ten steps, new piercing screams came from the balcony:
- Oh no no no! To me! I want! Ah-ah-ah! Yes-ay! Call! To me!
- But, Trilly!.. Oh, my God, Trilly! “Oh, turn them back,” the nervous lady moaned. - Ugh, how stupid you all are!.. Ivan, do you hear what they are telling you? Now call these beggars!..
- Listen! You! Hey, how are you? Organ grinders! Come back! - several voices shouted from the balcony.
A fat footman with sideburns flying in both directions, bouncing like a large rubber ball, ran after the departing artists.
- No!.. Musicians! Listen up! Back!.. Back!.. - he shouted, gasping for breath and waving both arms. “Respectable old man,” he finally grabbed his grandfather’s sleeve, “wrap up the shafts!” Gentlemen will be watching your pantomine. Alive!..
- W-well, get on with it! - Grandfather sighed, turning his head, but approached the balcony, took off the organ, fixed it in front of him on a stick and began to gallop from the very place where he had just been interrupted.
The bustle on the balcony died down. The lady with the boy and the gentleman in gold glasses approached the very railing; the rest remained respectfully in the background. A gardener in an apron came from the depths of the garden and stood not far from grandfather. A janitor crawled out from somewhere and placed himself behind the gardener. He was a huge bearded man with a gloomy, narrow-minded, pockmarked face. He was dressed in a new pink shirt, along which large black peas ran in oblique rows.
Accompanied by the hoarse, stuttering sounds of a gallop, Sergei spread out a rug on the ground, quickly threw off his canvas trousers (they were sewn from an old bag and were decorated with a quadrangular factory mark on the back, at the widest point), threw off his old jacket and remained in an old thread tights , which, despite numerous patches, deftly covered his thin, but strong and flexible figure. He had already developed, by imitating adults, the techniques of a real acrobat. Running up onto the mat, he put his hands to his lips as he walked, and then swung them to the sides with a wide theatrical movement, as if sending two swift kisses to the audience.
The grandfather continually turned the handle of the organ with one hand, extracting a rattling, coughing tune from it, and with the other he threw various objects to the boy, which he skillfully picked up on the fly. Sergei's repertoire was small, but he worked well, “cleanly,” as the acrobats say, and willingly. He threw an empty beer bottle up so that it turned over several times in the air, and suddenly, catching it with its neck on the edge of the plate, he held it in balance for several seconds; juggled four bone balls, as well as two candles, which he simultaneously caught in candlesticks; then he played with three different objects at once - a fan, a wooden cigar and a rain umbrella. They all flew through the air without touching the ground, and suddenly the umbrella was over his head, the cigar was in his mouth, and the fan was coquettishly fanning his face. In conclusion, Sergei himself somersaulted on the carpet several times, did a “frog”, showed an “American knot” and walked on his hands. Having exhausted his entire supply of “tricks,” he again threw two kisses into the audience and, breathing heavily, went up to his grandfather to replace him at the organ-grinder.
Now it was Artaud's turn. The dog knew this very well, and for a long time already he was jumping in excitement with all four paws at his grandfather, who was crawling sideways out of the strap, and barking at him with a jerky, nervous bark. Who knows, maybe the smart poodle wanted to say by this that, in his opinion, it was reckless to engage in acrobatic exercises when Reaumur was showing twenty-two degrees in the shade? But grandfather Lodyzhkin, with a sly look, pulled out a thin dogwood whip from behind his back. "I knew it!" - Artaud barked with annoyance for the last time and lazily, disobediently rose to his hind legs, not taking his blinking eyes off his owner.
- Serve, Artaud! “Well, well, well...” said the old man, holding a whip over the poodle’s head. - Turn over. So. Turn over... More, more... Dance, little dog, dance!.. Sit down! What-oh? Do not want? Sit down, they tell you. Ah... that's it! Look! Now say hello to the honorable audience! Well! Artaud! - Lodyzhkin raised his voice menacingly.
"Woof!" - the poodle lied in disgust. Then he looked, blinking his eyes pitifully, at the owner and added two more times: “Woof, woof!”
“No, my old man doesn’t understand me!” - could be heard in this dissatisfied bark.
- This is another matter. Politeness comes first. “Well, now let’s jump a little,” the old man continued, extending his whip low above the ground. Hello! There's no point in sticking your tongue out, brother. Hello!.. Gop! Wonderful! Come on, noh ein mal... Hello!.. Gop! Hello! Hop! Wonderful, doggy. When we come home, I'll give you carrots. Oh, don't you eat carrots? I completely forgot. Then take my cylinder and ask the gentlemen. Maybe they'll give you something tastier.
The old man lifted the dog onto its hind legs and stuck his ancient, greasy cap into its mouth, which he called “chilindra” with such subtle humor. Holding his cap in his teeth and coyly stepping with his crouching legs, Artaud approached the terrace. A small mother-of-pearl wallet appeared in the sickly lady’s hands. Everyone around smiled sympathetically.
- What? Didn't I tell you? - Grandfather whispered fervently, leaning towards Sergei. - Just ask me: brother, I know everything. No less than a ruble.
At this time, such a desperate, sharp, almost inhuman scream was heard from the terrace that the confused Artaud dropped his hat from his mouth and, skipping, with his tail between his legs, fearfully looking back, rushed to the feet of his owner.
- I want it! - the curly-haired boy rolled, stamping his feet. - To me! Want! Dog-oo-oo! Trilly wants a dog...
- Oh my god! Oh! Nikolai Apollonych!.. Father master!.. Calm down, Trilly, I beg you! - People on the balcony began to fuss again.
- A dog! Give me the dog! Want! Rubbish, devils, fools! - the boy lost his temper.
- But, my angel, don’t upset yourself! - the lady in the blue hood babbled over him. - Do you want to pet the dog? Well, okay, okay, my joy, now. Doctor, do you think Trilly can pet this dog?
“Generally speaking, I wouldn’t recommend it,” he threw up his hands, “but if reliable disinfection, for example, with boric acid or a weak solution of carbolic acid, then... in general...”
- Dog-a-aku!
- Now, my precious, now. So, doctor, we'll order it to be washed with boric acid and then... But, Trilly, don't worry so much! Old man, please bring your dog here. Don't be afraid, you will get paid. Listen, is she not sick? I want to ask, isn't she mad? Or maybe she has echinococcus?
- I don’t want to pet you, I don’t want to! - Trilly roared, blowing bubbles with his mouth and nose. - I really want it! Fools, devils! Absolutely for me! I want to play myself... Forever!
“Listen, old man, come here,” the lady tried to shout over him. - Oh, Trilly, you will kill your mother with your scream. And why did they let these musicians in! Come closer, even closer... still, they tell you!.. That's it... Oh, don't be upset, Trilly, mom will do whatever you want. I beg you. Miss, finally calm down the child... Doctor, please... How much do you want, old man?
Grandfather took off his cap. His face took on a courteous, orphan expression.
- As much as your grace pleases, lady, your Excellency... We are small people, every gift is good for us... Tea, don’t offend the old man yourself...

A. I. Kuprin

White poodle

A small traveling troupe made its way along narrow mountain paths, from one dacha village to another, along the southern coast of Crimea. Usually running ahead, with his long pink tongue hanging to one side, was Artaud's white poodle, shorn like a lion. At intersections he stopped and, wagging his tail, looked back questioningly. By some signs known to him alone, he always unmistakably recognized the road and, cheerfully wagging his furry ears, rushed forward at a gallop. Following the dog was a twelve-year-old boy, Sergei, who held a rolled-up carpet for acrobatic exercises under his left elbow, and in his right he carried a cramped and dirty cage with a goldfinch, trained to pull out of the box multi-colored pieces of paper with predictions for the future life. Finally, the eldest member of the troupe, grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin, trudged behind, with a barrel organ on his crooked back.

The barrel organ was an old one that suffered from hoarseness, coughing and had undergone dozens of repairs in its lifetime. She played two things: the sad German waltz of Launer and the gallop from “Travels in China” - both of which were in fashion thirty or forty years ago, but are now forgotten by everyone. In addition, there were two treacherous pipes in the barrel organ. One – the treble – lost her voice; She didn’t play at all, and therefore, when it was her turn, all the music began to stutter, limp and stumble. Another trumpet, which produced a low sound, did not immediately close the valve: once it began to sound, it continued to play the same bass note, muffling and knocking down all other sounds, until it suddenly felt the desire to be silent. Grandfather himself was aware of these shortcomings of his car and sometimes remarked jokingly, but with a tinge of secret sadness:

- What can you do?.. An ancient organ... a cold... If you play, the summer residents are offended: “Ugh, they say, what disgusting!” But the plays were very good, fashionable, but the current gentlemen do not adore our music at all. Now give them “Geisha”, “Under the Double-Headed Eagle”, from “The Bird Seller” - a waltz. Again, these pipes... I took the organ to the repairman - and they couldn’t fix it. “It’s necessary,” he says, “to install new pipes, but the best thing,” he says, “is to sell your sour rubbish to a museum... like some kind of monument...” Well, oh well! She fed you and me, Sergei, until now, God willing and will feed us again.

Grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin loved his barrel organ as one can only love a living, close, perhaps even kindred creature. Having gotten used to her over many years of hard, wandering life, he finally began to see something spiritual, almost conscious, in her. It sometimes happened that at night, during an overnight stay, somewhere in a dirty inn, a barrel organ, standing on the floor next to grandfather’s headboard, would suddenly emit a faint sound, sad, lonely and trembling: like an old man’s sigh. Then Lodizhkin quietly stroked her carved side and whispered tenderly:

- What, brother? Are you complaining?.. And you are patient...

As much as he loved the barrel organ, maybe even a little more, he loved his younger companions in his eternal wanderings: the poodle Artaud and little Sergei. He rented the boy five years ago from a drunkard, a widowed shoemaker, undertaking to pay two rubles a month for it. But the shoemaker soon died, and Sergei remained forever connected with his grandfather and soul, and small everyday interests.

The path ran along a high coastal cliff, meandering in the shadow of hundred-year-old olive trees. The sea sometimes flashed between the trees, and then it seemed that, going into the distance, it at the same time rose up like a calm, mighty wall, and its color was even bluer, even thicker in the patterned cuts, among the silver-green foliage. In the grass, in the dogwood and wild rose bushes, in the vineyards and on the trees - cicadas were pouring everywhere; the air trembled from their ringing, monotonous, incessant scream. The day turned out to be sultry, windless, and the hot earth burned the soles of my feet.

Sergei, walking, as usual, ahead of his grandfather, stopped and waited until the old man caught up with him.

- What are you doing, Seryozha? - asked the organ grinder.

– It’s hot, grandfather Lodyzhkin... there’s no patience! I would like to take a swim...

As he walked, the old man adjusted the barrel organ on his back with a habitual movement of his shoulder and wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve.

- What would be better! – he sighed, eagerly looking down at the cool blue of the sea. “But after the swim you’ll feel even worse.” One paramedic I know told me: this salt has an effect on a person... it means, they say, it relaxes... It’s sea salt...

- Lied, maybe? – Sergei noted doubtfully.

- Well, he lied! Why should he lie? A respectable man, he doesn’t drink... he has a house in Sevastopol. And then there’s nowhere to go down to the sea. Wait, we’ll get all the way to Miskhor, and there we’ll rinse our sinful bodies. Before dinner it’s flattering to take a swim... and then, that means, get some sleep... and that’s a great thing...

Artaud, who heard the conversation behind him, turned and ran up to the people. His kind blue eyes squinted from the heat and looked touchingly, and his long protruding tongue trembled from rapid breathing.

- What, brother dog? Warm? - Grandfather asked.

The dog yawned intensely, curled his tongue, shook his whole body and squealed subtly.

“Yes, my brother, nothing can be done... It is said: by the sweat of your brow,” Lodyzhkin continued instructively. - Let’s say that you, roughly speaking, have not a face, but a muzzle, but still... Well, he went, he went forward, there’s no need to move around under your feet... And I, Seryozha, I must admit, I love it when it’s this very warm. The organ is just in the way, otherwise, if it weren’t for work, I would lie down somewhere on the grass, in the shade, with my belly up, and lie down. For our old bones, this very sun is the first thing.

The path went down, connecting with a wide, rock-hard, dazzling white road. Here began the ancient count's park, in the dense greenery of which beautiful dachas, flower beds, greenhouses and fountains were scattered. Lodyzhkin knew these places well; Every year he walked around them one after another during the grape season, when the entire Crimea is filled with elegant, rich and cheerful people. The bright luxury of southern nature did not touch the old man, but many things delighted Sergei, who was here for the first time. Magnolias, with their hard and shiny, like varnished leaves and white flowers, the size of a large plate; arbors entirely woven with grapes, heavy clusters hanging down; huge centuries-old plane trees with their light bark and powerful crowns; tobacco plantations, streams and waterfalls, and everywhere - in flower beds, on hedges, on the walls of dachas - bright, magnificent fragrant roses - all this never ceased to amaze the naive soul of the boy with its living blooming charm. He expressed his delight out loud, tugging at the old man’s sleeve every minute.

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A small traveling troupe made its way along narrow mountain paths, from one dacha village to another, along the southern coast of Crimea. Usually running ahead, with his long pink tongue hanging to one side, was Artaud's white poodle, shorn like a lion. At intersections he stopped and, wagging his tail, looked back questioningly. By some signs known to him alone, he always unmistakably recognized the road and, cheerfully wagging his furry ears, rushed forward at a gallop. Following the dog was a twelve-year-old boy, Sergei, who held a rolled-up carpet for acrobatic exercises under his left elbow, and in his right he carried a cramped and dirty cage with a goldfinch, trained to pull out of the box multi-colored pieces of paper with predictions for the future life. Finally, the eldest member of the troupe, grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin, trudged behind, with a barrel organ on his crooked back.

The barrel organ was an old one that suffered from hoarseness, coughing and had undergone dozens of repairs in its lifetime. She played two things: the sad German waltz of Launer and the gallop from “Travels in China” - both of which were in fashion thirty or forty years ago, but are now forgotten by everyone. In addition, there were two treacherous pipes in the barrel organ. One – the treble – lost her voice; She didn’t play at all, and therefore, when it was her turn, all the music began to stutter, limp and stumble. Another trumpet, which produced a low sound, did not immediately close the valve: once it began to sound, it continued to play the same bass note, muffling and knocking down all other sounds, until it suddenly felt the desire to be silent. Grandfather himself was aware of these shortcomings of his car and sometimes remarked jokingly, but with a tinge of secret sadness:

- What can you do?.. An ancient organ... a cold... If you play, the summer residents are offended: “Ugh, they say, what disgusting!” But the plays were very good, fashionable, but the current gentlemen do not adore our music at all. Now give them “Geisha”, “Under the Double-Headed Eagle”, from “The Bird Seller” - a waltz. Again, these pipes... I took the organ to the repairman - and they couldn’t fix it. “It’s necessary,” he says, “to install new pipes, but the best thing,” he says, “is to sell your sour rubbish to a museum... like some kind of monument...” Well, oh well! She fed you and me, Sergei, until now, God willing and will feed us again.

Grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin loved his barrel organ as one can only love a living, close, perhaps even kindred creature. Having gotten used to her over many years of hard, wandering life, he finally began to see something spiritual, almost conscious, in her. It sometimes happened that at night, during an overnight stay, somewhere in a dirty inn, a barrel organ, standing on the floor next to grandfather’s headboard, would suddenly emit a faint sound, sad, lonely and trembling: like an old man’s sigh. Then Lodizhkin quietly stroked her carved side and whispered tenderly:

- What, brother? Are you complaining?.. And you are patient...

As much as he loved the barrel organ, maybe even a little more, he loved his younger companions in his eternal wanderings: the poodle Artaud and little Sergei. He rented the boy five years ago from a drunkard, a widowed shoemaker, undertaking to pay two rubles a month for it. But the shoemaker soon died, and Sergei remained forever connected with his grandfather and soul, and small everyday interests.

The path ran along a high coastal cliff, meandering in the shadow of hundred-year-old olive trees. The sea sometimes flashed between the trees, and then it seemed that, going into the distance, it at the same time rose up like a calm, mighty wall, and its color was even bluer, even thicker in the patterned cuts, among the silver-green foliage. In the grass, in the dogwood and wild rose bushes, in the vineyards and on the trees - cicadas were pouring everywhere; the air trembled from their ringing, monotonous, incessant scream. The day turned out to be sultry, windless, and the hot earth burned the soles of my feet.

Sergei, walking, as usual, ahead of his grandfather, stopped and waited until the old man caught up with him.

- What are you doing, Seryozha? - asked the organ grinder.

– It’s hot, grandfather Lodyzhkin... there’s no patience! I would like to take a swim...

As he walked, the old man adjusted the barrel organ on his back with a habitual movement of his shoulder and wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve.

- What would be better! – he sighed, eagerly looking down at the cool blue of the sea. “But after the swim you’ll feel even worse.” One paramedic I know told me: this salt has an effect on a person... it means, they say, it relaxes... It’s sea salt...

- Lied, maybe? – Sergei noted doubtfully.

- Well, he lied! Why should he lie? A respectable man, he doesn’t drink... he has a house in Sevastopol. And then there’s nowhere to go down to the sea. Wait, we’ll get all the way to Miskhor, and there we’ll rinse our sinful bodies. Before dinner it’s flattering to take a swim... and then, that means, get some sleep... and that’s a great thing...

Artaud, who heard the conversation behind him, turned and ran up to the people. His kind blue eyes squinted from the heat and looked touchingly, and his long protruding tongue trembled from rapid breathing.

- What, brother dog? Warm? - Grandfather asked.

The dog yawned intensely, curled his tongue, shook his whole body and squealed subtly.

“Yes, my brother, nothing can be done... It is said: by the sweat of your brow,” Lodyzhkin continued instructively. - Let’s say that you, roughly speaking, have not a face, but a muzzle, but still... Well, he went, he went forward, there’s no need to move around under your feet... And I, Seryozha, I must admit, I love it when it’s this very warm. The organ is just in the way, otherwise, if it weren’t for work, I would lie down somewhere on the grass, in the shade, with my belly up, and lie down. For our old bones, this very sun is the first thing.

The path went down, connecting with a wide, rock-hard, dazzling white road. Here began the ancient count's park, in the dense greenery of which beautiful dachas, flower beds, greenhouses and fountains were scattered. Lodyzhkin knew these places well; Every year he walked around them one after another during the grape season, when the entire Crimea is filled with elegant, rich and cheerful people. The bright luxury of southern nature did not touch the old man, but many things delighted Sergei, who was here for the first time. Magnolias, with their hard and shiny, like varnished leaves and white flowers, the size of a large plate; arbors entirely woven with grapes, heavy clusters hanging down; huge centuries-old plane trees with their light bark and powerful crowns; tobacco plantations, streams and waterfalls, and everywhere - in flower beds, on hedges, on the walls of dachas - bright, magnificent fragrant roses - all this never ceased to amaze the naive soul of the boy with its living blooming charm. He expressed his delight out loud, tugging at the old man’s sleeve every minute.

- Grandfather Lodyzhkin, and grandfather, look, there are golden fish in the fountain!.. By God, grandfather, they are golden, I should die on the spot! - the boy shouted, pressing his face against the lattice enclosing the garden with a large pool in the middle. - Grandfather, what about peaches! How much Bona! On one tree!

- Go, go, you fool, why did you open your mouth! – the old man jokingly pushed him. “Wait, we’ll get to the city of Novorossiysk and that means we’ll head south again.” There are really places there - there is something to see. Now, roughly speaking, Sochi, Adler, Tuapse will suit you, and then, my brother, Sukhum, Batum... You'll look at it cross-eyed... Let's say, approximately - a palm tree. Astonishment! Its trunk is shaggy, like felt, and each leaf is so large that it’s just enough for both of us to cover ourselves.

- By God? – Sergei was joyfully surprised.

- Wait, you'll see for yourself. But who knows what there is? Apeltsyn, for example, or at least, say, the same lemon... I suppose you saw it in a shop?

“It just grows in the air.” Without anything, right on a tree, like ours, that means an apple or a pear... And the people there, brother, are completely outlandish: Turks, Persians, Circassians of all kinds, all in robes and with daggers... Desperate little people! And then there are Ethiopians there, brother. I saw them in Batum many times.

- Ethiopians? I know. These are the ones with horns,” Sergei said confidently.

- Let’s assume they don’t have horns, they’re liars. But they are black, like boots, and even shiny. Their lips are red, thick, and their eyes are white, and their hair is curly, like on a black ram.

-Are these Ethiopians scary?

- How to say to you? Out of habit, it’s true... you’re a little afraid, well, but then you see that other people are not afraid, and you yourself will become bolder... There’s a lot of stuff out there, my brother. Come and see for yourself. The only bad thing is fever. That’s why there are swamps, rot, and also heat all around. Nothing affects the local residents, but the newcomers have a bad time. However, you and I, Sergei, will be wagging our tongues. Climb through the gate. The gentlemen who live at this dacha are very nice... Just ask me: I already know everything!

But the day turned out to be bad for them. From some places they were driven away as soon as they were seen from afar, in others, at the very first hoarse and nasal sounds of the barrel organ, they waved their hands at them from the balconies annoyedly and impatiently, in others the servants declared that “the gentlemen have not arrived yet.” At two dachas, they were, however, paid for the performance, but very little. However, grandfather did not disdain any low pay. Coming out of the fence onto the road, he jingled the coppers in his pocket with a contented look and said good-naturedly:

- Two and five, a total of seven kopecks... Well, brother Serezhenka, that’s money too. Seven times seven - so he ran up fifty dollars, which means that all three of us are full, and we have a place to stay for the night, and old Lodyzhkin, due to his weakness, can have a drink, for the sake of many ailments... Eh, gentlemen don’t understand this! It’s a pity to give him two kopecks, but it’s a shame to give him a penny... so they tell him to go away. You’d better give me at least three kopecks... I’m not offended, I’m okay... why be offended?

In general, Lodyzhkin was of a modest disposition and, even when he was persecuted, did not complain. But today, too, he was brought out of his usual complacent calm by one beautiful, plump, seemingly very kind lady, the owner of a beautiful dacha surrounded by a garden with flowers. She listened attentively to the music, looked even more attentively at Sergei’s acrobatic exercises and Artaud’s funny “tricks”, after which she asked the boy for a long time and in detail about how old he was and what his name was, where he learned gymnastics, who was his relation to the old man, what did they do his parents, etc.; then she ordered me to wait and went into the rooms.

She didn’t appear for about ten minutes, or even a quarter of an hour, and the longer the time dragged on, the more the artists’ vague but tempting hopes grew. Grandfather even whispered to the boy, covering his mouth with his palm like a shield out of caution:

- Well, Sergei, our happiness, just listen to me: I, brother, know everything. Maybe something will come from a dress or shoes. This is true!..

Finally, the lady went out onto the balcony, threw a small white coin into Sergei’s hat and immediately disappeared. The coin turned out to be an old ten-kopeck piece, worn out on both sides and, in addition, with holes in it. Grandfather looked at her for a long time in bewilderment. He had already gone out onto the road and walked far from the dacha, but still held the ten-kopeck piece in his palm, as if weighing it.

- N-yes... Clever! – he said, suddenly stopping. - I can say... But we, three fools, tried. It would be better if she at least gave me a button, or something. At least you can sew it somewhere. What am I going to do with this rubbish? The lady probably thinks: anyway, the old man will let someone down at night, on the sly, that is. No, sir, you are very mistaken, madam. Old man Lodyzhkin will not deal with such nasty things. Yes, sir! Here's your precious ten-kopeck piece! Here!

And he indignantly and proudly threw the coin, which, clinking faintly, was buried in the white dust of the road.

Thus, the old man with the boy and the dog walked around the entire dacha village and were about to go down to the sea. On the left side there was one more, last, dacha. She was not visible because of the high white wall, above which, on the other side, towered a dense formation of thin, dusty cypress trees, like long black-gray spindles. Only through the wide cast-iron gates, similar in their intricate carvings to lace, could one see a corner of a fresh lawn, like bright green silk, round flower beds and in the distance, in the background, a covered through alley, all entwined with thick grapes. A gardener stood in the middle of the lawn, watering roses from his long sleeve. He covered the hole in the pipe with his finger, and this caused the sun to play with all the colors of the rainbow in the fountain of countless splashes.

Grandfather was about to pass by, but, looking through the gate, he stopped in bewilderment.

“Wait a little, Sergei,” he called out to the boy. - No way, are people moving there? That's the story. How many years have I been coming here, and never seen a soul. Come on, get out, brother Sergei!

“Dacha Druzhba, entry to outsiders is strictly prohibited,” Sergei read the inscription skillfully carved on one of the pillars that supported the gate.

“Friendship?..” asked the illiterate grandfather. - Whoa! This is the real word - friendship. We've been stuck all day, and now you and I will take it. I can smell it with my nose, like a hunting dog. Artaud, son of a dog! Go ahead, Seryozha. You always ask me: I already know everything!

The garden paths were strewn with smooth, coarse gravel that crunched underfoot, and the sides were lined with large pink shells. In the flower beds, above a motley carpet of multi-colored herbs, rose strange bright flowers, from which the air smelled sweetly. Clear water gurgled and splashed in the ponds; from beautiful vases hanging in the air between the trees, climbing plants descended in garlands, and in front of the house, on marble pillars, stood two shiny mirror balls, in which the traveling troupe was reflected upside down, in a funny, curved and stretched form.

In front of the balcony there was a large, trampled area. Sergei spread his rug on it, and grandfather, having installed the organ on a stick, was already preparing to turn the handle, when suddenly an unexpected and strange sight attracted their attention.

A boy of eight or ten years old jumped out onto the terrace from the inner rooms like a bomb, emitting piercing screams. He was in a light sailor suit, with bare arms and bare knees. His blond hair, all in large curls, was tousled carelessly over his shoulders. Six more people ran out after the boy: two women in aprons; an old fat footman in a tailcoat, without a mustache and without a beard, but with long gray sideburns; a lean, red-haired, red-nosed girl in a blue checkered dress; a young, sickly-looking, but very beautiful lady in a lace blue hood and, finally, a fat bald gentleman in a pair of combs and gold glasses. They were all very alarmed, waving their hands, talking loudly and even pushing each other. One could immediately guess that the cause of their concern was the boy in a sailor suit who had so suddenly flown out onto the terrace.

Meanwhile, the culprit of this commotion, without stopping his squeal for a second, fell with a run on his stomach on the stone floor, quickly rolled onto his back and with great ferocity began to jerk his arms and legs in all directions. The adults began to fuss around him. An old footman in a tailcoat pressed both hands to his starched shirt with a pleading look, shook his long sideburns and said plaintively:

- Father master!.. Nikolai Apollonovich!.. Don’t be so kind as to upset your mother - get up... Be so kind - eat it, sir. The mixture is very sweet, just syrup, sir. Please rise...

Women in aprons clasped their hands and chirped in servile and frightened voices. The red-nosed girl shouted with tragic gestures something very impressive, but completely incomprehensible, obviously in a foreign language. A gentleman in gold glasses persuaded the boy in a reasonable bass voice; at the same time, he tilted his head first to one side or the other and sedately spread his arms. And the beautiful lady moaned languidly, pressing a thin lace scarf to her eyes:

- Oh, Trilly, oh, my God!.. My angel, I beg you. Listen, mom is begging you. Well, take it, take the medicine; you will see, you will immediately feel better: your tummy and your head will go away. Well, do it for me, my joy! Well, Trilly, do you want mom to kneel in front of you? Well, look, I'm on my knees in front of you. Do you want me to give you a gold one? Two gold? Five gold, Trilly? Do you want a live donkey? Do you want a live horse?.. Tell him something, doctor!..

“Listen, Trilly, be a man,” boomed the fat gentleman with glasses.

- Ay-yay-yay-ah-ah-ah! - the boy screamed, wriggling around the balcony and desperately swinging his legs.

Despite his extreme excitement, he still tried to hit his heels in the stomachs and legs of the people fussing around him, who, however, quite deftly avoided this.

Sergei, who had been looking at this scene with curiosity and surprise for a long time, quietly pushed the old man in the side.

- Grandfather Lodyzhkin, what’s wrong with him? – he asked in a whisper. - No way, will they beat him up?

- Well, fuck off... This guy will whip anyone himself. Just a blessed boy. Must be sick.

- Shamashed? – Sergei guessed.

- How should I know? Quiet!..

- Ay-yay-ah! Rubbish! Fools!.. – the boy cried louder and louder.

- Start, Sergei. I know! - Lodyzhkin suddenly ordered and with a decisive look turned the handle of the organ.

The nasal, hoarse, false sounds of an ancient gallop rushed through the garden. Everyone on the balcony perked up at once, even the boy fell silent for a few seconds.

- Oh, my God, they will upset poor Trilly even more! – the lady in the blue hood exclaimed mournfully. - Oh, yes, drive them away, drive them away quickly! And this dirty dog ​​is with them. Dogs always have such terrible diseases. Why are you standing there, Ivan, like a monument?

With a tired look and disgust, she waved her handkerchief at the artists, the gaunt red-nosed girl made terrible eyes, someone hissed threateningly... A man in a tailcoat quickly and softly rolled off the balcony and, with an expression of horror on his face, with his arms spread wide to the sides, ran up to the organ grinder .

- What a disgrace! – he wheezed in a suppressed, frightened and at the same time, bossily angry whisper. - Who allowed it? Who missed it? March! Out!..

The barrel organ, squeaking sadly, fell silent.

“Good sir, allow me to explain to you...” grandfather began delicately.

- None! March! - the man in the tailcoat shouted with a whistling sound in his throat.

His fat face immediately turned purple, and his eyes opened incredibly wide, as if they had suddenly popped out and began to roll around. It was so scary that grandfather involuntarily took two steps back.

“Get ready, Sergei,” he said, hastily throwing the organ on his back. - Let's go!

But before they had time to take even ten steps, new piercing screams came from the balcony:

- Oh no no no! To me! I want! Ah-ah-ah! Yes-ay! Call! To me!

- But, Trilly!.. Oh, my God, Trilly! “Oh, turn them back,” the nervous lady moaned. - Ugh, how stupid you all are!.. Ivan, do you hear what they are telling you? Now call these beggars!..

- Listen! You! Hey, how are you? Organ grinders! Come back! – several voices shouted from the balcony.

A fat footman with sideburns flying in both directions, bouncing like a large rubber ball, ran after the departing artists.

- No!.. Musicians! Listen up! Back!.. Back!.. - he shouted, gasping for breath and waving both arms. “Respectable old man,” he finally grabbed grandfather by the sleeve, “wrap up the shafts!” Gentlemen will be watching your pantomine. Alive!..

- W-well, get on with it! - Grandfather sighed, turning his head, but approached the balcony, took off the organ, fixed it in front of him on a stick and began to gallop from the very place where he had just been interrupted.

The bustle on the balcony died down. The lady with the boy and the gentleman in gold glasses approached the very railing; the rest remained respectfully in the background. A gardener in an apron came from the depths of the garden and stood not far from grandfather. A janitor crawled out from somewhere and placed himself behind the gardener. He was a huge bearded man with a gloomy, narrow-minded, pockmarked face. He was dressed in a new pink shirt, along which large black peas ran in oblique rows.

Accompanied by the hoarse, stuttering sounds of a gallop, Sergei spread out a rug on the ground, quickly threw off his canvas trousers (they were sewn from an old bag and were decorated with a quadrangular factory mark on the back, at the widest point), threw off his old jacket and remained in an old thread tights , which, despite numerous patches, deftly covered his thin, but strong and flexible figure. He had already developed, by imitating adults, the techniques of a real acrobat. Running up onto the mat, he put his hands to his lips as he walked, and then swung them to the sides with a wide theatrical movement, as if sending two swift kisses to the audience.

The grandfather continually turned the handle of the organ with one hand, extracting a rattling, coughing tune from it, and with the other he threw various objects to the boy, which he skillfully picked up on the fly. Sergei’s repertoire was small, but he worked well, “cleanly,” as the acrobats say, and willingly. He threw an empty beer bottle up so that it turned over several times in the air, and suddenly, catching it with its neck on the edge of the plate, he held it in balance for several seconds; juggled four bone balls, as well as two candles, which he simultaneously caught in candlesticks; then he played with three different objects at once - a fan, a wooden cigar and a rain umbrella. They all flew through the air without touching the ground, and suddenly the umbrella was over his head, the cigar was in his mouth, and the fan was coquettishly fanning his face. In conclusion, Sergei himself somersaulted on the carpet several times, made a “frog”, showed an “American knot” and walked on his hands. Having exhausted his entire supply of “tricks,” he again threw two kisses into the audience and, breathing heavily, went up to his grandfather to replace him at the organ-grinder.

Now it was Artaud's turn. The dog knew this very well, and for a long time already he was jumping in excitement with all four paws at his grandfather, who was crawling sideways out of the strap, and barking at him with a jerky, nervous bark. Who knows, maybe the smart poodle wanted to say by this that, in his opinion, it was reckless to engage in acrobatic exercises when Reaumur was showing twenty-two degrees in the shade? But grandfather Lodyzhkin, with a sly look, pulled out a thin dogwood whip from behind his back. “I knew it!” – Artaud barked with annoyance for the last time and lazily, disobediently rose to his hind legs, not taking his blinking eyes off his owner.

- Serve, Artaud! Well, well, well...” said the old man, holding a whip over the poodle’s head. - Turn over. So. Turn over... More, more... Dance, little dog, dance!.. Sit down! What? Do not want? Sit down, they tell you. Ahh... that's it! Look! Now say hello to the honorable audience! Well! Artaud! – Lodyzhkin raised his voice menacingly.

"Woof!" – the poodle lied in disgust. Then he looked, blinking his eyes pitifully, at the owner and added two more times: “Woof, woof!”

“No, my old man doesn’t understand me!” – could be heard in this dissatisfied bark.

- This is another matter. Politeness comes first. “Well, now let’s jump a little,” the old man continued, holding out his whip low above the ground. - Hello! There's no point in sticking your tongue out, brother. Hello!.. Gop! Wonderful! Come on, noh ein mal... Hello!.. Gop! Hello! Hop! Wonderful, doggy. When we come home, I'll give you carrots. Oh, don't you eat carrots? I completely forgot. Then take my cylinder and ask the gentlemen. Maybe they'll give you something tastier.

The old man lifted the dog onto its hind legs and stuck his ancient, greasy cap into its mouth, which he called “chilindra” with such subtle humor. Holding his cap in his teeth and coyly stepping with his crouching legs, Artaud approached the terrace. A small mother-of-pearl wallet appeared in the sickly lady’s hands. Everyone around smiled sympathetically.

- What? Didn't I tell you? – Grandfather whispered fervently, leaning towards Sergei. - Just ask me: brother, I know everything. No less than a ruble.

At this time, such a desperate, sharp, almost inhuman scream was heard from the terrace that the confused Artaud dropped his hat from his mouth and, skipping, with his tail between his legs, fearfully looking back, rushed to the feet of his owner.

- I want it! - the curly-haired boy rolled, stamping his feet. - To me! Want! Dog-oo-oo! Trilly wants a dog...

- Oh my god! Oh! Nikolai Apollonych!.. Father master!.. Calm down, Trilly, I beg you! – the people on the balcony began to fuss again.

- A dog! Give me the dog! Want! Rubbish, devils, fools! – the boy lost his temper.

- But, my angel, don’t upset yourself! – the lady in the blue hood babbled over him. - Do you want to pet the dog? Well, okay, okay, my joy, now. Doctor, do you think Trilly can pet this dog?

“Generally speaking, I wouldn’t recommend it,” he spread his hands, “but if reliable disinfection, for example, with boric acid or a weak solution of carbolic acid, then... in general...”

- Dog-a-aku!

- Now, my precious, now. So, doctor, we will order it to be washed with boric acid and then... But, Trilly, don’t worry so much! Old man, please bring your dog here. Don't be afraid, you will get paid. Listen, is she not sick? I want to ask, isn't she mad? Or maybe she has echinococcus?

- I don’t want to pet you, I don’t want to! - Trilly roared, blowing bubbles with his mouth and nose. - I really want it! Fools, devils! Absolutely for me! I want to play myself... Forever!

“Listen, old man, come here,” the lady tried to shout over him. - Oh, Trilly, you will kill your mother with your scream. And why did they let these musicians in! Come closer, even closer... still, they tell you!.. That's it... Oh, don't be upset, Trilly, mom will do whatever you want. I beg you. Miss, finally calm down the child... Doctor, please... How much do you want, old man?

Grandfather took off his cap. His face took on a courteous, orphan expression.

- As much as your grace pleases, lady, Your Excellency... We are small people, any gift is good for us... Tea, don’t offend the old man yourself...

- Oh, how stupid you are! Trilly, your throat will hurt. After all, understand that the dog is yours, not mine. Well, how much? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty?

- A-ah-ah! I want! Give me the dog, give me the dog,” the boy squealed, kicking the footman in the round belly.

“That is... excuse me, your Excellency,” Lodyzhkin hesitated. - I’m an old, stupid man... I don’t understand right away... besides, I’m a little deaf... that is, how do you deign to speak?.. For a dog?..

- Oh, my God!.. You seem to be deliberately pretending to be an idiot? – the lady boiled. - Nanny, give Trilly some water as soon as possible! I’m asking you in Russian, how much do you want to sell your dog for? You know, your dog, dog...

- A dog! Dog-aku! – the boy burst out louder than before.

Lodizhkin was offended and put a cap on his head.

“I don’t sell dogs, lady,” he said coldly and with dignity. “And this forest, madam, one might say, the two of us,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Sergei, “feeds, waters and clothes the two of us.” And there is no way this is possible, such as selling.

Meanwhile, Trilly shouted with the shrillness of a locomotive whistle. He was given a glass of water, but he violently threw it in the governess's face.

“Listen, crazy old man!.. There is no thing that is not for sale,” the lady insisted, squeezing her temples with her palms. “Miss, wipe your face quickly and give me my migraine.” Maybe your dog is worth a hundred rubles? Well, two hundred? Three hundred? Yes, answer, you idol! Doctor, tell him something, for God's sake!

“Get ready, Sergei,” Lodyzhkin grumbled gloomily. - Istu-ka-n... Artaud, come here!..

“Uh, wait a minute, my dear,” said the fat gentleman in gold glasses in an authoritative bass voice. “You’d better not break down, my dear, I’ll tell you what.” Ten rubles is a great price for your dog, and with you on top... Just think, you ass, how much they give you!

“I humbly thank you, master, but only...” Lodizhkin, groaning, threw the barrel organ over his shoulders. “But there’s no way this business can be sold.” You’d better look for another dog somewhere... Stay happy... Sergey, go forward!

- Do you have a passport? – the doctor suddenly roared menacingly. - I know you, rascals!

- Street cleaner! Semyon! Drive them out! – the lady shouted with her face distorted with anger.

A gloomy janitor in a pink shirt approached the artists with an ominous look. A terrible, multi-voiced uproar arose on the terrace: Trilly roared with good obscenities, his mother moaned, the nanny and nanny wailed in rapid succession, the doctor hummed in a thick bass voice, like an angry bumblebee. But grandfather and Sergei did not have time to see how it would all end. Preceded by a rather frightened poodle, they almost ran to the gate. And the janitor walked behind them, pushing them into the barrel organ from behind, and said in a threatening voice:

- Hanging around here, Labardans! Thank God that you didn’t get hit in the neck, you old horseradish. And next time you come, just know that I won’t be shy with you, I’ll wash the scruff of your neck and take you to Mr. Hardy. Shantrapa!

For a long time the old man and the boy walked in silence, but suddenly, as if by agreement, they looked at each other and laughed: first Sergei laughed, and then, looking at him, but with some embarrassment, Lodyzhkin smiled.

- What, grandfather Lodyzhkin? You know everything? – Sergei teased him slyly.

- Yes, brother. “You and I have been fooling ourselves,” the old organ grinder shook his head. - A sarcastic little boy, however... How did they raise him like that, what a fool, take him? Tell me, twenty-five people are dancing around him. Well, if it were in my power, I would prescribe it for him. Give me the dog, he says? So what? He even wants the moon from the sky, so give him the moon too? Come here, Artaud, come here, my little dog. Well, today was a good day. Marvelous!

- What's better! – Sergei continued to be sarcastic. “One lady gave me a dress, another gave me a ruble.” You, grandfather Lodyzhkin, know everything in advance.

“Keep quiet, little cinder,” the old man snapped good-naturedly. - How I ran away from the janitor, remember? I thought I wouldn’t be able to catch up with you. This janitor is a serious man.

Leaving the park, the traveling troupe went down a steep, loose path to the sea. Here the mountains, retreating a little back, gave way to a narrow flat strip covered with smooth stones, sharpened by the surf, on which the sea now gently splashed with a quiet rustle. Two hundred fathoms from the shore, dolphins tumbled in the water, showing their fat, round backs for a moment. In the distance, on the horizon, where the blue satin of the sea was bordered by a dark blue velvet ribbon, the slender sails of fishing boats, slightly pink in the sun, stood motionless.

“We’ll go swimming here, Grandfather Lodyzhkin,” Sergei said decisively. As he walked, he had already managed, jumping first on one leg and then on the other, to pull off his trousers. - Let me help you remove the organ.

He quickly undressed, loudly slapped his palms on his naked, chocolate-colored body and threw himself into the water, raising mounds of boiling foam around him.

Grandfather undressed slowly. Covering his eyes with his palm from the sun and squinting, he looked at Sergei with a loving grin.

“Wow, the boy is growing up,” thought Lodyzhkin, “even though he’s bony – you can see all the ribs, but he’ll still be a strong guy.”

- Hey, Seryozhka! Don't swim too far. The porpoise will drag it away.

- And I’ll take her by the tail! – Sergei shouted from a distance.

Grandfather stood in the sun for a long time, feeling under his arms. He stepped into the water very carefully and, before plunging, carefully wet his red, bald crown and sunken sides. His body was yellow, flabby and weak, his legs were amazingly thin, and his back with protruding sharp shoulder blades was hunched from carrying a barrel organ for many years.

- Grandfather Lodyzhkin, look! – Sergei shouted.

He somersaulted in the water, throwing his legs over his head. Grandfather, who had already climbed into the water up to his waist and was squatting in it with a blissful grunt, shouted alarmingly:

- Well, don’t play around, piglet. Look! I y-you!

Artaud barked furiously and galloped along the shore. It bothered him that the boy swam so far. “Why show your courage? – the poodle was worried. – There is earth - and walk on the earth. Much calmer."

He himself climbed into the water up to his belly and lapped at it with his tongue two or three times. But he didn’t like the salty water, and the light waves rustling on the coastal gravel scared him. He jumped out onto the shore and again began barking at Sergei. “Why these stupid tricks? I would sit by the shore, next to the old man. Oh, how much trouble there is with this boy!

- Hey, Seryozha, get out, or something will really happen to you! - the old man called.

- Now, Grandfather Lodyzhkin, I’m sailing by boat. Woohoo!

He finally swam to the shore, but before getting dressed, he grabbed Artaud in his arms and, returning with him to the sea, threw him far into the water. The dog immediately swam back, sticking out only one muzzle with its ears floating up, snorting loudly and offendedly. Jumping out onto land, she shook all over her body, and clouds of spray flew towards the old man and Sergei.

- Wait a minute, Seryozha, no way, is this coming to us? - said Lodyzhkin, looking intently up at the mountain.

The same gloomy janitor in a pink shirt with black polka dots, who had driven the traveling troupe from the dacha a quarter of an hour earlier, was quickly going down the path, shouting inaudibly and waving his arms.

- What does he want? – Grandfather asked in bewilderment.

The janitor continued to scream, running downstairs at an awkward trot, with the sleeves of his shirt flapping in the wind and his bosom inflating like a sail.

- Oh-ho-ho!.. Wait a little!..

“And so that you don’t get wet and dry,” Lodyzhkin grumbled angrily. - He’s talking about Artoshka again.

- Come on, grandpa, let's give it to him! – Sergei bravely suggested.

- Come on, get off... And what kind of people are these, God forgive me!..

“Here’s what…” the out of breath janitor began from afar. - Are you selling the dog? Well, no sweetness with the gentleman. Roars like a calf. “Give me the dog…” The lady sent it, buy it, she says, no matter what the cost.

– This is quite stupid on the part of your lady! - Lodyzhkin suddenly became angry, who here, on the shore, felt much more confident than at someone else’s dacha. - And again, what kind of lady is she to me? You may be a lady, but I don’t care about my cousin. And please... I ask you... leave us, for Christ's sake... and that... and don't bother me.

But the janitor did not stop. He sat down on the stones next to the old man and said, clumsily pointing his fingers in front of him:

- Yes, understand, you fool-man...

“I hear it from a fool,” grandfather calmly snapped.

- But wait... that’s not what I’m talking about... Really, what a burr... Just think: what do you need a dog for? I picked up another puppy, taught him to stand on his hind legs, and here you have a dog again. Well? Am I telling you a lie? A?

Grandfather carefully tied the belt around his pants. He answered the janitor’s persistent questions with feigned indifference:

- And here, my brother, right away - a number! – the janitor got excited. - Two hundred, or maybe three hundred rubles at once! Well, as usual, I get something for my troubles... Just think: three hundredths! After all, you can open a grocery store right away...

So speaking, the janitor pulled out a piece of sausage from his pocket and threw it to the poodle. Artaud caught it in flight, swallowed it in one go and wagged his tail searchingly.

-Have you finished? – Lodyzhkin asked briefly.

- Yes, this takes a long time and there’s no point in ending it. Give the dog - and shake hands.

“Yes, yes,” said grandfather mockingly. - Do you mean sell the dog?

- Usually - to sell. What else do you need? The main thing is that our dad is so well-spoken. Whatever you want, the whole house will talk about it. Serve - and that's it. This is still without a father, but with a father... you are our saints!.. everyone is walking upside down. Our master is an engineer, maybe you heard, Mr. Obolyaninov? Railways are being built all over Russia. Millionaire! And we have only one boy. And he'll make fun of you. I want a live pony - I’ll pony on you. I want a boat - you have a real boat. How to eat anything, refuse anything...

- And the moon?

- So in what sense does this mean?

“I’m telling you, he never wanted the moon from the sky?”

- Well... you can also say - the moon! – the janitor was embarrassed. - So, dear man, are things going well with us, or what?

Grandfather, who had already managed to put on a brown jacket, green at the seams, proudly straightened up as far as his always bent back would allow him.

“I’ll tell you one thing, guy,” he began, not without solemnity. - Approximately, if you had a brother or, say, a friend who, therefore, has been with you since childhood. Wait, friend, don’t give the dog sausage for nothing... you’d better eat it yourself... this, brother, won’t bribe him. I’m saying, if you had the most faithful friend... who has been since childhood... Then approximately how much would you sell him for?

- Equated it too!..

- So I equated them. “You tell that to your master who is building the railway,” grandfather raised his voice. – So say it: not everything, they say, is sold, what is bought. Yes! You better not pet the dog, there’s no point. Artaud, come here, son of a dog, I'm for you! Sergey, get ready.

“You old fool,” the janitor finally couldn’t stand it.

“You’re a fool, I’ve been like that since birth, but you’re a boor, Judas, a corrupt soul,” Lodyzhkin swore. “When you see your general’s wife, bow to her, say: from our people, with your love, a low bow.” Roll up the carpet, Sergei! Eh, my back, my back! Let's go to.

“So, soooo!..” the janitor drawled meaningfully.

- Take it with that! – the old man answered cheerfully.

The artists trudged along the seashore, up again, along the same road. Looking back by chance, Sergei saw that the janitor was watching them. He looked thoughtful and gloomy. He concentratedly scratched his shaggy red head with all his fingers under the hat that had slipped over his eyes.

Grandfather Lodyzhkin had long ago noticed a corner between Miskhor and Alupka, down from the lower road, where it was excellent to have breakfast. There he led his companions. Not far from the bridge spanning a stormy and dirty mountain stream, a talkative, cold stream of water ran out of the ground, in the shadow of crooked oaks and thick hazel trees. She made a round, shallow pond in the soil, from which she ran down into the stream like a thin snake that glittered in the grass like living silver. Near this spring, in the mornings and evenings, one could always find devout Turks drinking water and performing their sacred ablutions.

“Our sins are grave, and our supplies are meager,” said grandfather, sitting down in the coolness under a hazel tree. - Come on, Seryozha, God bless!

He took out bread from a canvas bag, a dozen red tomatoes, a piece of Bessarabian feta cheese and a bottle of Provençal oil. He had the salt tied in a bundle of rags of questionable cleanliness. Before eating, the old man crossed himself for a long time and whispered something. Then he broke the loaf of bread into three uneven pieces: he handed one, the largest, to Sergei (the little one is growing - he needs to eat), he left the other, smaller one for the poodle, and took the smallest one for himself.

- In the name of father and son. “Everyone’s eyes trust in you, Lord,” he whispered, fussily distributing portions and pouring oil on them from a bottle. – Taste it, Seryozha!

Without haste, slowly, in silence, as real workers eat, the three began to eat their modest lunch. All you could hear was the sound of three pairs of jaws chewing. Artaud ate his share on the sidelines, stretched out on his stomach and placing both front paws on the bread. Grandfather and Sergei took turns dipping ripe tomatoes into salt, from which juice, red as blood, flowed over their lips and hands, and ate them with cheese and bread. Having had their fill, they drank from the water, placing a tin mug under the stream of the spring. The water was clear, tasted great, and was so cold that it even fogged up the outside of the mug. The heat of the day and the long journey exhausted the artists, who got up at first light today. Grandfather's eyes were drooping. Sergei yawned and stretched.

- Well, brother, should we go to bed for a minute? - Grandfather asked. - Let me drink some water one last time. Uh, good! - he grunted, taking his mouth away from the mug and taking a deep breath, while light drops ran from his mustache and beard. - If I were a king, everyone would drink this water... from morning to night! Arto, isi, here! Well, God nourished, no one saw, and whoever saw, did not offend... Oh-oh-honnies!

The old man and the boy lay down next to each other on the grass, placing their old jackets under their heads. The dark foliage of gnarled, spreading oak trees rustled above their heads. The clear blue sky shone through it. The stream, running down from stone to stone, gurgled so monotonously and so insinuatingly, as if it was bewitching someone with its soporific babble. Grandfather tossed and turned for a while, groaned and said something, but it seemed to Sergei that his voice was sounding from some soft and sleepy distance, and the words were incomprehensible, like in a fairy tale.

- First of all, I’ll buy you a suit: a pink leotard with gold... the shoes are also pink, satin... In Kiev, in Kharkov or, for example, in the city of Odessa - there, brother, what circuses!.. There are apparently and invisibly lanterns... everything the electricity is burning... There are maybe five thousand people, or even more... why do I know? We will definitely make up an Italian surname for you. What kind of surname is Estifeev or, say, Lodyzhkin? There is only nonsense - there is no imagination in it. And we’ll put you on the poster - Antonio or, for example, that’s also good - Enrico or Alfonzo...

The boy heard nothing further. A gentle and sweet drowsiness took possession of him, shackling and weakening his body. Grandfather also fell asleep, having suddenly lost the thread of his favorite afternoon thoughts about Sergei’s brilliant circus future. Once, in a dream, it seemed to him that Artaud was growling at someone. For a moment, a semi-conscious and disturbing memory of a recent janitor in a pink shirt slipped into his foggy head, but, worn out by sleep, fatigue and heat, he could not get up, but only lazily, with his eyes closed, called out to the dog:

- Artaud... where? I y-you, tramp!

But his thoughts immediately became confused and blurred into heavy and formless visions.

- Artaud, isi! Back! Phew, whew, whew! Artaud, go back!

– What are you, Sergei, screaming? – Lodyzhkin asked displeasedly, with difficulty straightening his stiff hand.

“We overslept the dog, that’s what!” – the boy answered rudely in an irritated voice. - The dog is missing.

He whistled sharply and shouted again in a drawn-out voice:

- Arto-o-o!

“You’re making up nonsense!.. He’ll come back,” said grandfather. However, he quickly got to his feet and began shouting to the dog in an angry, sleepy, senile falsetto:

- Arto, here, son of a dog!

He hurriedly, with small, confused steps, ran across the bridge and climbed up the highway, without ceasing to call the dog. In front of him lay, visible to the eye for half a mile, a smooth, bright white road surface, but on it there was not a single figure, not a single shadow.

- Artaud! Ar-to-she-ka! - the old man howled pitifully.

But suddenly he stopped, bent low to the road and squatted down.

- Yes, that’s what it’s like! - said the old man in a fallen voice. - Sergey! Seryozha, come here.

- Well, what else is there? – the boy responded rudely, approaching Lodyzhkin. – Did you find yesterday?

- Seryozha... what is this?.. This is it, what is it? You understand? – the old man asked barely audibly.

He looked at the boy with pitiful, confused eyes, and his hand, pointing straight to the ground, walked in all directions.

On the road, a rather large half-eaten piece of sausage was lying in the white dust, and next to it were dog paw prints in all directions.

- You brought a dog, you scoundrel! - Grandfather whispered in fear, still squatting. “No one like him, that’s clear... Do you remember, just now by the sea he fed everyone sausage.”

“The point is clear,” Sergei repeated gloomily and angrily.

Grandfather's wide-open eyes suddenly filled with large tears and blinked quickly. He covered them with his hands.

- What should we do now, Serezhenka? A? What should we do now? - asked the old man, rocking back and forth and sobbing helplessly.

- What to do, what to do! – Sergei imitated him angrily. - Get up, grandfather Lodyzhkin, let's go!..

“Let’s go,” the old man repeated sadly and obediently, rising from the ground. - Well, let's go, Serezhenka!

Out of patience, Sergei shouted at the old man as if he were a child:

“You’ll be playing the fool, old man.” Where has this actually been seen to lure other people's dogs? Why are you batting your eyes at me? Am I telling a lie? We’ll come straight out and say: “Give back the dog!” But no - to the world, that’s the whole story.

“To the world... yes... of course... That’s true, to the world...” Lodyzhkin repeated with a meaningless, bitter smile. But his eyes shifted awkwardly and embarrassedly. - To the world... yes... But this is what, Serezhenka... this matter does not work out... to the world...

- How does this not work out? The law is the same for everyone. Why look them in the mouth? – the boy interrupted impatiently.

- And you, Seryozha, don’t do that... don’t be angry with me. The dog will not be returned to you and me. – Grandfather mysteriously lowered his voice. – I’m afraid about the patchport. Did you hear what the gentleman said just now? He asks: “Do you have a passport?” That's the story. And I,” grandfather made a frightened face and whispered barely audibly, “I, Seryozha, have someone else’s patchport.”

- Like a stranger?

- That's it - a stranger. I lost mine in Taganrog, or maybe it was stolen from me. For two years then I was spinning around: hiding, giving bribes, writing petitions... Finally I see that there is no way for me, I live like a hare - I’m afraid of everyone. There was no peace at all. And then in Odessa, in a rooming house, a Greek turned up. “This,” he says, “is sheer nonsense. “Put twenty-five rubles on the table,” he says, “old man,” and I’ll provide you with a patchport forever.” I threw my mind back and forth. Eh, I think my head is gone. Come on, I say. And since then, my dear, I’ve been living in someone else’s patchport.

- Oh, grandfather, grandfather! – Sergei sighed deeply, with tears in his chest. - I really feel sorry for the dog... The dog is really good...

- Serezhenka, my dear! – the old man extended his trembling hands to him. - Yes, if only I had a real passport, would I have noticed that they were generals? I would take you by the throat!.. “How so? Let me! What right do you have to steal other people's dogs? What kind of law is there for this? And now we're finished, Seryozha. When I go to the police, the first thing I do is: “Give me your passport! Are you the Samara tradesman Martyn Lodyzhkin?” - “I, your kindness.” And I, brother, am not Lodyzhkin at all and not a tradesman, but a peasant, Ivan Dudkin. And who this Lodyzhkin is - only God knows. How do I know, maybe some kind of thief or an escaped convict? Or maybe even a murderer? No, Seryozha, we won’t do anything here... Nothing, Seryozha...

Grandfather’s voice broke and choked. Tears flowed again along the deep, tan-brown wrinkles. Sergei, who had been listening to the weakened old man in silence, with his armor tightly clenched, pale with excitement, suddenly took him under the arms and began to lift him.

“Let’s go, grandfather,” he said commandingly and affectionately at the same time. - To hell with the patchport, let's go! We can't spend the night on the main road.

“You are my dear, my dear,” the old man said, shaking his whole body. - This dog is very interesting... Artoshenka is ours... We won’t have another like him...

“Okay, okay... Get up,” Sergei ordered. - Let me clean you of the dust. You've completely left me feeling limp, grandpa.

The artists no longer worked that day. Despite his young age, Sergei well understood the fatal meaning of this terrible word “patchport”. Therefore, he no longer insisted on further searches for Artaud, or on a peace settlement, or on other decisive measures. But while he walked next to his grandfather before spending the night, a new, stubborn and concentrated expression did not leave his face, as if he had something extremely serious and big in mind.

Without conspiring, but obviously out of the same secret impulse, they deliberately made a significant detour in order to once again pass by “Friendship”. In front of the gate they paused a little, in the vague hope of seeing Artaud or at least hearing his bark from a distance.

But the carved gates of the magnificent dacha were tightly closed, and in the shady garden under the slender sad cypress trees there was an important, imperturbable, fragrant silence.

“It will be for you, let’s go,” the boy ordered sternly and pulled his companion by the sleeve.

- Serezhenka, maybe Artoshka will run away from them? – Grandfather suddenly sobbed again. - A? What do you think, honey?

But the boy did not answer the old man. He walked ahead with large, firm steps. His eyes stubbornly looked down at the road, and his thin eyebrows moved angrily towards his nose.

They walked silently to Alupka. Grandfather groaned and sighed all the way, but Sergei kept an angry, determined expression on his face. They stopped for the night in a dirty Turkish coffee shop, which bore the brilliant name “Yildiz”, which means “star” in Turkish. Spending the night with them were Greek stonemasons, Turkish navvies, several Russian workers doing day labor, as well as several dark, suspicious tramps, of whom there are so many wandering around the south of Russia. All of them, as soon as the coffee shop closed at a certain hour, lay down on the benches along the walls and right on the floor, and those who were more experienced, out of extra precaution, put under their heads all that they had of the most valuable things. and from the dress.

It was well after midnight when Sergei, who was lying on the floor next to his grandfather, carefully got up and began to dress quietly. Through the wide windows the pale light of the month poured into the room, spread as an oblique, trembling sheet across the floor and, falling on the people sleeping side by side, gave their faces a suffering and dead expression.

- Where are you going, little guy? – the owner of the coffee shop, a young Turk Ibrahim, sleepily called out to Sergei at the door.

- Skip it. Necessary! – Sergei answered sternly, in a businesslike tone. - Get up, you Turkish spatula!

Yawning, scratching himself and smacking his tongue reproachfully, Ibrahim unlocked the doors. The narrow streets of the Tatar bazaar were immersed in a thick dark blue shadow, which covered the entire pavement with a jagged pattern and touched the foot of the houses on the other, illuminated side, their low walls sharply whitening in the moonlight. On the far outskirts of the town dogs were barking. From somewhere, on the upper highway, came the ringing and rattling tramp of a horse ambling along.

Having passed a white mosque with a green dome in the shape of an onion, surrounded by a silent crowd of dark cypress trees, the boy went down a narrow crooked alley onto the high road. To make it easier, Sergei did not take any outerwear with him, remaining in only tights. The moon was shining at his back, and the boy's shadow ran ahead of him in a black, strange, shortened silhouette. Dark, curly bushes lurked on both sides of the highway. Some bird screamed in it monotonously, at regular intervals, in a thin, gentle voice: “I’m sleeping!.. I’m sleeping!..” And it seemed that she was obediently guarding some sad secret in the silence of the night, and was powerlessly struggling with sleep and tired, and quietly, without hope, complains to someone: “I’m sleeping, I’m sleeping!..” And above the dark bushes and above the bluish caps of distant forests towered, resting its two prongs on the sky, Ai-Petri - so light, sharp, airy as if it had been cut out of a giant piece of silver cardboard.

Sergei felt a little creepy in the midst of this majestic silence, in which his steps were heard so clearly and boldly, but at the same time, some kind of tickling, dizzying courage spilled into his heart. At one turn the sea suddenly opened up. Huge, calm, it swayed quietly and solemnly. A narrow, trembling silver path stretched from the horizon to the shore; it disappeared in the middle of the sea - only here and there its sparkles flashed occasionally - and suddenly, right next to the ground, it widely splashed with living, sparkling metal, encircling the shore.

Sergei silently slipped through the wooden gate leading to the park. There, under the thick trees, it was completely dark. From a distance you could hear the sound of a restless stream and feel its damp, cold breath. The wooden deck of the bridge clattered distinctly underfoot. The water below him was black and scary. Here, finally, are the tall cast-iron gates, patterned like lace and entwined with creeping stems of wisteria. The moonlight, cutting through the thicket of trees, slid along the carvings of the gate in faint phosphorescent spots. On the other side there was darkness and a sensitive, fearful silence.

There were several moments during which Sergei experienced hesitation in his soul, almost fear. But he overcame these painful feelings and whispered:

- But I’ll still climb! Doesn't matter!

It was not difficult for him to climb. The graceful cast-iron curls that made up the design of the gate served as sure points of support for tenacious hands and small muscular legs. Above the gate, at a great height, a wide stone arch spanned from pillar to pillar. Sergei groped his way onto it, then, lying on his stomach, lowered his legs down to the other side and began to little by little push his entire body there, never ceasing to look for some protrusion with his feet. Thus, he had already completely leaned over the arch, holding on to its edge only with the fingers of his outstretched arms, but his legs still did not meet support. He could not realize then that the arch over the gate protruded much further inward than outward, and as his hands became numb and his weakened body hung heavier, horror penetrated more and more into his soul.

Finally he couldn't stand it anymore. His fingers, clinging to the sharp corner, loosened, and he quickly flew down.

He heard the coarse gravel crunch beneath him and felt a sharp pain in his knees. For several seconds he stood on all fours, stunned by the fall. It seemed to him that now all the inhabitants of the dacha would wake up, a gloomy janitor in a pink shirt would come running, there would be a scream, a commotion... But, as before, there was a deep, important silence in the garden. Only some low, monotonous, buzzing sound echoed throughout the garden:

“I’m burning... I’m burning... I’m burning...”

“Oh, it’s making noise in my ears!” – Sergei guessed. He rose to his feet; everything was scary, mysterious, fabulously beautiful in the garden, as if filled with fragrant dreams. Flowers barely visible in the darkness were quietly staggering in the flowerbeds, leaning towards each other with vague anxiety, as if whispering and peeping. Slender, dark, fragrant cypress trees slowly nodded their sharp tops with a thoughtful and reproachful expression. And beyond the stream, in the thicket of bushes, a small tired bird struggled with sleep and repeated with a submissive complaint:

“I’m sleeping!.. I’m sleeping!.. I’m sleeping!..”

At night, among the shadows tangled on the paths, Sergei did not recognize the place. He wandered for a long time along the creaking gravel until he came to the house.

Never in his life had the boy experienced such a painful feeling of complete helplessness, abandonment and loneliness as he did now. The huge house seemed to him filled with merciless lurking enemies who secretly, with an evil grin, watched from the dark windows every movement of the small, weak boy. The enemies were silently and impatiently waiting for some signal, waiting for someone's angry, deafeningly menacing order.

- Just not in the house... she can’t be in the house! – the boy whispered, as if in a dream. - She will howl in the house, she will get tired...

He walked around the dacha. On the back side, in a wide courtyard, there were several buildings, simpler and more unpretentious in appearance, obviously intended for servants. Here, as in the big house, no fire was visible in any window; only the month was reflected in the dark glasses with a dead, uneven shine. “I can’t leave here, I’ll never leave!..” – Sergei thought sadly. For a moment he remembered his grandfather, the old barrel organ, overnight stays in coffee shops, breakfasts at cool springs. “Nothing, none of this will happen again!” – Sergei sadly repeated to himself. But the more hopeless his thoughts became, the more fear gave way in his soul to some kind of dull and calmly evil despair.

A thin, moaning squeal suddenly touched his ears. The boy stopped, not breathing, with tense muscles, stretched out on tiptoe. The sound was repeated. It seemed to come from the stone basement, near which Sergei stood and which communicated with the outside air through a series of rough, small rectangular openings without glass. Walking along some kind of flower curtain, the boy approached the wall, put his face to one of the vents and whistled. A quiet, guarded noise was heard somewhere below, but immediately died down.

- Artaud! Artoshka! – Sergei called in a trembling whisper.

A frantic, intermittent barking immediately filled the entire garden, echoing in all its corners. In this barking, along with a joyful greeting, complaint, anger, and a feeling of physical pain were mixed. You could hear the dog struggling with all its might in the dark basement, trying to free itself from something.

- Artaud! Dog!.. Artoshenka!.. – the boy echoed her in a crying voice.

- Tsits, damned one! – came a brutal, bass scream from below. - Uh, convict!

Something knocked in the basement. The dog burst into a long, intermittent howl.

- Don't you dare hit! Don't you dare hit the dog, damn it! – Sergei shouted in a frenzy, scratching the stone wall with his nails.

Sergei remembered everything that happened next vaguely, as if in some kind of violent, feverish delirium. The basement door swung wide open with a bang and a janitor ran out. In only his underwear, barefoot, bearded, pale from the bright light of the moon shining directly in his face, he seemed to Sergei like a giant, an angry fairy-tale monster.

- Who's wandering around here? I'll shoot you! – his voice rumbled like thunder through the garden. - The thieves! They're robbing!

But at that very moment, out of the darkness of the open door, like a white jumping lump, Artaud jumped out barking. A piece of rope was dangling around his neck.

However, the boy had no time for the dog. The menacing appearance of the janitor gripped him with supernatural fear, tied his legs, and paralyzed his entire small, thin body. But fortunately, this tetanus did not last long. Almost unconsciously, Sergei let out a piercing, long, desperate cry and at random, not seeing the road, not remembering himself from fear, he started running away from the basement.

He rushed like a bird, hitting the ground hard and often with his legs, which suddenly became strong, like two steel springs. Artaud galloped next to him, bursting into joyful barking. Behind us, a janitor rumbled heavily across the sand, furiously growling some curses.

With a flourish, Sergei ran into the gate, but did not immediately think, but rather instinctively felt that there was no road here. Between the stone wall and the cypress trees growing along it there was a narrow dark loophole. Without hesitation, obeying only a feeling of fear, Sergei, bending down, ducked into it and ran along the wall. The sharp needles of the cypress trees, which smelled thickly and pungently of resin, lashed him in the face. He tripped over roots, fell, bleeding his hands, but immediately got up, not even noticing the pain, and again ran forward, bent almost double, not hearing his cry. Artaud rushed after him.

So he ran along a narrow corridor, formed on one side by a high wall, on the other by a close line of cypress trees, he ran like a small animal, mad with horror, caught in an endless trap. His mouth was dry, and every breath stabbed his chest like a thousand needles. The janitor's tramp came from the right, then from the left, and the boy, who had lost his head, rushed forward and backward, running past the gate several times and again diving into a dark, cramped loophole.

Finally Sergei was exhausted. Through the wild horror, a cold, sluggish melancholy, dull indifference to any danger began to gradually take possession of him. He sat down under a tree, pressed his body, exhausted from fatigue, against its trunk and closed his eyes. The sand crunched closer and closer under the heavy steps of the enemy. Artaud squealed quietly, burying his muzzle in Sergei’s knees.

Two steps away from the boy, branches rustled as they moved apart with his hands. Sergei unconsciously raised his eyes upward and suddenly, overwhelmed with incredible joy, jumped to his feet with one jolt. He only now noticed that the wall opposite where he was sitting was very low, no more than one and a half arshins. True, its top was studded with bottle fragments embedded in the lime, but Sergei did not think about it. He instantly grabbed Artaud across the body and placed him with his front paws on the wall. The smart dog understood him perfectly. He quickly climbed up the wall, waved his tail and barked triumphantly.

Following him, Sergei found himself on the wall, just at the time when a large dark figure looked out from the parting branches of the cypress trees. Two flexible, agile bodies - a dog and a boy - quickly and softly jumped down onto the road. Following them rushed, like a dirty stream, a nasty, ferocious curse.

Whether the janitor was less agile than the two friends, whether he was tired of circling around the garden, or simply did not hope to catch up with the fugitives, he did not pursue them any longer. Nevertheless, they ran for a long time without rest - both strong, agile, as if inspired by the joy of deliverance. The poodle soon returned to his usual frivolity. Sergei was still looking back fearfully, but Artaud was already jumping at him, enthusiastically dangling his ears and a piece of rope, and still contrived to lick him right on the lips.

The boy came to his senses only at the source, at the same one where he and his grandfather had breakfast the day before. Having pressed their mouths together to the cold pond, the dog and the man swallowed the fresh, tasty water for a long time and greedily. They pushed each other away, raised their heads up for a minute to catch their breath, water dripping loudly from their lips, and again with new thirst they clung to the pond, not being able to tear themselves away from it. And when they finally fell away from the source and moved on, the water splashed and gurgled in their overfilled bellies. The danger was over, all the horrors of that night passed without a trace, and it was fun and easy for both of them to walk along the white road, brightly illuminated by the moon, between the dark bushes, which were already reeking of morning dampness and the sweet smell of refreshed leaves.

In the Yldyz coffee shop, Ibrahim met the boy with a reproachful whisper:

- And where are you going, little guy? Where are you going? Wai-wai-wai, not good...

Sergei did not want to wake up his grandfather, but Artaud did it for him. In an instant he found the old man among the piles of bodies lying on the floor and, before he had time to come to his senses, he licked his cheeks, eyes, nose and mouth with a joyful squeal. Grandfather woke up, saw a rope around the poodle’s neck, saw a boy lying next to him, covered in dust, and understood everything. He turned to Sergei for clarification, but could not achieve anything. The boy was already asleep, his arms spread out to his sides and his mouth wide open.

White poodle. Kuprin Story for children to read

I
A small traveling troupe made its way along narrow mountain paths, from one dacha village to another, along the southern coast of Crimea. Usually running ahead, with his long pink tongue hanging to one side, was Artaud's white poodle, shorn like a lion. At intersections he stopped and, wagging his tail, looked back questioningly. By some signs known to him alone, he always unmistakably recognized the road and, cheerfully wagging his furry ears, rushed forward at a gallop. Following the dog was a twelve-year-old boy, Sergei, who held a rolled-up carpet for acrobatic exercises under his left elbow, and in his right he carried a cramped and dirty cage with a goldfinch, trained to pull out of the box multi-colored pieces of paper with predictions for the future life. Finally, the eldest member of the troupe, grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin, trudged behind, with a barrel organ on his crooked back.
The barrel organ was an old one that suffered from hoarseness, coughing and had undergone dozens of repairs in its lifetime. She played two things: the sad German waltz of Launer and the gallop from “Travels in China” - both of which were in fashion thirty or forty years ago, but are now forgotten by everyone. In addition, there were two treacherous pipes in the barrel organ. One - the treble - lost her voice; She didn’t play at all, and therefore, when it was her turn, all the music began to stutter, limp and stumble. Another trumpet, which produced a low sound, did not immediately close the valve: once it began to sound, it continued to play the same bass note, muffling and knocking down all other sounds, until it suddenly felt the desire to be silent. Grandfather himself was aware of these shortcomings of his car and sometimes remarked jokingly, but with a tinge of secret sadness:
- What can you do?.. An ancient organ... a cold... If you play, the summer residents are offended: “Ugh, they say, what disgusting!” But the plays were very good, fashionable, but the current gentlemen do not adore our music at all. Now give them “Geisha”, “Under the Double-Headed Eagle”, from “The Bird Seller” - a waltz. Again, these pipes... I took the organ to the master - and they couldn’t fix it. “It’s necessary,” he says, “to install new pipes, but the best thing,” he says, “is to sell your sour rubbish to a museum... like some kind of monument...” Well, oh well! She fed you and me, Sergei, until now, God willing and will feed us again.

Grandfather Martyn Lodyzhkin loved his barrel organ as one can only love a living, close, perhaps even kindred creature. Having gotten used to her over many years of hard, wandering life, he finally began to see something spiritual, almost conscious, in her. It sometimes happened that at night, during an overnight stay, somewhere in a dirty inn, a barrel organ, standing on the floor next to grandfather’s headboard, would suddenly emit a faint sound, sad, lonely and trembling: like an old man’s sigh. Then Lodizhkin quietly stroked her carved side and whispered tenderly:
- What, brother? Are you complaining?.. And you are patient...
As much as he loved the barrel organ, maybe even a little more, he loved his younger companions in his eternal wanderings: the poodle Artaud and little Sergei. He rented the boy five years ago from a drunkard, a widowed shoemaker, undertaking to pay two rubles a month for it. But the shoemaker soon died, and Sergei remained forever connected with his grandfather and soul, and small everyday interests.

II
The path ran along a high coastal cliff, meandering in the shadow of hundred-year-old olive trees. The sea sometimes flashed between the trees, and then it seemed that, going into the distance, it at the same time rose up like a calm, mighty wall, and its color was even bluer, even thicker in the patterned cuts, among the silver-green foliage. In the grass, in the dogwood and wild rose bushes, in the vineyards and on the trees, cicadas were pouring everywhere; the air trembled from their ringing, monotonous, incessant scream. The day turned out to be sultry, windless, and the hot earth burned the soles of my feet.
Sergei, walking, as usual, ahead of his grandfather, stopped and waited until the old man caught up with him.
- What are you doing, Seryozha? - asked the organ grinder.
- It’s hot, Grandpa Lodyzhkin... there’s no patience! I would like to take a swim...
As he walked, the old man adjusted the barrel organ on his back with a habitual movement of his shoulder and wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve.
- What would be better! - he sighed, eagerly looking down at the cool blue of the sea. - But after swimming he will become even more tired. One paramedic I know told me: this salt has an effect on a person... it means, they say, it relaxes... It’s sea salt...
- Lied, maybe? - Sergei noted doubtfully.
- Well, he lied! Why should he lie? A respectable man, he doesn’t drink... he has a house in Sevastopol. And then there’s nowhere to go down to the sea. Wait, we’ll get all the way to Miskhor, and there we’ll rinse our sinful bodies. Before dinner it’s flattering to take a swim... and then, that means, get some sleep... and that’s a great thing...
Artaud, who heard the conversation behind him, turned and ran up to the people. His kind blue eyes squinted from the heat and looked touchingly, and his long protruding tongue trembled from rapid breathing.
- What, brother doggie? Warm? - Grandfather asked.
The dog yawned intensely, curled his tongue, shook his whole body and squealed subtly.
“Yes, my brother, nothing can be done... It is said: by the sweat of your brow,” Lodyzhkin continued instructively. - Let’s say that you, roughly speaking, have not a face, but a muzzle, but still... Well, he went, he went forward, there’s no need to move around under your feet... And I, Seryozha, I must admit, I love it when this very warmth. The organ is just in the way, otherwise, if it weren’t for work, I would lie down somewhere on the grass, in the shade, with my belly up, and lie down. For our old bones, this very sun is the first thing.
The path went down, connecting with a wide, rock-hard, dazzling white road. Here began the ancient count's park, in the dense greenery of which beautiful dachas, flower beds, greenhouses and fountains were scattered. Lodyzhkin knew these places well; Every year he walked around them one after another during the grape season, when the entire Crimea is filled with elegant, rich and cheerful people. The bright luxury of southern nature did not touch the old man, but many things delighted Sergei, who was here for the first time. Magnolias, with their hard and shiny, like varnished leaves and white flowers, the size of a large plate; arbors entirely woven with grapes, heavy clusters hanging down; huge centuries-old plane trees with their light bark and powerful crowns; tobacco plantations, streams and waterfalls, and everywhere - in flower beds, on hedges, on the walls of dachas - bright, magnificent fragrant roses - all this never ceased to amaze the naive soul of the boy with its living blooming charm. He expressed his delight out loud, tugging at the old man’s sleeve every minute.
- Grandfather Lodyzhkin, and grandfather, look, there are golden fish in the fountain!.. By God, grandfather, they are golden, I should die on the spot! - the boy shouted, pressing his face against the lattice enclosing the garden with a large pool in the middle. - Grandfather, what about peaches! How much Bona! On one tree!
- Go, go, you fool, why did you open your mouth! - the old man jokingly pushed him. - Wait, we’ll get to the city of Novorossiysk and that means we’ll move south again. There really are places there - there is something to see. Now, roughly speaking, Sochi, Adler, Tuapse will suit you, and then, my brother, Sukhum, Batum... You’ll cross your eyes when you look... Let’s say, roughly, a palm tree. Astonishment! Its trunk is shaggy, like felt, and each leaf is so large that it’s just enough for both of us to cover ourselves.
- By God? - Sergei was joyfully surprised.
- Wait, you'll see for yourself. But who knows what there is? Apeltsyn, for example, or at least, say, the same lemon... I suppose you saw it in a shop?
- Well?
- It just grows in the air. Without anything, right on a tree, like ours, that means an apple or a pear... And the people there, brother, are completely outlandish: Turks, Persians, Circassians of all kinds, all in robes and with daggers... Desperate little people! And then there are Ethiopians there, brother. I saw them in Batum many times.
- Ethiopians? I know. These are the ones with horns,” Sergei said confidently.
- Let’s assume they don’t have horns, they’re liars. But they are black, like boots, and even shiny. Their lips are red, thick, and their eyes are white, and their hair is curly, like on a black ram.
- Are these Ethiopians scary?
- How to say to you? Out of habit, it’s true... you’re a little afraid, well, but then you see that other people are not afraid, and you yourself will become bolder... There’s a lot of stuff out there, my brother. Come and see for yourself. The only bad thing is fever. That’s why there are swamps, rot, and also heat all around. Nothing affects the local residents, but the newcomers have a bad time. However, you and I, Sergei, will be wagging our tongues. Climb through the gate. The gentlemen who live at this dacha are very nice... Just ask me: I already know everything!
But the day turned out to be bad for them. From some places they were driven away as soon as they were seen from afar, in others, at the very first hoarse and nasal sounds of the barrel organ, they waved their hands at them from the balconies annoyedly and impatiently, in others the servants declared that “the gentlemen have not arrived yet.” At two dachas, they were, however, paid for the performance, but very little. However, grandfather did not disdain any low pay. Coming out of the fence onto the road, he jingled the coppers in his pocket with a contented look and said good-naturedly:
- Two and five, a total of seven kopecks... Well, brother Serezhenka, that’s money too. Seven times seven - so he ran up fifty dollars, which means that all three of us are full, and we have a place to stay for the night, and old Lodyzhkin, due to his weakness, can have a drink, for the sake of many ailments... Eh, gentlemen don’t understand this! It’s a pity to give him two kopecks, but it’s a shame to give him a penny... so they tell him to go away. You’d better give me at least three kopecks... I’m not offended, I’m okay... why be offended?
In general, Lodyzhkin was of a modest disposition and, even when he was persecuted, did not complain. But today, too, he was brought out of his usual complacent calm by one beautiful, plump, seemingly very kind lady, the owner of a beautiful dacha surrounded by a garden with flowers. She listened attentively to the music, looked even more attentively at Sergei’s acrobatic exercises and Artaud’s funny “tricks”, after which she asked the boy for a long time and in detail about how old he was and what his name was, where he learned gymnastics, who was his relation to the old man, what did they do his parents, etc.; then she ordered me to wait and went into the rooms.
She didn’t appear for about ten minutes, or even a quarter of an hour, and the longer the time dragged on, the more the artists’ vague but tempting hopes grew. Grandfather even whispered to the boy, covering his mouth with his palm like a shield out of caution:
- Well, Sergei, our happiness, just listen to me: I, brother, know everything. Maybe something will come from a dress or shoes. This is true!..
Finally, the lady went out onto the balcony, threw a small white coin into Sergei’s hat and immediately disappeared. The coin turned out to be an old ten-kopeck piece, worn out on both sides and, in addition, with holes in it. Grandfather looked at her for a long time in bewilderment. He had already gone out onto the road and walked far from the dacha, but still held the ten-kopeck piece in his palm, as if weighing it.
- N-yes... Clever! - he said, suddenly stopping. - I can say... But we, three fools, tried. It would be better if she at least gave me a button, or something. At least you can sew it somewhere. What am I going to do with this rubbish? The lady probably thinks: anyway, the old man will let someone down at night, on the sly, that is. No, sir, you are very mistaken, madam. Old man Lodyzhkin will not deal with such nasty things. Yes, sir! Here's your precious ten-kopeck piece! Here!
And he indignantly and proudly threw the coin, which, clinking faintly, was buried in the white dust of the road.
Thus, the old man with the boy and the dog walked around the entire dacha village and were about to go down to the sea. On the left side there was one more, last, dacha. She was not visible because of the high white wall, above which, on the other side, towered a dense formation of thin, dusty cypress trees, like long black-gray spindles. Only through the wide cast-iron gates, similar in their intricate carvings to lace, could one see a corner of a fresh lawn, like bright green silk, round flower beds and in the distance, in the background, a covered through alley, all entwined with thick grapes. A gardener stood in the middle of the lawn, watering roses from his long sleeve. He covered the hole in the pipe with his finger, and this caused the sun to play with all the colors of the rainbow in the fountain of countless splashes.
Grandfather was about to pass by, but, looking through the gate, he stopped in bewilderment.
“Wait a little, Sergei,” he called out to the boy. - No way, are people moving there? That's the story. I've been coming here for many years, and never see a soul. Come on, get out, brother Sergei!
“Dacha Druzhba, entry to outsiders is strictly prohibited,” Sergei read the inscription skillfully carved on one of the pillars that supported the gate.
“Friendship?..” asked the illiterate grandfather. - Whoa! This is the real word - friendship. We've been stuck all day, and now you and I will take it. I can smell it with my nose, like a hunting dog. Artaud, son of a dog! Go ahead, Seryozha. You always ask me: I already know everything!

III
The garden paths were strewn with smooth, coarse gravel that crunched underfoot, and the sides were lined with large pink shells. In the flower beds, above a motley carpet of multi-colored herbs, rose strange bright flowers, from which the air smelled sweetly. Clear water gurgled and splashed in the ponds; from beautiful vases hanging in the air between the trees, climbing plants descended in garlands, and in front of the house, on marble pillars, stood two shiny mirror balls, in which the traveling troupe was reflected upside down, in a funny, curved and stretched form.
In front of the balcony there was a large, trampled area. Sergei spread his rug on it, and grandfather, having installed the organ on a stick, was already preparing to turn the handle, when suddenly an unexpected and strange sight attracted their attention.
A boy of eight or ten years old jumped out onto the terrace from the inner rooms like a bomb, emitting piercing screams. He was in a light sailor suit, with bare arms and bare knees. His blond hair, all in large curls, was tousled carelessly over his shoulders. Six more people ran out after the boy: two women in aprons; an old fat footman in a tailcoat, without a mustache and without a beard, but with long gray sideburns; a lean, red-haired, red-nosed girl in a blue checkered dress; a young, sickly-looking, but very beautiful lady in a lace blue hood and, finally, a fat bald gentleman in a pair of combs and gold glasses. They were all very alarmed, waving their hands, talking loudly and even pushing each other. One could immediately guess that the cause of their concern was the boy in a sailor suit who had so suddenly flown out onto the terrace.
Meanwhile, the culprit of this commotion, without stopping his squeal for a second, fell with a run on his stomach on the stone floor, quickly rolled onto his back and with great ferocity began to jerk his arms and legs in all directions. The adults began to fuss around him. An old footman in a tailcoat pressed both hands to his starched shirt with a pleading look, shook his long sideburns and said plaintively:
- Father master!.. Nikolai Apollonovich!.. Don’t be so kind as to upset your mother - get up... Be so kind - eat it, sir. The mixture is very sweet, just syrup, sir. Please rise...
Women in aprons clasped their hands and chirped in servile and frightened voices. The red-nosed girl shouted with tragic gestures something very impressive, but completely incomprehensible, obviously in a foreign language. A gentleman in gold glasses persuaded the boy in a reasonable bass voice; at the same time, he tilted his head first to one side or the other and sedately spread his arms. And the beautiful lady moaned languidly, pressing a thin lace scarf to her eyes:
- Oh, Trilly, oh, my God!.. My angel, I beg you. Listen, mom is begging you. Well, take it, take the medicine; you will see, you will immediately feel better: your tummy and your head will go away. Well, do it for me, my joy! Well, Trilly, do you want mom to kneel in front of you? Well, look, I'm on my knees in front of you. Do you want me to give you a gold one? Two gold? Five gold, Trilly? Do you want a live donkey? Do you want a live horse?.. Tell him something, doctor!..
“Listen, Trilly, be a man,” boomed the fat gentleman with glasses.
- Ay-yay-yay-ah-ah-ah! - the boy screamed, wriggling around the balcony and desperately swinging his legs.
Despite his extreme excitement, he still tried to hit his heels in the stomachs and legs of the people fussing around him, who, however, quite deftly avoided this.
Sergei, who had been looking at this scene with curiosity and surprise for a long time, quietly pushed the old man in the side.
- Grandfather Lodyzhkin, what? is this the case with him? - he asked in a whisper. - No way, will they beat him up?
- Well, fuck off... This guy will whip anyone himself. Just a blessed boy. Must be sick.
- Shamashed? - Sergei guessed.
- How do I know? Quiet!..
- Ay-yay-ah! Rubbish! Fools!.. - the boy cried louder and louder.
- Start, Sergei. I know! - Lodyzhkin suddenly ordered and with a decisive look turned the handle of the organ.
The nasal, hoarse, false sounds of an ancient gallop rushed through the garden. Everyone on the balcony perked up at once, even the boy fell silent for a few seconds.
- Oh, my God, they will upset poor Trilly even more! - the lady in the blue hood exclaimed mournfully. - Oh, yes, drive them away, drive them away quickly! And this dirty dog ​​is with them. Dogs always have such terrible diseases. Why are you standing there, Ivan, like a monument?
With a tired look and disgust, she waved her handkerchief at the artists, the gaunt red-nosed girl made terrible eyes, someone hissed threateningly... A man in a tailcoat quickly and softly rolled off the balcony and, with an expression of horror on his face, with his arms spread wide to the sides, ran up to the organ grinder .
- What a disgrace this is! - he wheezed in a strangled, frightened and at the same time, bossily angry whisper. - Who allowed? Who missed it? March! Out!..
The barrel organ, squeaking sadly, fell silent.
“Good sir, allow me to explain to you...” grandfather began delicately.
- None! March! - the tail-coated man shouted with some kind of whistling in his throat.
His fat face immediately turned purple, and his eyes opened incredibly wide, as if they had suddenly popped out and began to roll around. It was so scary that grandfather involuntarily took two steps back.
“Get ready, Sergei,” he said, hastily throwing the barrel organ onto his back. - Let's go!
But before they had time to take even ten steps, new piercing screams came from the balcony:
- Oh no no no! To me! I want! Ah-ah-ah! Yes-ay! Call! To me!
- But, Trilly!.. Oh, my God, Trilly! “Oh, turn them back,” the nervous lady moaned. - Ugh, how stupid you all are!.. Ivan, do you hear what? do they tell you? Now call these beggars!..
- Listen! You! Hey, how are you? Organ grinders! Come back! - several voices shouted from the balcony.
A fat footman with sideburns flying in both directions, bouncing like a large rubber ball, ran after the departing artists.
- No!.. Musicians! Listen up! Back!.. Back!.. - he shouted, gasping for breath and waving both arms. “Respectable old man,” he finally grabbed his grandfather’s sleeve, “wrap up the shafts!” Gentlemen will be watching your pantomine. Alive!..
- W-well, get on with it! - Grandfather sighed, turning his head, but approached the balcony, took off the organ, fixed it in front of him on a stick and began to gallop from the very place where he had just been interrupted.
The bustle on the balcony died down. The lady with the boy and the gentleman in gold glasses approached the very railing; the rest remained respectfully in the background. A gardener in an apron came from the depths of the garden and stood not far from grandfather. A janitor crawled out from somewhere and placed himself behind the gardener. He was a huge bearded man with a gloomy, narrow-minded, pockmarked face. He was dressed in a new pink shirt, along which large black peas ran in oblique rows.
Accompanied by the hoarse, stuttering sounds of a gallop, Sergei spread out a rug on the ground, quickly threw off his canvas trousers (they were sewn from an old bag and were decorated with a quadrangular factory mark on the back, at the widest point), threw off his old jacket and remained in an old thread tights , which, despite numerous patches, deftly covered his thin, but strong and flexible figure. He had already developed, by imitating adults, the techniques of a real acrobat. Running up onto the mat, he put his hands to his lips as he walked, and then swung them to the sides with a wide theatrical movement, as if sending two swift kisses to the audience.
The grandfather continually turned the handle of the organ with one hand, extracting a rattling, coughing tune from it, and with the other he threw various objects to the boy, which he skillfully picked up on the fly. Sergei’s repertoire was small, but he worked well, “cleanly,” as the acrobats say, and willingly. He threw an empty beer bottle up so that it turned over several times in the air, and suddenly, catching it with its neck on the edge of the plate, he held it in balance for several seconds; juggled four bone balls, as well as two candles, which he simultaneously caught in candlesticks; then he played with three different objects at once - a fan, a wooden cigar and a rain umbrella. They all flew through the air without touching the ground, and suddenly the umbrella was over his head, the cigar was in his mouth, and the fan was coquettishly fanning his face. In conclusion, Sergei himself somersaulted on the carpet several times, made a “frog”, showed an “American knot” and walked on his hands. Having exhausted his entire supply of “tricks,” he again threw two kisses into the audience and, breathing heavily, went up to his grandfather to replace him at the organ-grinder.
Now it was Artaud's turn. The dog knew this very well, and for a long time already he was jumping in excitement with all four paws at his grandfather, who was crawling sideways out of the strap, and barking at him with a jerky, nervous bark. Who knows, maybe the smart poodle wanted to say by this that, in his opinion, it was reckless to engage in acrobatic exercises when Reaumur was showing twenty-two degrees in the shade? But grandfather Lodyzhkin, with a sly look, pulled out a thin dogwood whip from behind his back. “I knew it!” - Artaud barked with annoyance for the last time and lazily, disobediently rose to his hind legs, not taking his blinking eyes off his owner.
- Serve, Artaud! “Well, well, well...” said the old man, holding a whip over the poodle’s head. - Turn over. So. Turn over... More, more... Dance, little dog, dance!.. Sit down! What-oh? Do not want? Sit down, they tell you. Ahh... that's it! Look! Now say hello to the honorable audience! Well! Artaud! - Lodyzhkin raised his voice menacingly.
"Woof!" - the poodle lied in disgust. Then he looked, blinking his eyes pitifully, at the owner and added two more times: “Woof, woof!”
“No, my old man doesn’t understand me!” - could be heard in this dissatisfied bark.
- This is another matter. Politeness comes first. “Well, now let’s jump a little,” the old man continued, extending his whip low above the ground. - Hello! There's no point in sticking your tongue out, brother. Hello!.. Gop! Wonderful! Come on, noh ein mal... Hello!.. Gop! Hello! Hop! Wonderful, doggy. When we come home, I'll give you carrots. Oh, don't you eat carrots? I completely forgot. Then take my cylinder and ask the gentlemen. Maybe they'll give you something tastier.
The old man lifted the dog onto its hind legs and stuck his ancient, greasy cap into its mouth, which he called “chilindra” with such subtle humor. Holding his cap in his teeth and coyly stepping with his crouching legs, Artaud approached the terrace. A small mother-of-pearl wallet appeared in the sickly lady’s hands. Everyone around smiled sympathetically.
- What?? Didn't I tell you? - Grandfather whispered fervently, leaning towards Sergei. - Just ask me: brother, I know everything. No less than a ruble.
At this time, such a desperate, sharp, almost inhuman scream was heard from the terrace that the confused Artaud dropped his hat from his mouth and, skipping, with his tail between his legs, fearfully looking back, rushed to the feet of his owner.
- I want it! - the curly-haired boy rolled, stamping his feet. - To me! Want! Dog-oo-oo! Trilly wants a dog...
- Oh my god! Oh! Nikolai Apollonych!.. Father master!.. Calm down, Trilly, I beg you! - People on the balcony began to fuss again.
- A dog! Give me the dog! Want! Rubbish, devils, fools! - the boy lost his temper.
- But, my angel, don’t upset yourself! - the lady in the blue hood babbled over him. - Do you want to pet the dog? Well, okay, okay, my joy, now. Doctor, do you think Trilly can pet this dog?
“Generally speaking, I wouldn’t recommend it,” he threw up his hands, “but if reliable disinfection, for example, with boric acid or a weak solution of carbolic acid, then... in general...
- Dog-a-aku!
- Now, my precious, now. So, doctor, we will order it to be washed with boric acid and then... But, Trilly, don’t worry so much! Old man, please bring your dog here. Don't be afraid, you will get paid. Listen, is she not sick? I want to ask, isn't she mad? Or maybe she has echinococcus?
- I don’t want to pet you, I don’t want to! - Trilly roared, blowing bubbles with his mouth and nose. - I really want it! Fools, devils! Absolutely for me! I want to play myself... Forever!
“Listen, old man, come here,” the lady tried to shout over him. - Oh, Trilly, you will kill your mother with your scream. And why did they let these musicians in! Come closer, even closer... still, they tell you!.. That's it... Oh, don't be upset, Trilly, mom will do whatever you want. I beg you. Miss, finally calm down the child... Doctor, please... How much do you want, old man?
Grandfather took off his cap. His face took on a courteous, orphan expression.
- As much as your grace pleases, lady, your Excellency... We are small people, every gift is good for us... Tea, don’t offend the old man yourself...
- Oh, how stupid you are! Trilly, your throat will hurt. After all, understand that the dog is yours, not mine. Well, how much? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty?
- A-ah-ah! I want! Give me the dog, give me the dog,” the boy squealed, kicking the footman in the round belly.
“That is... excuse me, your Excellency,” Lodyzhkin hesitated. - I’m an old, stupid man... I don’t understand right away... besides, I’m a little deaf... that is, how do you deign to speak?.. For a dog?..
- Oh, my God!.. You seem to be deliberately pretending to be an idiot? - the lady boiled. - Nanny, give Trilly some water as soon as possible! I’m asking you in Russian, how much do you want to sell your dog for? You know, your dog, dog...
- A dog! Dog-aku! - the boy burst out louder than before.
Lodizhkin was offended and put a cap on his head.
“I don’t sell dogs, lady,” he said coldly and with dignity. “And this forest, madam, one might say, the two of us,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Sergei, “feeds, waters and clothes the two of us.” And there is no way this is possible, such as selling.
Meanwhile, Trilly shouted with the shrillness of a locomotive whistle. He was given a glass of water, but he violently threw it in the governess's face.
“Listen, crazy old man!.. There is no thing that is not for sale,” the lady insisted, squeezing her temples with her palms. - Miss, wipe your face quickly and give me my migraine. Maybe your dog is worth a hundred rubles? Well, two hundred? Three hundred? Yes, answer, you idol! Doctor, tell him something, for God's sake!
“Get ready, Sergei,” Lodyzhkin grumbled gloomily. - Istu-ka-n... Arto, come here!..
“Uh, wait a minute, my dear,” said the fat gentleman in gold glasses in an authoritative bass voice. “You’d better not break down, my dear, I’ll tell you what.” Ten rubles is a great price for your dog, and with you on top... Just think, you ass, how much they give you!
“I humbly thank you, master, but only...” Lodyzhkin, groaning, threw the barrel organ over his shoulders. - But there’s no way this business can be sold. You’d better look for another dog somewhere... Stay happy... Sergey, go forward!
- Do you have a passport? - the doctor suddenly roared menacingly. - I know you, rascals!
- Street cleaner! Semyon! Drive them out! - the lady shouted with her face distorted with anger.
A gloomy janitor in a pink shirt approached the artists with an ominous look. A terrible, multi-voiced uproar arose on the terrace: Trilly roared with good obscenities, his mother moaned, the nanny and nanny wailed in rapid succession, the doctor hummed in a thick bass voice, like an angry bumblebee. But grandfather and Sergei did not have time to see how it would all end. Preceded by a rather frightened poodle, they almost ran to the gate. And the janitor walked behind them, pushing them into the barrel organ from behind, and said in a threatening voice:
- Hanging around here, Labardans! Thank God that you didn’t get hit in the neck, you old horseradish. And next time you come, just know that I won’t be shy with you, I’ll wash the scruff of your neck and take you to Mr. Hardy. Shantrapa!
For a long time the old man and the boy walked in silence, but suddenly, as if by agreement, they looked at each other and laughed: first Sergei laughed, and then, looking at him, but with some embarrassment, Lodyzhkin smiled.
- What?, Grandfather Lodyzhkin? You know everything? - Sergei teased him slyly.
- Yes, brother. “You and I have been foolish,” the old organ grinder shook his head. - A sarcastic little boy, however... How did they raise him like that, what a fool, take him? Tell me, twenty-five people are dancing around him. Well, if it were in my power, I would prescribe it for him. Give me the dog, he says? So what? right? He even wants the moon from the sky, so give him the moon too? Come here, Artaud, come here, my little dog. Well, today was a good day. Marvelous!
- For what? better! - Sergei continued to be sarcastic. - One lady gave me a dress, another gave me a ruble. You, grandfather Lodyzhkin, know everything in advance.
“Keep quiet, little cinder,” the old man snapped good-naturedly. - How I ran away from the janitor, remember? I thought I wouldn’t be able to catch up with you. This janitor is a serious man.
Leaving the park, the traveling troupe went down a steep, loose path to the sea. Here the mountains, retreating a little back, gave way to a narrow flat strip covered with smooth stones, sharpened by the surf, on which the sea now gently splashed with a quiet rustle. Two hundred fathoms from the shore, dolphins tumbled in the water, showing their fat, round backs for a moment. In the distance, on the horizon, where the blue satin of the sea was bordered by a dark blue velvet ribbon, the slender sails of fishing boats, slightly pink in the sun, stood motionless.
“We’ll go swimming here, Grandfather Lodyzhkin,” Sergei said decisively. As he walked, he had already managed, jumping first on one leg and then on the other, to pull off his trousers. - Let me help you remove the organ.
He quickly undressed, loudly slapped his palms on his naked, chocolate-colored body and threw himself into the water, raising mounds of boiling foam around him.
Grandfather undressed slowly. Covering his eyes with his palm from the sun and squinting, he looked at Sergei with a loving grin.
“Wow, the boy is growing up,” thought Lodyzhkin, “even though he’s bony - you can see all the ribs, but he’ll still be a strong guy.”
- Hey, Seryozha! Don't swim too far. The porpoise will drag it away.
- And I’ll take her by the tail! - Sergei shouted from a distance.
Grandfather stood in the sun for a long time, feeling under his arms. He stepped into the water very carefully and, before plunging, carefully wet his red, bald crown and sunken sides. His body was yellow, flabby and weak, his legs were amazingly thin, and his back with protruding sharp shoulder blades was hunched from carrying a barrel organ for many years.
- Grandfather Lodyzhkin, look! - Sergei shouted.
He somersaulted in the water, throwing his legs over his head. Grandfather, who had already climbed into the water up to his waist and was squatting in it with a blissful grunt, shouted alarmingly:
- Well, don’t play around, piglet. Look! I y-you!
Artaud barked furiously and galloped along the shore. It bothered him that the boy swam so far. “Why show your courage? - the poodle was worried. - There is earth - and walk on the earth. Much calmer."
He himself climbed into the water up to his belly and lapped at it with his tongue two or three times. But he didn’t like the salty water, and the light waves rustling on the coastal gravel scared him. He jumped out onto the shore and again began barking at Sergei. “Why these stupid tricks? I would sit by the shore, next to the old man. Oh, how much trouble there is with this boy!
- Hey, Seryozha, get out, or something will really happen to you! - the old man called.
- Now, Grandfather Lodyzhkin, I’m sailing by boat. Woohoo!
He finally swam to the shore, but before getting dressed, he grabbed Artaud in his arms and, returning with him to the sea, threw him far into the water. The dog immediately swam back, sticking out only one muzzle with its ears floating up, snorting loudly and offendedly. Jumping out onto land, she shook all over her body, and clouds of spray flew towards the old man and Sergei.
- Wait a minute, Seryozha, no way, is this coming to us? - said Lodyzhkin, looking intently up at the mountain.
The same gloomy janitor in a pink shirt with black polka dots, who had driven the traveling troupe from the dacha a quarter of an hour earlier, was quickly going down the path, shouting inaudibly and waving his arms.
- What does he want? - Grandfather asked in bewilderment.

IV
The janitor continued to scream, running downstairs at an awkward trot, with the sleeves of his shirt flapping in the wind and his bosom inflating like a sail.
- Oh-ho-ho!.. Wait a little!..
“So that you don’t get wet and dry,” Lodyzhkin grumbled angrily. - He’s talking about Artoshka again.
- Come on, grandpa, let's give it to him! - Sergei bravely suggested.
- Come on, get off... And what kind of people are these, God forgive me!..
“Here’s what you say...” the out of breath janitor began from afar. - Are you selling the dog? Well, no sweetness with the gentleman. Roars like a calf. “Give me the dog…” The lady sent it, buy it, she says, no matter what the cost.
- This is quite stupid on the part of your lady! - Lodyzhkin suddenly became angry, who here, on the shore, felt much more confident than at someone else’s dacha. - And again, what kind of lady is she to me? You may be a lady, but I don’t care about my cousin. And please... I ask you... leave us, for Christ's sake... and that... and don't bother me.
But the janitor did not stop. He sat down on the stones next to the old man and said, clumsily pointing his fingers in front of him:
- Yes, understand, you fool-man...
“I hear it from a fool,” grandfather calmly snapped.
- But wait... that’s not what I’m talking about... Really, what a burr... Just think: what do you need a dog for? I picked up another puppy, taught him to stand on his hind legs, and here you have a dog again. Well? Am I telling you a lie? A?
Grandfather carefully tied the belt around his pants. He answered the janitor’s persistent questions with feigned indifference:
- Further gaps... I’ll answer you right away.
- And here, my brother, right away - a number! - the janitor got excited. - Two hundred, or maybe three hundred rubles at once! Well, as usual, I get something for my troubles... Just think: three hundredths! After all, you can open a grocery store right away...
So speaking, the janitor pulled out a piece of sausage from his pocket and threw it to the poodle. Artaud caught it in flight, swallowed it in one go and wagged his tail searchingly.
- Finished? - Lodyzhkin asked briefly.
- Yes, it takes a long time and there’s no point in ending it. Give the dog - and shake hands.
“So-okay,” said grandfather mockingly. - Do you mean sell the dog?
- Usually - sell. What else do you need? The main thing is that our dad is so well-spoken. Whatever you want, the whole house will talk about it. Serve - and that's it. This is still without a father, but with a father... you are our saints!.. everyone is walking upside down. Our master is an engineer, maybe you heard, Mr. Obolyaninov? Railways are being built all over Russia. Millionaire! And we have only one boy. And he'll make fun of you. I want a live pony - I’ll pony on you. I want a boat - you have a real boat. How to eat anything, refuse anything...
- And the moon?
- That is, in what sense does this mean?
- I say, he never wanted the moon from the sky?
- Well... you can also say - the moon! - the janitor was embarrassed. - So, dear man, are things going well with us, or what?
Grandfather, who had already managed to put on a brown jacket, green at the seams, proudly straightened up as far as his always bent back would allow him.
“I’ll tell you one thing, guy,” he began, not without solemnity. - Approximately, if you had a brother or, say, a friend who, therefore, has been with you since childhood. Wait, friend, don’t give the dog sausage for nothing... you’d better eat it yourself... this, brother, won’t bribe him. I’m saying, if you had the most faithful friend... who has been since childhood... Then approximately how much would you sell him for?
- I equated it too!..
- So I equated them. “You tell that to your master who is building the railway,” grandfather raised his voice. - Say so: not everything, they say, is sold, what is bought. Yes! You better not pet the dog, there’s no point. Artaud, come here, son of a dog, I'm for you! Sergey, get ready.
“You old fool,” the janitor finally couldn’t stand it.
“You’re a fool, I’ve been like that since birth, but you’re a boor, Judas, a corrupt soul,” Lodyzhkin swore. “When you see your general’s wife, bow to her, say: from our people, with your love, a low bow.” Roll up the carpet, Sergei! Eh, my back, my back! Let's go to.
“So, soooo!..” the janitor said meaningfully.
- Take it with that! - the old man answered cheerfully.
The artists trudged along the seashore, up again, along the same road. Looking back by chance, Sergei saw that the janitor was watching them. He looked thoughtful and gloomy. He concentratedly scratched his shaggy red head with all his fingers under the hat that had slipped over his eyes.

V
Grandfather Lodyzhkin had long ago noticed a corner between Miskhor and Alupka, down from the lower road, where it was excellent to have breakfast. There he led his companions. Not far from the bridge spanning a stormy and dirty mountain stream, a talkative, cold stream of water ran out of the ground, in the shadow of crooked oaks and thick hazel trees. She made a round, shallow pond in the soil, from which she ran down into the stream like a thin snake that glittered in the grass like living silver. Near this spring, in the mornings and evenings, one could always find devout Turks drinking water and performing their sacred ablutions.
“Our sins are grave, and our supplies are meager,” said grandfather, sitting down in the coolness under a hazel tree. - Come on, Seryozha, God bless!
He took out bread from a canvas bag, a dozen red tomatoes, a piece of Bessarabian feta cheese and a bottle of Provençal oil. He had the salt tied in a bundle of rags of questionable cleanliness. Before eating, the old man crossed himself for a long time and whispered something. Then he broke the loaf of bread into three uneven pieces: he handed one, the largest, to Sergei (the little one is growing - he needs to eat), he left the other, smaller one for the poodle, and took the smallest one for himself.
- In the name of father and son. “Everyone’s eyes trust in you, Lord,” he whispered, fussily distributing portions and pouring oil on them from a bottle. - Taste it, Seryozha!
Without haste, slowly, in silence, as real workers eat, the three began to eat their modest lunch. All you could hear was the sound of three pairs of jaws chewing. Artaud ate his share on the sidelines, stretched out on his stomach and placing both front paws on the bread. Grandfather and Sergei took turns dipping ripe tomatoes into salt, from which juice, red as blood, flowed over their lips and hands, and ate them with cheese and bread. Having had their fill, they drank from the water, placing a tin mug under the stream of the spring. The water was clear, tasted great, and was so cold that it even fogged up the outside of the mug. The heat of the day and the long journey exhausted the artists, who got up at first light today. Grandfather's eyes were drooping. Sergei yawned and stretched.
- What, brother, should we go to bed for a minute? - Grandfather asked. - Let me drink some water one last time. Uh, good! - he grunted, taking his mouth away from the mug and taking a deep breath, while light drops ran from his mustache and beard. - If I were a king, everyone would drink this water... from morning to night! Arto, isi, here! Well, God nourished, no one saw, and whoever saw, did not offend... Oh-oh-honnies!
The old man and the boy lay down next to each other on the grass, placing their old jackets under their heads. The dark foliage of gnarled, spreading oak trees rustled above their heads. The clear blue sky shone through it. The stream, running down from stone to stone, gurgled so monotonously and so insinuatingly, as if it was bewitching someone with its soporific babble. Grandfather tossed and turned for a while, groaned and said something, but it seemed to Sergei that his voice was sounding from some soft and sleepy distance, and the words were incomprehensible, like in a fairy tale.
- First of all, I’ll buy you a suit: a pink leotard with gold... the shoes are also pink, satin... In Kiev, in Kharkov or, for example, in the city of Odessa - there, brother, what circuses!.. There are apparently and invisibly lanterns... everything the electricity is burning... There are maybe five thousand people, or even more... why do I know? We will definitely make up an Italian surname for you. What kind of surname is Estifeev or, say, Lodyzhkin? There is only nonsense - there is no imagination in it. And we’ll put you on the poster - Antonio or, for example, that’s also good - Enrico or Alfonzo...
The boy heard nothing further. A gentle and sweet drowsiness took possession of him, shackling and weakening his body. Grandfather also fell asleep, having suddenly lost the thread of his favorite afternoon thoughts about Sergei’s brilliant circus future. Once, in a dream, it seemed to him that Artaud was growling at someone. For a moment, a semi-conscious and disturbing memory of a recent janitor in a pink shirt slipped into his foggy head, but, worn out by sleep, fatigue and heat, he could not get up, but only lazily, with his eyes closed, called out to the dog:
- Artaud... where? I y-you, tramp!
But his thoughts immediately became confused and blurred into heavy and formless visions.
Grandfather was awakened by Sergei's voice. The boy ran back and forth along the other side of the stream, whistled shrilly and shouted loudly, with anxiety and fear:
- Artaud, isi! Back! Phew, whew, whew! Artaud, go back!
- What are you, Sergei, screaming? - Lodyzhkin asked displeasedly, with difficulty straightening his stiff hand.
- We overslept the dog, that's what! - the boy answered rudely in an irritated voice. - The dog is missing.
He whistled sharply and shouted again in a drawn-out voice:
- Arto-o-o!
“You’re making up nonsense!.. He’ll come back,” said grandfather. However, he quickly got to his feet and began shouting to the dog in an angry, sleepy, senile falsetto:
- Arto, here, son of a dog!
He hurriedly, with small, confused steps, ran across the bridge and climbed up the highway, without ceasing to call the dog. In front of him lay, visible to the eye for half a mile, a smooth, bright white road surface, but on it there was not a single figure, not a single shadow.
- Artaud! Ar-to-she-ka! - the old man howled pitifully.
But suddenly he stopped, bent low to the road and squatted down.
- Yes, that’s what it’s like! - said the old man in a fallen voice. - Sergey! Seryozha, come here.
- Well, what else is there? - the boy responded rudely, approaching Lodyzhkin. - Did you find yesterday?
- Seryozha... what is this?.. This is it, what is it? You understand? - the old man asked barely audibly.
He looked at the boy with pitiful, confused eyes, and his hand, pointing straight to the ground, walked in all directions.
On the road, a rather large half-eaten piece of sausage was lying in the white dust, and next to it were dog paw prints in all directions.
- You brought a dog, you scoundrel! - Grandfather whispered in fear, still squatting. - No one like him, that’s clear... Do you remember, just now by the sea he fed everyone sausage.
“The point is clear,” Sergei repeated gloomily and angrily.
Grandfather's wide-open eyes suddenly filled with large tears and blinked quickly. He covered them with his hands.
- What should we do now, Serezhenka? A? What should we do now? - asked the old man, rocking back and forth and sobbing helplessly.
- What to do, what to do! - Sergei imitated him angrily. - Get up, grandfather Lodyzhkin, let's go!..
“Let’s go,” the old man repeated sadly and obediently, rising from the ground. - Well, let's go, Serezhenka!
Out of patience, Sergei shouted at the old man as if he were a child:
- You, old man, will be playing the fool. Where has this actually been seen to lure other people's dogs? Why are you batting your eyes at me? Am I telling a lie? We’ll come straight out and say: “Give back the dog!” But no - to the world, that’s the whole story.
- To the world... yes... of course... That's true, to the world... - Lodyzhkin repeated with a meaningless, bitter smile. But his eyes shifted awkwardly and embarrassedly. - To the world... yes... But this is what, Serezhenka... this matter does not work out... to the world...
- How does this not work out? The law is the same for everyone. Why look them in the mouth? - the boy interrupted impatiently.
- And you, Seryozha, don’t do that... don’t be angry with me. The dog will not be returned to you and me. - Grandfather mysteriously lowered his voice. - I'm afraid about the patchport. Did you hear what the gentleman said just now? He asks: “Do you have a passport?” That's the story. And I,” grandfather made a frightened face and whispered barely audibly, “I, Seryozha, have someone else’s patchport.”
- Like a stranger?
- That's it - a stranger. I lost mine in Taganrog, or maybe it was stolen from me. For two years then I was spinning around: hiding, giving bribes, writing petitions... Finally I see that there is no way for me, I live like a hare - I’m afraid of everyone. There was no peace at all. And then in Odessa, in a rooming house, a Greek turned up. “This,” he says, “is sheer nonsense. “Put twenty-five rubles on the table,” he says, “old man,” and I’ll provide you with a patchport forever.” I threw my mind back and forth. Eh, I think my head is gone. Come on, I say. And since then, my dear, I’ve been living in someone else’s patchport.
- Oh, grandfather, grandfather! - Sergei sighed deeply, with tears in his chest. - I really feel sorry for the dog... The dog is really good...
- Serezhenka, my dear! - The old man extended his trembling hands to him. - Yes, if only I had a real passport, would I have noticed that they were generals? I would take you by the throat!.. “How so? Let me! What right do you have to steal other people's dogs? What kind of law is there for this? And now we're finished, Seryozha. When I go to the police, the first thing I do is: “Give me your passport! Are you the Samara tradesman Martyn Lodyzhkin?” - “I, your kindness.” And I, brother, am not Lodyzhkin at all and not a tradesman, but a peasant, Ivan Dudkin. And who this Lodyzhkin is - only God knows. How do I know, maybe some kind of thief or an escaped convict? Or maybe even a murderer? No, Seryozha, we won’t do anything here... Nothing, Seryozha...
Grandfather’s voice broke and choked. Tears flowed again along the deep, tan-brown wrinkles. Sergei, who had been listening to the weakened old man in silence, with his armor tightly clenched, pale with excitement, suddenly took him under the arms and began to lift him.
“Let’s go, grandfather,” he said commandingly and affectionately at the same time. - To hell with the patchport, let's go! We can't spend the night on the main road.
“You are my dear, dear,” the old man said, shaking his whole body. - This dog is very interesting... Artoshenka is ours... We won’t have another like him...
“Okay, okay... Get up,” Sergei ordered. - Let me clean you of the dust. You've completely left me feeling limp, grandpa.
The artists no longer worked that day. Despite his young age, Sergei well understood the fatal meaning of this terrible word “patchport”. Therefore, he no longer insisted on further searches for Artaud, or on a peace settlement, or on other decisive measures. But while he walked next to his grandfather before spending the night, a new, stubborn and concentrated expression did not leave his face, as if he had something extremely serious and big in mind.
Without conspiring, but obviously out of the same secret impulse, they deliberately made a significant detour in order to once again pass by “Friendship”. In front of the gate they paused a little, in the vague hope of seeing Artaud or at least hearing his bark from a distance.
But the carved gates of the magnificent dacha were tightly closed, and in the shady garden under the slender sad cypress trees there was an important, imperturbable, fragrant silence.
- Lord, yes! - the old man said in a hissing voice, putting into this word all the caustic bitterness that filled his heart.
“It will be for you, let’s go,” the boy ordered sternly and pulled his companion by the sleeve.
- Serezhenka, maybe Artoshka will run away from them? - Grandfather suddenly sobbed again. - A? What do you think, honey?
But the boy did not answer the old man. He walked ahead with large, firm steps. His eyes stubbornly looked down at the road, and his thin eyebrows moved angrily towards his nose.

VI
They walked silently to Alupka. Grandfather groaned and sighed all the way, but Sergei kept an angry, determined expression on his face. They stopped for the night in a dirty Turkish coffee shop, which bore the brilliant name “Yildiz”, which means “star” in Turkish. Spending the night with them were Greek stonemasons, Turkish diggers, several Russian workers who did day labor, as well as several dark, suspicious tramps, of whom there are so many wandering around the south of Russia. All of them, as soon as the coffee shop closed at a certain hour, lay down on the benches along the walls and right on the floor, and those who were more experienced, out of extra precaution, put under their heads all that they had of the most valuable things. and from the dress.
It was well after midnight when Sergei, who was lying on the floor next to his grandfather, carefully got up and began to dress quietly. Through the wide windows the pale light of the month poured into the room, spread as an oblique, trembling sheet across the floor and, falling on the people sleeping side by side, gave their faces a suffering and dead expression.
- Where are you going, little guy? - the owner of the coffee shop, a young Turk Ibrahim, sleepily called out to Sergei at the door.
- Skip it. Necessary! - Sergei answered sternly, in a businesslike tone. - Get up, you Turkish spatula!
Yawning, scratching himself and smacking his tongue reproachfully, Ibrahim unlocked the doors. The narrow streets of the Tatar bazaar were immersed in a thick dark blue shadow, which covered the entire pavement with a jagged pattern and touched the foot of the houses on the other, illuminated side, their low walls sharply whitening in the moonlight. On the far outskirts of the town dogs were barking. From somewhere, on the upper highway, came the ringing and rattling tramp of a horse ambling along.
Having passed a white mosque with a green dome in the shape of an onion, surrounded by a silent crowd of dark cypress trees, the boy went down a narrow crooked alley onto the high road. To make it easier, Sergei did not take any outerwear with him, remaining in only tights. The moon was shining at his back, and the boy's shadow ran ahead of him in a black, strange, shortened silhouette. Dark, curly bushes lurked on both sides of the highway. Some bird screamed in it monotonously, at regular intervals, in a thin, gentle voice: “I’m sleeping!.. I’m sleeping!..” And it seemed that she was obediently guarding some sad secret in the silence of the night, and was powerlessly struggling with sleep and tired, and quietly, without hope, complains to someone: “I’m sleeping, I’m sleeping!..” And above the dark bushes and above the bluish caps of distant forests towered, resting its two prongs on the sky, Ai-Petri - so light, sharp, airy as if it had been cut out of a giant piece of silver cardboard.
Sergei felt a little creepy in the midst of this majestic silence, in which his steps were heard so clearly and boldly, but at the same time, some kind of tickling, dizzying courage spilled into his heart. At one turn the sea suddenly opened up. Huge, calm, it swayed quietly and solemnly. A narrow, trembling silver path stretched from the horizon to the shore; it disappeared in the middle of the sea - only here and there its sparkles flashed occasionally - and suddenly, right next to the ground, it widely splashed with living, sparkling metal, encircling the shore.
Sergei silently slipped through the wooden gate leading to the park. There, under the thick trees, it was completely dark. From a distance you could hear the sound of a restless stream and feel its damp, cold breath. The wooden deck of the bridge clattered distinctly underfoot. The water below him was black and scary. Here, finally, are the tall cast-iron gates, patterned like lace and entwined with creeping stems of wisteria. The moonlight, cutting through the thicket of trees, slid along the carvings of the gate in faint phosphorescent spots. On the other side there was darkness and a sensitive, fearful silence.
There were several moments during which Sergei experienced hesitation in his soul, almost fear. But he overcame these painful feelings and whispered:
- But I’ll still climb! Doesn't matter!
It was not difficult for him to climb. The graceful cast-iron curls that made up the design of the gate served as sure points of support for tenacious hands and small muscular legs. Above the gate, at a great height, a wide stone arch spanned from pillar to pillar. Sergei groped his way onto it, then, lying on his stomach, lowered his legs down to the other side and began to little by little push his entire body there, never ceasing to look for some protrusion with his feet. Thus, he had already completely leaned over the arch, holding on to its edge only with the fingers of his outstretched arms, but his legs still did not meet support. He could not realize then that the arch over the gate protruded much further inward than outward, and as his hands became numb and his weakened body hung heavier, horror penetrated more and more into his soul.
Finally he couldn't stand it anymore. His fingers, clinging to the sharp corner, loosened, and he quickly flew down.
He heard the coarse gravel crunch beneath him and felt a sharp pain in his knees. For several seconds he stood on all fours, stunned by the fall. It seemed to him that now all the inhabitants of the dacha would wake up, a gloomy janitor in a pink shirt would come running, there would be a scream, a commotion... But, as before, there was a deep, important silence in the garden. Only some low, monotonous, buzzing sound echoed throughout the garden:
“I’m burning... I’m burning... I’m burning...”
“Oh, it’s making noise in my ears!” - Sergei guessed. He rose to his feet; everything was scary, mysterious, fabulously beautiful in the garden, as if filled with fragrant dreams. Flowers barely visible in the darkness were quietly staggering in the flowerbeds, leaning towards each other with vague anxiety, as if whispering and peeping. Slender, dark, fragrant cypress trees slowly nodded their sharp tops with a thoughtful and reproachful expression. And beyond the stream, in the thicket of bushes, a small tired bird struggled with sleep and repeated with a submissive complaint:
“I’m sleeping!.. I’m sleeping!.. I’m sleeping!..”
At night, among the shadows tangled on the paths, Sergei did not recognize the place. He wandered for a long time along the creaking gravel until he came to the house.
Never in his life had the boy experienced such a painful feeling of complete helplessness, abandonment and loneliness as he did now. The huge house seemed to him filled with merciless lurking enemies who secretly, with an evil grin, watched from the dark windows every movement of the small, weak boy. The enemies were silently and impatiently waiting for some signal, waiting for someone's angry, deafeningly menacing order.
- Just not in the house... she can’t be in the house! - the boy whispered, as if in a dream. - She will howl in the house, she will get tired...
He walked around the dacha. On the back side, in a wide courtyard, there were several buildings, simpler and more unpretentious in appearance, obviously intended for servants. Here, as in the big house, no fire was visible in any window; only the month was reflected in the dark glasses with a dead, uneven shine. “I can’t leave here, I’ll never leave!..” - Sergei thought sadly. For a moment he remembered his grandfather, the old barrel organ, overnight stays in coffee shops, breakfasts at cool springs. “Nothing, none of this will happen again!” - Sergei sadly repeated to himself. But the more hopeless his thoughts became, the more fear gave way in his soul to some kind of dull and calmly evil despair.
A thin, moaning squeal suddenly touched his ears. The boy stopped, not breathing, with tense muscles, stretched out on tiptoe. The sound was repeated. It seemed to come from the stone basement, near which Sergei stood and which communicated with the outside air through a series of rough, small rectangular openings without glass. Walking along some kind of flower curtain, the boy approached the wall, put his face to one of the vents and whistled. A quiet, guarded noise was heard somewhere below, but immediately died down.
- Artaud! Artoshka! - Sergei called in a trembling whisper.
A frantic, intermittent barking immediately filled the entire garden, echoing in all its corners. In this barking, along with a joyful greeting, complaint, anger, and a feeling of physical pain were mixed. You could hear the dog struggling with all its might in the dark basement, trying to free itself from something.
- Artaud! Dog!.. Artoshenka!.. - the boy echoed her in a crying voice.
- Tsits, damned one! - a brutal, bass scream came from below. - Uh, convict!
Something knocked in the basement. The dog burst into a long, intermittent howl.
- Don't you dare hit! Don't you dare hit the dog, damn it! - Sergei shouted in a frenzy, scratching the stone wall with his nails.
Sergei remembered everything that happened next vaguely, as if in some kind of violent, feverish delirium. The basement door swung wide open with a bang and a janitor ran out. In only his underwear, barefoot, bearded, pale from the bright light of the moon shining directly in his face, he seemed to Sergei like a giant, an angry fairy-tale monster.
-Who's wandering around here? I'll shoot you! - his voice rumbled like thunder through the garden. - The thieves! They're robbing!
But at that very moment, out of the darkness of the open door, like a white jumping lump, Artaud jumped out barking. A piece of rope was dangling around his neck.
However, the boy had no time for the dog. The menacing appearance of the janitor gripped him with supernatural fear, tied his legs, and paralyzed his entire small, thin body. But fortunately, this tetanus did not last long. Almost unconsciously, Sergei let out a piercing, long, desperate cry and at random, not seeing the road, not remembering himself from fear, he started running away from the basement.
He rushed like a bird, hitting the ground hard and often with his legs, which suddenly became strong, like two steel springs. Artaud galloped next to him, bursting into joyful barking. Behind us, a janitor rumbled heavily across the sand, furiously growling some curses.
With a flourish, Sergei ran into the gate, but did not immediately think, but rather instinctively felt that there was no road here. Between the stone wall and the cypress trees growing along it there was a narrow dark loophole. Without hesitation, obeying only a feeling of fear, Sergei, bending down, ducked into it and ran along the wall. The sharp needles of the cypress trees, which smelled thickly and pungently of resin, lashed him in the face. He tripped over roots, fell, bleeding his hands, but immediately got up, not even noticing the pain, and again ran forward, bent almost double, not hearing his cry. Artaud rushed after him.
So he ran along a narrow corridor, formed on one side by a high wall, on the other by a close line of cypress trees, he ran like a small animal, mad with horror, caught in an endless trap. His mouth was dry, and every breath stabbed his chest like a thousand needles. The janitor's tramp came from the right, then from the left, and the boy, who had lost his head, rushed forward and backward, running past the gate several times and again diving into a dark, cramped loophole.
Finally Sergei was exhausted. Through the wild horror, a cold, sluggish melancholy, dull indifference to any danger began to gradually take possession of him. He sat down under a tree, pressed his body, exhausted from fatigue, against its trunk and closed his eyes. The sand crunched closer and closer under the heavy steps of the enemy. Artaud squealed quietly, burying his muzzle in Sergei’s knees.
Two steps away from the boy, branches rustled as they moved apart with his hands. Sergei unconsciously raised his eyes upward and suddenly, overwhelmed with incredible joy, jumped to his feet with one jolt. He only now noticed that the wall opposite where he was sitting was very low, no more than one and a half arshins. True, its top was studded with bottle fragments embedded in the lime, but Sergei did not think about it. He instantly grabbed Artaud across the body and placed him with his front paws on the wall. The smart dog understood him perfectly. He quickly climbed up the wall, waved his tail and barked triumphantly.
Following him, Sergei found himself on the wall, just at the time when a large dark figure looked out from the parting branches of the cypress trees. Two flexible, agile bodies - a dog and a boy - quickly and softly jumped down onto the road. Following them rushed, like a dirty stream, a nasty, ferocious curse.
Whether the janitor was less agile than the two friends, whether he was tired of circling around the garden, or simply did not hope to catch up with the fugitives, he did not pursue them any longer. Nevertheless, they ran for a long time without rest - both strong, agile, as if inspired by the joy of deliverance. The poodle soon returned to his usual frivolity. Sergei was still looking back fearfully, but Artaud was already jumping at him, enthusiastically dangling his ears and a piece of rope, and still contrived to lick him right on the lips.
The boy came to his senses only at the source, at the same one where he and his grandfather had breakfast the day before. Having pressed their mouths together to the cold pond, the dog and the man swallowed the fresh, tasty water for a long time and greedily. They pushed each other away, raised their heads up for a minute to catch their breath, water dripping loudly from their lips, and again with new thirst they clung to the pond, not being able to tear themselves away from it. And when they finally fell away from the source and moved on, the water splashed and gurgled in their overfilled bellies. The danger was over, all the horrors of that night passed without a trace, and it was fun and easy for both of them to walk along the white road, brightly illuminated by the moon, between the dark bushes, which were already reeking of morning dampness and the sweet smell of refreshed leaves.
In the Yldyz coffee shop, Ibrahim met the boy with a reproachful whisper:
- And where are you going, little guy? Where are you going? Wai-wai-wai, not good...
Sergei did not want to wake up his grandfather, but Artaud did it for him. In an instant he found the old man among the piles of bodies lying on the floor and, before he had time to come to his senses, he licked his cheeks, eyes, nose and mouth with a joyful squeal. Grandfather woke up, saw a rope around the poodle’s neck, saw a boy lying next to him, covered in dust, and understood everything. He turned to Sergei for clarification, but could not achieve anything. The boy was already asleep, his arms spread out to his sides and his mouth wide open.