Public lesson on literature based on the story by V.G. Rasputin “French Lessons” 8th grade.

Literature lesson in 8th grade
Boyarkina Elena Gennadievna,
teacher of Russian language and literature
MBOU secondary school named after S.M. Kirov, Karachev, Bryansk region

Lessons in kindness. Moral issues story
V.G. Rasputin "French Lessons".
The role of teacher Lidia Mikhailovna in the boy’s life

The purpose of the lesson:
reveal the spiritual world of the hero of the story;
show the autobiographical nature of the story “French Lessons”;
designate moral problems, raised by the writer in the story;
show the teacher’s originality;
cultivate a sense of respect for the older generation, moral qualities in the students.

Equipment: portrait and photographs of V. Rasputin; book exhibition; explanatory dictionary edited by Ozhegov (meanings of the words “lesson”, “morality”); computer, projector.

Methodical techniques: conversation on questions, vocabulary work, student reports, group work, presentation demonstration, game moment, fragment of the film "French Lessons".
The reader learns from books not life, but
feelings. Literature, in my opinion, -
This is primarily the education of feelings. And before
all kindness, purity, nobility.
V.G. Rasputin

During the classes

1. Organizational moment.
2. The teacher's word.
(slide number 1)
Teacher: In the last lesson we got acquainted with the work of the wonderful Russian writer V.G. Rasputin and his story “French Lessons”. Today during the lesson we will discuss several aspects of this story: we will try to reveal state of mind main character, we will discuss the main moral problems raised by the author in the story, we will talk about the “extraordinary person” - the French teacher, who played an important role in the boy’s life.
(Record the date, lesson topic, epigraph)
About the facts of the biography and creativity of V.G. We will learn about Rasputin from a short press conference presented by journalists, researchers and readers, in the role of which you yourself will play. I ask the researcher and reader to come here, the guys who were given individual assignments: prepare reports about V. Rasputin’s childhood, about what childhood impressions were reflected in his works, about the history of the creation of the story “French Lessons”. And now you will act as journalists and ask the guys the questions you prepared at home.

3. Word to the members of the press conference (role-play element).
The lesson includes electronic educational resources; in this case, a presentation is shown on the screen.

Journalist: I have a question for the researcher of V.G. Rasputin’s work. Tell me how childhood affected the work of V.G. Rasputin?

Researcher: V. Rasputin wrote in 1974 in the Irkutsk newspaper: “I am sure that what makes a person a writer is his childhood, the ability at an early age to see and feel what then gives him the right to take up the pen. Education, books, life experience nurture and strengthen this gift in the future, but it should be born in childhood.” Nature, which became close to the writer in childhood, comes to life again on the pages of his works and speaks to us in a unique, Rasputin language. The people of the Irkutsk region have become literary heroes. Truly, as V. Hugo said, “the principles laid down in a person’s childhood are like letters carved on the bark of a young tree, growing, unfolding with him, constituting an integral part of him.” And these beginnings, in relation to V. Rasputin, are unthinkable without the influence of Siberia itself - the taiga, the Angara, without his native village, of which he was a part and which for the first time made him think about the relationships between people; without pure, unclouded folk language.

Journalist: Question for the reader. Tell us about V. Rasputin’s childhood years.

Reader: V.G. Rasputin was born on March 15, 1937 in the Irkutsk region in the village of Ust-Urda, located on the banks of the Angara. His childhood partially coincided with the war: the future writer entered the first grade of Atalan Primary School in 1944. And although there were no battles here, life was difficult, sometimes half-starved. Here, in Atalanka, having learned to read, Rasputin fell in love with books forever. The elementary school library was very small - only two shelves of books. “I began my acquaintance with books with theft. One summer, my friend and I often went to the library. They took out the glass, entered the room and took the books. Then they came, returned what they had read and took new ones,” the author recalled.
After finishing 4th grade in Atalanka, Rasputin wanted to continue his studies. But the school, which included fifth and subsequent grades, was located 50 km from their home village. It was necessary to move there to live, and alone.

Teacher: Yes, Rasputin's childhood was difficult. Not everyone who studies well knows how to evaluate their own and others’ actions, but for Valentin Grigorievich, studying became moral work. Why?

Researcher: It was difficult to study: he had to overcome hunger (his mother gave him bread and potatoes once a week, but there was always not enough of them). Rasputin did everything only in good faith. “What could I do? – then I came here, I had no other business here... I would hardly have dared to go to school if I had left at least one lesson unlearned,” the writer recalled. His knowledge was assessed only as excellent, except perhaps for French (pronunciation was not given). This was primarily a moral assessment.

Journalist: Question for the reader. To whom was this story (“French Lessons”) dedicated and what place does it occupy in the writer’s childhood?

Reader: The story “French Lessons” is dedicated to Anastasia Prokofievna Kopylova, the mother of his friend and famous playwright Alexander Vampilov, who worked at school all her life. The story was based on a memory of childhood life; it, according to the writer, “was one of those that warms even with a slight touch.”
This story is autobiographical. Lydia Mikhailovna is named after herself. (This is Molokova L.M.). Several years ago she lived in Saransk and taught at Mordovian University. When this story was published in 1973, she immediately recognized herself in it, found Valentin Grigorievich, and met with him several times.

Teacher: Thanks to our press conference participants. You can take your seats in the classroom.

4. Conversation on issues.
(slide No. 3)

Teacher: In the preface to the story “French Lessons,” V.G. Rasputin noted: “I wrote this story in the hope that the lessons taught to me at one time will fall on the soul of both young and adult readers.” Today we will learn morality. Learn from Rasputin by the example of his main character. Working with the text of the story, in every line, in every phrase we will look for that main idea which the author wanted to express in his work. He hopes that they life lessons, which fate has prepared for him, will help everyone understand themselves, think about their future.
- What does the title of the story “French Lessons” mean? (About school, lessons, peers)
-Who is the introduction addressed to? (reading of the introduction by the teacher) (To yourself, the reader, teachers)
- From whose perspective is the story being told? Why? (In the first person. The author outlined his biography - autobiography)
- Who is the main character of the story? (11-year-old boy, 5th grade student. The author does not mention his first or last name.)
- When and where do the actions described in the story take place? (3 years after the end of the Great Patriotic War in 1948 in a distant Siberian village)
- Name the signs of difficult times.
(The story describes the difficult post-war time: the rationing system of food supply, hunger, government loans obligatory for the population, the hardships of collective farm labor. The setting is Siberia, the writer’s homeland, a remote Siberian village, in which there are not even gardens, because in winter the trees freeze .)
-How did the boy live in parental home? Find the answer in the text. (p. 134 “We lived without a father, we lived very poorly...”

5. Group work
We will know how carefully you read the first part of the story after working on the crossword puzzle. All the words that are answers to the crossword puzzle were found in the fragment of the story we examined. Each group (row) receives a crossword puzzle and fills it out.

Questions:
1. A truck with a carrying capacity of one and a half tons.
2. Cereal for baking bread.
3. Addition to villagers’ potatoes in spring.
4. A security on which its owner receives a profit annually.
5. Driver's name.
6. Peasant settlement.
7. Center of the administrative district.
8. The main food product of the family of the protagonist of the story.
9. Nickname given to the hero in the village.

Why did the boy, the hero of the story, end up in the regional center? Find passages in the work and read them. (“To study further.... So, at the age of eleven, my independent life began” p. 133; “And my mother, in spite of all misfortunes ... are waiting for me, my dear, in a new place” p. 134).
-What kind of tests are these? (Separation from home, from mother, homesickness, constant hunger, lack of friends, suffering from loneliness)
-Can any child withstand this?
-Why doesn’t our hero complain to adults? Why doesn’t he keep track of who steals his food? Find the answer in the text. (“Who was dragging – Aunt Nadya... if she hears the truth” p. 135-136; The boy is endowed with self-esteem. He cannot offend another person with suspicion.)
-Find the passage on p. 135 “The mother who arrived at the end of September...” Read it and answer the questions: was it easy for the mother to teach her son in the regional center? Was the son grateful to his mother? (Life teaches the hero cruel lessons and confronts him with the need to choose: remain silent, resign himself, or upset his mother. Bitter thoughts about his mother and his responsibility to her force the hero to grow up early.)
- Guys, in what meaning is the word lesson used here? Let's look up the meaning of this word in the explanatory dictionary.

Working with the Explanatory Dictionary.
Lesson 1. A teaching hour dedicated to something. subject. 2.Transfer Something instructive from which to draw a conclusion for the future.

6. Consolidation of what has been learned
-Let’s write down the first lesson of Rasputin’s story in a notebook: “A real mother takes care of her children all her life, and children should be grateful to her for this.” (slide No. 4)
-Why didn’t our hero go home?
- What were the successes of the hero of the story at school? (in all subjects, except French, they got straight A's).
-Why did he always prepare for lessons? (“I didn’t yet know how to handle what was entrusted to me carelessly” p.134)
- What was the boy’s state of mind? (“I felt so bad, so bitter and hateful! – worse than any illness” p.135)
- What made the boy play “chika” for money? (I was sick and used this money to buy a jar of milk at the market).
- How do Vadik and the narrator feel about this game?
-Necessity forced the hero to play gambling. He had no other opportunity to earn money. He did not wait for anyone's mercy or handouts. Let’s write down Rasputin’s second lesson: “Be independent and proud. Take care of yourself, don’t rely on others” (slide No. 5)
-Find the passage on p. 141 that begins with the words: “Not to the warehouse! – Vadik announced.” Let's read it role-by-role. (Narrator, Vadik, Ptah) (before the words “... which was spinning right there.”)
-Why did our hero have to “come to terms”?
-Let’s write down the third lesson: “Don’t get excited, give in to those to whom you can’t prove anything anyway.” (slide No. 6)
-Continue reading further by role (until the end of this part of the story).
- Why are Vadik and Ptah beating the boy? How does the hero behave during the beating?
- Let’s write down Rasputin’s fourth lesson: “Be principled. Don’t grovel” (slide No. 7)

7. Work in groups
- And now I propose to check how carefully you have read this part of the story. Each group (row) receives a task: to recognize the hero of the work from the description.
Exercise. Based on the description, recognize the hero of the work and write down his name.
1. “...a tall and strong guy with long red bangs, noticeable for his strength and power.”
2. “A fussy boy with blinking eyes who loved to raise his hand in class.”
3. “Big-headed, crew-cut, stocky guy, nicknamed...”
Student answers:
1. Vadik.
2. Tishkin.
3. Bird.

8. Continue the conversation
-Why, after the beating, does our hero return to Vadik’s company?
-How did you learn about gambling at school? (“And what happened?” she asked...” p.143)
-What was our hero so afraid of? (“For playing for money, we could have been kicked out of school in no time.”)
-Would the director be able to “squeeze a tear” out of him?
-Why did the boy trust Lydia Mikhailovna and tell the whole truth? (“She sat in front of me, all neat, smart and beautiful...” p.145)

Vyv od: So, guys, from your answers we understood that the prototype of the main character of the story is V.G. himself. Rasputin. All the events that happened to the hero took place in the life of the writer. For the first time, due to circumstances, the eleven-year-old hero is torn away from his family, he understands that the hopes of not only his relatives and the entire village are placed on him: after all, according to the unanimous opinion of the villagers, he is called to be a “learned man.” The hero makes every effort, overcoming hunger and homesickness, so as not to let his fellow countrymen down. And now, turning to the image of the French teacher, let’s analyze what role Lydia Mikhailovna played in the boy’s life.
What kind of teacher does the main character remember? Find in the text a description of the portrait of Lydia Mikhailovna; What is special about it? (reading the description of “Lydia Mikhailovna was then...”; “There was no cruelty in her face...” p. 149)
What feelings did the boy evoke in Lydia Mikhailovna? (She treated him with understanding and sympathy, and appreciated his determination.)

Now let's watch a short excerpt from the film "French Lessons", filmed at the Mosfilm studio in 1978.
(Watching an excerpt from the film, episode “The Package”)
Why did Lidia Mikhailovna decide to study with the boy at home? (The teacher began to teach the hero additionally, hoping to feed him at home).
Why did Lidia Mikhailovna decide to send a parcel to the boy and why did this idea fail? (She wanted to help him, but she filled the parcel with “city” products and thereby gave herself away. Pride did not allow the boy to accept the gift)
Did the teacher manage to find a way to help the boy without hurting his pride? (She offered to play "wall" for money)
Is the hero right in considering the teacher an extraordinary person? (Lidiya Mikhailovna is endowed with the ability to compassion and kindness, for which she suffered, losing her job)
Conclusion: Lidia Mikhailovna takes a risky step, playing with students for money, out of human compassion: the boy is extremely exhausted, and refuses help. In addition, she recognized remarkable abilities in her student and is ready to help them develop in any way.
- How do you feel about Lydia Mikhailovna’s action? (children's opinion).
- Today we talked a lot about morality. What is “morality”? Let's find the meaning of this in explanatory dictionary S. Ozhegova. (The expression is written on the board).

Teacher's word. By playing for money with her student, Lidia Mikhailovna, from a pedagogical point of view, committed an immoral act. “But what is behind this action?” – asks the author. Seeing that her student was malnourished in the hungry post-war years, she tried to help him: under the guise of additional classes, she invited him home to feed him, and sent him a parcel, as if from his mother. But the boy refused everything. And the teacher decides to play with the student for money, playing along with him. She cheats, but is happy because she succeeds.
- Why is the story called “French Lessons”? (The title “French Lessons” speaks not only about teaching a foreign language to a fifth-grader, but also about the value of the moral lessons presented to the child by the teacher.)
-What was the main lesson the teacher taught?
-We write down the fifth lesson: “Be kind and sympathetic, love people” (slide No. 8)

Teacher:
- The epigraph for the lesson is written on the board: “Reader...”. What feelings does the story “French Lessons” bring up? (Kindness and compassion).
Kindness is what attracts all readers to the heroes of the story.

Conclusion: The French teacher showed by her example that there is kindness, responsiveness, and love in the world. These are spiritual values. Let's look at the preface to the story. It expresses the thoughts of an adult, his spiritual memory. He called “French Lessons” “lessons in kindness.” V.G. Rasputin talks about the “laws of kindness”: true good does not require reward, does not seek direct return, it is selfless. Good has the ability to spread, to be transmitted from person to person. Kindness and compassion play a big role in a person's life, and I hope that you will always be kind, ready to help each other at any moment.

Summarizing. Student assessment.
D/z. Write an essay-reasoning “What moral lesson did Rasputin teach me?” (slide No. 8)

The stories of V. G. Rasputin are distinguished by a surprisingly attentive and caring attitude towards man and his difficult fate. The author draws images ordinary people who live an ordinary life with its sorrows and joys. At the same time, he reveals to us a rich inner world these people. Thus, in the story “French Lessons,” the author reveals to readers the life and spiritual world of a village teenager.

Story

French lessons

Anastasia Prokopyevna Kopylova

It’s strange: why do we, just like before our parents, always feel guilty before our teachers? And not for what happened at school - no, but for what happened to us after.

I went to fifth grade in '48. It would be more correct to say, I went: in our village there was only Primary School, therefore, in order to study further, I had to travel fifty kilometers from home to the regional center. A week earlier, my mother had gone there, agreed with her friend that I would live with her, and on the last day of August, Uncle Vanya, the driver of the only lorry and a half on the collective farm, unloaded me on Podkamennaya Street, where I was to live, and helped me carry a bundle with bed, patted him on the shoulder encouragingly goodbye and drove off. So, at the age of eleven, my independent life began.

The hunger had not yet gone away that year, and my mother had three of us, I was the eldest. In the spring, when it was especially difficult, I swallowed it myself and forced my sister to swallow the eyes of sprouted potatoes and grains of oats and rye in order to spread the plantings in my stomach - then I wouldn’t have to think about food all the time. All summer we diligently watered our seeds with clean Angarsk water, but for some reason we did not receive a harvest or it was so small that we did not feel it. However, I think that this idea is not completely useless and will come in handy for a person someday, but due to inexperience we did something wrong there.

It’s hard to say how my mother decided to let me go to the district (we called the district center a district). We lived without our father, we lived very poorly, and she apparently decided that it couldn’t get any worse - it couldn’t get any worse. I studied well, went to school with pleasure, and in the village I was recognized as a literate person: I wrote for old women and read letters, went through all the books that ended up in our unprepossessing library, and in the evenings I told all sorts of stories from them to the children, adding more of my own. But they especially believed in me when it came to bonds. During the war, people accumulated a lot of them, winning tables came often, and then the bonds were brought to me. It was believed that I had a lucky eye. Winnings did happen, most often small ones, but in those years the collective farmer was happy with any penny, and then completely unexpected luck fell from my hands. The joy from her involuntarily spread to me. I was singled out from the village kids, they even fed me; One day Uncle Ilya, a generally stingy, tight-fisted old man, having won four hundred rubles, rashly grabbed me a bucket of potatoes - in the spring it was considerable wealth.

And all because I understood the bond numbers, the mothers said:

Your guy is growing up smart. You… let’s teach him. The diploma will not be wasted.

And my mother, despite all the misfortunes, gathered me, although no one from our village in the area had studied before. I was the first. Yes, I didn’t really understand what was ahead of me, what trials awaited me, my dear, in a new place.

I studied well here too. What was left for me? - then I came here, I had no other business here, and I didn’t yet know how to take care of what was entrusted to me. I would hardly have dared to go to school if I had left at least one lesson unlearned, so in all subjects, except French, I kept straight A's.

I had trouble with French because of the pronunciation. I easily memorized words and phrases, translated quickly, coped well with the difficulties of spelling, but the pronunciation completely betrayed my Angarsk origin right down to the last generation, where no one had ever pronounced foreign words, if they even suspected their existence. I sputtered in French in the manner of our village tongue twisters, swallowing half of the sounds as unnecessary, and blurting out the other half in short barking bursts. Lydia Mikhailovna, a French teacher, listening to me, winced helplessly and closed her eyes. She had, of course, never heard anything like it. Over and over again she showed how to pronounce nasals and vowel combinations, asked me to repeat them - I was lost, my tongue became stiff in my mouth and did not move. It was all for nothing. But the worst thing began when I came home from school. There I was involuntarily distracted, I was forced to do something all the time, there the guys were bothering me, together with them, like it or not, I had to move, play, and work in class. But as soon as I was left alone, longing immediately fell upon me - longing for home, for the village. Never before had I been away from my family even for a day and, of course, I was not ready to live among strangers. I felt so bad, so bitter and disgusted! - worse than any disease. I wanted only one thing, dreamed of one thing - home and home. I lost a lot of weight; my mother, who arrived at the end of September, was afraid for me. I stood strong with her, didn’t complain or cry, but when she started driving away, I couldn’t stand it and roared after the car. My mother waved her hand at me from the back so that I would back off and not disgrace myself and her, I didn’t understand anything. Then she made up her mind and stopped the car.

Get ready,” she demanded when I approached. That's enough, I've finished studying, let's go home.

I came to my senses and ran away.

But I lost weight not only because of homesickness. In addition, I was constantly undernourished. In the fall, while Uncle Vanya was transporting bread in his lorry to Zagotzerno, which was located not far from the regional center, they sent me food quite often, about once a week. But the trouble is that I missed her. There was nothing there except bread and potatoes, and occasionally the mother filled a jar with cottage cheese, which she took from someone for something: she didn’t keep a cow. It seems like they’ll bring a lot, if you grab it in two days, it’s empty. I very soon began to notice that a good half of my bread was disappearing somewhere in the most mysterious way. I checked and it’s true: it was not there. The same thing happened with potatoes. Who was dragging - Aunt Nadya, a loud, tired woman who was alone with three children, one of her older girls or the younger one, Fedka - I didn’t know, I was afraid to even think about it, let alone follow. It was only a shame that my mother, for my sake, tore the last thing away from hers, from her sister and brother, but it still went by. But I forced myself to come to terms with this too. It won't make things easier for the mother if she hears the truth.

The hunger here was not at all like the hunger in the village. There, and especially in the fall, it was possible to intercept something, pick it, dig it up, pick it up, fish walked in the Hangar, a bird flew in the forest. Here everything around me was empty: strangers, strangers’ gardens, strangers’ land. A small river of ten rows was filtered with nonsense. One Sunday I sat with a fishing rod all day and caught three small, about the size of a teaspoon, minnows - you won’t get any better from such fishing either. I didn’t go again - what a waste of time to translate! In the evenings, he hung around the teahouse, at the market, remembering what they were selling for, choking on his saliva and going back with nothing. There was a hot kettle on Aunt Nadya’s stove; After throwing some boiling water and warming his stomach, he went to bed. Back to school in the morning. That's how it got to that point happy hour when a semi-truck drove up to the gate and Uncle Vanya knocked on the door. Hungry and knowing that my grub wouldn’t last long anyway, no matter how much I saved it, I ate until I was full, until my stomach hurt, and then, after a day or two, I put my teeth back on the shelf.

One day, back in September, Fedka asked me:

Aren't you afraid to play chica?

Which chick? - I didn’t understand.

This is the game. For money. If we have money, let's go play.

And I don't have one. Let's go this way and at least have a look. You'll see how great it is.

Fedka took me beyond the vegetable gardens. We walked along the edge of an oblong ridge, completely overgrown with nettles, already black, tangled, with drooping poisonous clusters of seeds, jumped over the heaps, through an old landfill and in a low place, in a clean and flat small clearing, we saw the guys. We've arrived. The guys were wary. All of them were about the same age as me, except for one - a tall and strong guy, noticeable for his strength and power, a guy with long red bangs. I remembered: he went to seventh grade.

Why did you bring this? - he said displeasedly to Fedka.

“He’s one of us, Vadik, he’s one of us,” Fedka began to justify himself. - He lives with us.

Will you play? - Vadik asked me.

There is no money.

Be careful not to tell anyone that we are here.

Here's another! - I was offended.

No one paid any more attention to me; I stepped aside and began to observe. Not everyone played - sometimes six, sometimes seven, the rest just stared, rooting mainly for Vadik. He was the boss here, I realized that right away.

It didn't cost anything to figure out the game. Each person put ten kopecks on the line, a stack of coins, tails up, was lowered onto a platform limited by a thick line about two meters from the cash register, and on the other side, a round stone puck was thrown from a boulder that had grown into the ground and served as a stop for the front leg. You had to throw it so that it would roll as close to the line as possible, but not go beyond it - then you got the right to be the first to break the cash register. They kept hitting with the same puck, trying to turn it over. coins on the eagle. Turned over - yours, hit further, no - give this right to the next one. But the most important thing was to cover the coins with the puck during the throw, and if at least one of them ended up on heads, the entire cash box went into your pocket without talking, and the game began again.

Vadik was cunning. He walked to the boulder after everyone else, when the full picture of the order was before his eyes and he saw where to throw in order to come out ahead. The money was received first; it rarely reached the last ones. Probably everyone understood that Vadik was being cunning, but no one dared to tell him about it. True, he played well. Approaching the stone, he squatted slightly, squinted, aimed the puck at the target and slowly, smoothly straightened up - the puck slipped out of his hand and flew to where he was aiming. With a quick movement of his head, he tossed his stray bangs up, casually spat to the side, indicating that the job was done, and with a lazy, deliberately slow step stepped towards the money. If they were in a heap, he hit them sharply, with a ringing sound, but he touched single coins with a puck carefully, with a knurl, so that the coin did not break or spin in the air, but, without rising high, just rolled over to the other side. Nobody else could do that. The guys struck at random and took out new coins, and those who had nothing to take out became spectators.

It seemed to me that if I had money, I could play. In the village we tinkered with the grandmothers, but even there we need an accurate eye. And I, in addition, loved to come up with games for accuracy: I’ll pick up a handful of stones, find a more difficult target and throw at it until I achieve the full result - ten out of ten. He threw both from above, from behind the shoulder, and from below, hanging the stone over the target. So I had some skill. There was no money.

The reason my mother sent me bread was because we didn’t have any money, otherwise I would have bought it here too. Where do they come from on the collective farm? Still, once or twice she put a fiver in my letter - for milk. With today's money it's fifty kopecks, you won't get any money, but it's still money, you could buy five half-liter jars of milk at the market, at a ruble per jar. I was told to drink milk because I was anemic; often, out of the blue, I would suddenly feel dizzy.

But, having received an A for the third time, I did not go for milk, but exchanged it for change and went to the landfill. The place here was chosen wisely, you can’t say anything: the clearing, closed by hills, was not visible from anywhere. In the village, in full view of adults, people were persecuted for playing such games, threatened by the director and the police. No one bothered us here. And it’s not far, you can reach it in ten minutes.

The first time I spent ninety kopecks, the second sixty. It was, of course, a pity for the money, but I felt that I was getting used to the game, my hand was gradually getting used to the puck, learning to release exactly as much force to throw as was required for the puck to go correctly, my eyes also learned to know in advance where it would fall and how much longer will roll across the ground. In the evenings, when everyone had left, I came back here again, took out the puck Vadik had hidden from under a stone, raked out my change from my pocket and threw it until it got dark. I achieved that out of ten throws, three or four were correct for the money.

And finally the day came when I won.

Autumn was warm and dry. Even in October it was so warm that you could walk around in a shirt, rain fell rarely and seemed random, inadvertently brought in from somewhere out of bad weather by a weak tailwind. The sky turned completely blue like summer, but it seemed to become narrower, and the sun set early. Over the hills in clear hours the air smoked, carrying the bitter, intoxicating smell of dry wormwood, distant voices sounded clearly, and flying birds screamed. The grass in our clearing, yellowed and withered, still remained alive and soft, the guys who were free from the game, or better yet, lost, were fiddling around on it.

Now every day after school I ran here. The guys changed, newcomers appeared, and only Vadik did not miss a single game. It never started without him. Following Vadik, like a shadow, was a big-headed, stocky guy with a buzz cut, nicknamed Ptah. I had never met Bird at school before, but looking ahead, I will say that in the third quarter he suddenly fell out of the blue into our class. It turns out that he stayed in the fifth year for the second year and, under some pretext, gave himself a vacation until January. Ptakh also usually won, although not as much as Vadik, less, but did not remain at a loss. Yes, probably because he didn’t stay because he was at one with Vadik and he slowly helped him.

From our class, Tishkin, a fussy little boy with blinking eyes, who loved to raise his hand during lessons, would sometimes run into the clearing. He knows, he doesn’t know, he still pulls. They call - he is silent.

Why did you raise your hand? - they ask Tishkin.

He spanked with his little eyes:

I remembered, but by the time I got up, I forgot.

I wasn't friends with him. Due to timidity, silence, excessive village isolation, and most importantly - from wild homesickness, which left no desires in me, I had not yet become friends with any of the guys. They were not attracted to me either, I remained alone, not understanding and not highlighting the loneliness of my bitter situation: alone - because here, and not at home, not in the village, I have many comrades there.

Tishkin did not seem to notice me in the clearing. Having quickly lost, he disappeared and did not appear again soon.

And I won. I started winning constantly, every day. I had my own calculation: there is no need to roll the puck around the court, seeking the right to the first shot; when there are a lot of players, it’s not easy: the closer you reach to the line, the greater the danger of going over it and being the last one left. You have to cover the cash register when throwing. That's what I did. Of course, I took a risk, but given my skill it was a justified risk. I could lose three or four times in a row, but on the fifth, having taken the cash register, I would return my loss threefold. He lost again and returned again. I rarely had to hit coins with a puck, but even here I used my trick: if Vadik hit with a roll towards himself, I, on the contrary, hit away from myself - it was unusual, but in this way the puck held the coin, did not allow it to spin and, moving away, turned after her.

Now I have money. I didn’t allow myself to get too carried away with the game and hang around in the clearing until the evening, I only needed a ruble, a ruble every day. Having received it, I ran away, bought a jar of milk at the market (the aunts grumbled, looking at my bent, beaten, torn coins, but they poured milk), had lunch and sat down to study. I still didn’t eat enough, but the mere thought that I was drinking milk gave me strength and quelled my hunger. It began to seem to me that my head was now spinning much less.

At first, Vadik was calm about my winnings. He himself didn’t lose money, and it’s unlikely that anything came from his pockets. Sometimes he even praised me: here’s how to throw, learn, you bastards. However, soon Vadik noticed that I was leaving the game too quickly, and one day he stopped me:

What are you doing - grab the cash register and tear it up? Look how smart he is! Play.

“I need to do my homework, Vadik,” I began to make excuses.

Anyone who needs to do homework doesn't come here.

And Bird sang along:

Who told you that this is how they play for money? For this, you want to know, they beat you a little. Understood?

Vadik no longer gave me the puck before himself and only let me get to the stone last. He threw well, and often I reached into my pocket for new coin without touching the puck. But I shot better, and if I had the opportunity to shoot, the puck, as if magnetized, flew right into the money. I myself was surprised at my accuracy, I should have known to hold it back, play more inconspicuously, but I artlessly and mercilessly continued to bomb the box office. How was I to know that no one has ever been forgiven if he gets ahead in his business? Then do not expect mercy, do not seek intercession, for others he is an upstart, and the one who follows him hates him most of all. I had to learn this science that autumn on my own skin.

I had just fallen into the money again and was going to collect it when I noticed that Vadik had stepped on one of the coins scattered on the sides. All the rest were heads up. In such cases, when throwing, they usually shout “to the warehouse!” So ​​that - if there is no eagle - the money is collected in one pile for the strike, but, as always, I hoped for luck and did not shout.

Not to the warehouse! - Vadik announced.

I walked up to him and tried to move his foot off the coin, but he pushed me away, quickly grabbed it from the ground and showed me tails. I managed to notice that the coin was on the eagle, otherwise he would not have closed it.

“You turned it over,” I said. - She was on the eagle, I saw.

He stuck his fist under my nose.

Haven't you seen this? Smell what it smells like.

I had to come to terms with it. There was no point in insisting; if a fight starts, no one, not a single soul will stand up for me, not even Tishkin, who was hanging around right there.

Vadik’s angry, narrowed eyes looked at me point-blank. I bent down, quietly hit the nearest coin, turned it over and moved the second one. “The slur will lead to the truth,” I decided. “Anyway, I’ll take them all now.” I again pointed the puck for a shot, but didn’t have time to put it down: someone suddenly gave me a strong knee from behind, and I awkwardly, with my head bowed down, hit the ground. People around laughed.

Bird stood behind me, smiling expectantly. I was taken aback:

What are you doing?!

Who told you it was me? - he unlocked the door. - Did you dream it, or what?

Come here! - Vadik extended his hand for the puck, but I didn’t give it back. The resentment overwhelmed my fear; I was no longer afraid of anything in the world. For what? Why are they doing this to me? What did I do to them?

Come here! - Vadik demanded.

You flipped that coin! - I shouted to him. - I saw that I turned it over. Saw.

Well, repeat it,” he asked, advancing towards me.

“You turned it over,” I said more quietly, knowing well what would follow.

Bird hit me first, again from behind. I flew towards Vadik, he quickly and deftly, without trying to measure himself, put his head in my face, and I fell, blood sprayed from my nose. As soon as I jumped up, Bird pounced on me again. It was still possible to break free and run away, but for some reason I didn’t think about it. I hovered between Vadik and Ptah, almost without defending myself, clutching my nose with my palm, from which blood was gushing, and in despair, adding to their rage, stubbornly shouting the same thing:

Flipped over! Flipped over! Flipped over!

They beat me in turns, one and two, one and two. Someone third, small and angry, kicked my legs, then they were almost completely covered with bruises. I just tried not to fall, not to fall again, even in those moments it seemed to me a shame. But eventually they knocked me to the ground and stopped.

Get out of here while you're alive! - Vadik commanded. - Fast!

I got up and, sobbing, throwing my dead nose, trudged up the mountain.

Just say anything to anyone and we’ll kill you! - Vadik promised after me.

I didn't answer. Everything in me somehow hardened and closed in resentment; I didn’t have the strength to get a word out of me. And as soon as I climbed the mountain, I could not resist and, as if I had gone crazy, I screamed at the top of my lungs - so that the whole village probably heard:

I'll turn it over!

Ptah rushed after me, but immediately returned - apparently Vadik decided that I had had enough and stopped him. For about five minutes I stood and, sobbing, looked at the clearing where the game had begun again, then I went down the other side of the hill to a hollow surrounded by black nettles, fell onto the hard dry grass and, unable to hold back any longer, began to cry bitterly and sobbing.

On that day there was not and could not be in the whole wide world a person more unhappy than me.

In the morning I looked at myself in the mirror with fear: my nose was swollen and swollen, there was a bruise under my left eye, and below it, on my cheek, a fat, bloody abrasion curved. I had no idea how to go to school like this, but I had to go somehow; I didn’t dare skip classes for any reason. Let’s say that people’s noses are naturally cleaner than mine, and if it weren’t for the usual place, you would never guess that it was a nose, but nothing can justify an abrasion and bruise: it’s immediately clear that they are showing off here not of my own free will.

Covering my eye with my hand, I ducked into the classroom, sat down at my desk and lowered my head. The first lesson, as luck would have it, was French. Lidia Mikhailovna, by right class teacher, was more interested in us than other teachers, and it was difficult to hide anything from her. She came in and said hello, but before seating the class, she had the habit of carefully examining almost each of us, making supposedly humorous, but obligatory remarks. And, of course, she saw the signs on my face right away, even though I hid them as best I could; I realized this because the guys started turning to look at me.

“Well,” said Lydia Mikhailovna, opening the magazine. There are wounded among us today.

The class laughed, and Lydia Mikhailovna looked up at me again. They looked askance at her and seemed to be passing her by, but by that time we had already learned to recognize where they were looking.

What happened? - she asked.

“Fell,” I blurted out, for some reason not thinking in advance to come up with even the slightest decent explanation.

Oh, how unfortunate. Did it fall yesterday or today?

Today. No, last night when it was dark.

Hey, fell! - Tishkin shouted, choking with joy. - Vadik from the seventh grade brought this to him. They played for money, and he began to argue and made money, I saw it. And he says he fell.

I was dumbfounded by such betrayal. Does he not understand anything at all, or is he doing this on purpose? For playing for money, we could be kicked out of school in no time. I've finished the game. Everything in my head started to buzz with fear: it’s gone, now it’s gone. Well, Tishkin. That's Tishkin, that's Tishkin. Made me happy. Made it clear - there is nothing to say.

You, Tishkin, I wanted to ask something completely different,” Lydia Mikhailovna stopped him without being surprised and without changing her calm, slightly indifferent tone. - Go to the board, since you are already talking, and get ready to answer. She waited until Tishkin, who was confused and immediately became unhappy, came to the blackboard, and briefly told me: “You’ll stay after class.”

Most of all I was afraid that Lydia Mikhailovna would drag me to the director. This means that, in addition to today’s conversation, tomorrow they will take me out in front of the school line and force me to tell what prompted me to do this dirty business. The director, Vasily Andreevich, asked the offender, no matter what he did, broke a window, fought or smoked in the restroom: “What prompted you to do this dirty business?” He walked in front of the ruler, throwing his hands behind his back, moving his shoulders forward in time with his long steps, so that it seemed as if the tightly buttoned, protruding dark jacket was moving on its own slightly in front of the director, and urged: “Answer, answer. We are waiting. look, the whole school is waiting for you to tell us.” The student began to mutter something in his defense, but the director cut him off: “Answer my question, answer the question. How was the question asked? - “What prompted me?” - “That’s it: what prompted it? We are listening to you." The matter usually ended in tears, only after that the director calmed down, and we left for classes. It was more difficult with high school students who did not want to cry, but also could not answer Vasily Andreevich’s question.

One day, our first lesson started ten minutes late, and all this time the director interrogated one ninth-grader, but, having failed to get anything intelligible from him, he took him to his office.

What, I wonder, should I say? It would be better if they kicked him out immediately. I briefly touched this thought and thought that then I would be able to return home, and then, as if I had been burned, I got scared: no, with such a shame I can’t even go home. It would be a different matter if I dropped out of school myself... But even then you can say about me that I am an unreliable person, since I couldn’t stand what I wanted, and then everyone will completely shun me. No, not like that. I’d be patient here, I’d get used to it, but I can’t go home like that.

After classes, frozen with fear, I waited for Lydia Mikhailovna in the corridor. She came out of the teacher's room and, nodding, led me into the classroom. As always, she sat down at the table, I wanted to sit at the third desk, away from her, but Lydia Mikhailovna showed me to the first one, right in front of me.

Is it true that you are playing for money? - she began immediately. She asked too loudly, it seemed to me that at school this should only be discussed in a whisper, and I was even more scared. But there was no point in locking myself away; Tishkin managed to sell me whole. I mumbled:

So how do you win or lose? I hesitated, not knowing what was best.

Let's tell it like it is. You're probably losing?

You... I'm winning.

Okay, at least that's it. You win, that is. And what do you do with the money?

At first, at school, it took me a long time to get used to Lydia Mikhailovna’s voice; it confused me. In our village they spoke, tucking their voice deep into their guts, and therefore it sounded to their heart’s content, but with Lydia Mikhailovna it was somehow small and light, so you had to listen to it, and not out of impotence at all - she could sometimes say to her heart’s content , but as if from concealment and unnecessary savings. I was ready to blame everything on the French language: of course, while I was studying, while I was adapting to someone else’s speech, my voice sank without freedom, weakened, like a bird’s in a cage, now wait until it opens up and gets stronger again. And now Lidia Mikhailovna asked as if she was busy with something else, more important, but she still couldn’t escape her questions.

So what do you do with the money you win? Are you buying candy? Or books? Or are you saving up for something? After all, you probably have a lot of them now?

No, not much. I only win a ruble.

And you don't play anymore?

What about the ruble? Why ruble? What are you doing with it?

I buy milk.

She sat in front of me, neat, all smart and beautiful, beautiful in her clothes, and in her feminine youth, which I vaguely felt, the smell of perfume from her reached me, which I took for her very breath; Moreover, she was not a teacher of some kind of arithmetic, not of history, but of the mysterious French language, from which something special, fabulous, beyond the control of anyone, like me, for example, emanated. Not daring to raise my eyes to her, I did not dare to deceive her. And why, in the end, did I have to deceive?

She paused, examining me, and I felt on my skin how, at the glance of her squinting, attentive eyes, all my troubles and absurdities were literally swelling and filling with their evil power. Of course, there was something to look at: in front of her, crouching on the desk was a skinny, wild boy with a broken face, unkempt, without a mother and alone, in an old, washed-out jacket on his drooping shoulders, which fit well on his chest, but from which his arms protruded far; wearing stained light green trousers, altered from his father's breeches and tucked into teal, with traces of yesterday's fight. Even earlier I noticed with what curiosity Lidia Mikhailovna was looking at my shoes. Of the entire class, I was the only one wearing teal. Only the next fall, when I flatly refused to go to school in them, did my mother sell the sewing machine, our only asset, and buy me tarpaulin boots.

“Still, there’s no need to play for money,” Lidia Mikhailovna said thoughtfully. - You could manage somehow without this. Can we get by?

Not daring to believe in my salvation, I easily promised:

I spoke sincerely, but what can you do if our sincerity cannot be tied with ropes.

To be fair, I must say that in those days I had a very bad time. In the dry autumn, our collective farm paid off its grain supply early, and Uncle Vanya never came again. I knew that my mother couldn’t find a place for herself at home, worrying about me, but that didn’t make it any easier for me. A bag of potatoes brought to last time Uncle Vanya, evaporated so quickly, as if they were feeding it, at least to livestock. It’s good that, having come to my senses, I thought of hiding a little in an abandoned shed standing in the yard, and now I lived only in this hiding place. After school, sneaking like a thief, I would sneak into the shed, put a few potatoes in my pocket and run outside into the hills to make a fire somewhere in a convenient and hidden low spot. I was hungry all the time, even in my sleep I felt convulsive waves rolling through my stomach.

Hoping to stumble upon a new group of players, I slowly began to explore the neighboring streets, wandered through vacant lots, and watched the guys who were drifting into the hills. It was all in vain, the season was over, the cold October winds blew. And only in our clearing the guys continued to gather. I circled nearby, saw the puck glinting in the sun, Vadik commanding, waving his arms, and familiar figures leaning over the cash register.

In the end I couldn’t stand it anymore and went down to them. I knew that I was going to be humiliated, but no less humiliating was to once and for all come to terms with the fact that I was beaten and kicked out. I was itching to see how Vadik and Ptah would react to my appearance and how I could behave. But what drove me most was hunger. I needed a ruble - not for milk, but for bread. I didn't know any other way to get it.

I walked up, and the game paused by itself, everyone was staring at me. Bird was wearing a hat with the ears turned up, sitting, like everyone else on him, carefree and boldly, in a checkered, untucked shirt with short sleeves; Vadik forsil in a beautiful thick jacket with a zipper. Nearby, piled in one heap, lay sweatshirts and coats; on them, huddled in the wind, sat a small boy, about five or six years old.

Bird met me first:

What did you come for? Have you been beaten for a long time?

“I came to play,” I answered as calmly as possible, looking at Vadik.

“Who told you what’s wrong with you,” Bird swore, “will they play here?”

What, Vadik, are we going to hit right away or wait a little?

Why are you pestering the man, Bird? - Vadik said, squinting at me. - I understand, the man came to play. Maybe he wants to win ten rubles from you and me?

You don’t have ten rubles, just so as not to seem like a coward, I said.

We have more than you dreamed of. Bet, don't talk until Bird gets angry. Otherwise he is a hot man.

Should I give it to him, Vadik?

No need, let him play. - Vadik winked at the guys. - He plays great, we are no match for him.

Now I was a scientist and understood what it was - Vadik’s kindness. He was apparently tired of the boring, uninteresting game, so in order to tickle his nerves and get a taste real game, he decided to let me into it. But as soon as I touch his pride, I will be in trouble again. He will find something to complain about, Bird is next to him.

I decided to play it safe and not get caught up in the cash. Like everyone else, in order not to stand out, I rolled the puck, afraid of accidentally hitting the money, then I quietly tapped the coins and looked around to see if Bird had come up behind me. In the first days I did not allow myself to dream about the ruble; Twenty or thirty kopecks for a piece of bread, that’s good, and give it here.

But what was supposed to happen sooner or later, of course, happened. On the fourth day, when, having won a ruble, I was about to leave, they beat me again. True, this time it was easier, but one mark remained: my lip was very swollen. At school I had to bite it all the time. But no matter how I hid it, no matter how I bit it, Lydia Mikhailovna saw it. She deliberately called me to the blackboard and made me read the French text. I couldn’t pronounce it correctly with ten healthy lips, and there’s nothing to say about one.

Enough, oh, enough! - Lidia Mikhailovna got scared and waved at me as if I were evil spirits, hands. - What is this?! No, I'll have to study with you separately. There is no other way out.

Thus began painful and awkward days for me. From the very morning I waited with fear for the hour when I would have to be alone with Lydia Mikhailovna, and, breaking my tongue, repeat after her words that were inconvenient for pronunciation, invented only for punishment. Well, why else, if not for mockery, should three vowels be merged into one thick, viscous sound, the same “o”, for example, in the word “veaisoir” (a lot), which can be choked on? Why make sounds through the nose with some kind of groan, when from time immemorial it has served a person for a completely different need? For what? There must be limits to what is reasonable. I was covered in sweat, blushed and out of breath, and Lydia Mikhailovna, without respite and without pity, made me calluse my poor tongue. And why me alone? There were any number of kids at school who spoke French no better than I did, but they walked freely, did whatever they wanted, and I, like hell, took the rap for everyone.

It turned out that this was not the worst thing. Lidia Mikhailovna suddenly decided that we had little time left at school before the second shift, and told me to come to her apartment in the evenings. She lived next to the school, in the teachers' houses. On the other, larger half of Lydia Mikhailovna’s house, the director himself lived. I went there as if it were torture. Already naturally timid and shy, lost at every trifle, in this clean, tidy apartment of the teacher, at first I literally turned to stone and was afraid to breathe. I had to be told to undress, go into the room, sit down - they had to move me around like a thing, and almost force words out of me. This did not contribute to my success in French. But, strangely, we studied less here than at school, where the second shift seemed to interfere with us. Moreover, Lidia Mikhailovna, while fussing around the apartment, asked me questions or told me about herself. I suspect that she deliberately made it up for me, as if she went to the French department only because at school this language was also not given to her and she decided to prove to herself that she could master it no worse than others.

Huddled in a corner, I listened, not expecting to be allowed to go home. There were many books in the room, on the bedside table by the window there was a large beautiful radio; with a player - a rare miracle at that time, and for me a completely unprecedented miracle. Lydia Mikhailovna played records, and the dexterous male voice again taught French. One way or another, there was no escape from him. Lidia Mikhailovna, in a simple house dress and soft felt shoes, walked around the room, making me shudder and freeze when she approached me. I couldn’t believe that I was sitting in her house, everything here was too unexpected and unusual for me, even the air, saturated with the light and unfamiliar smells of a life other than what I knew. I couldn’t help but feel as if I was spying on this life from the outside, and out of shame and embarrassment for myself, I snuggled even deeper into my short jacket.

Lydia Mikhailovna was then probably twenty-five years old or so; I remember well her regular and therefore not too lively face with eyes narrowed to hide the braid in them; a tight, rarely fully revealed smile and completely black, short-cropped hair. But with all this, there was no rigidity visible in her face, which, as I later noticed, over the years becomes almost a professional sign of teachers, even the kindest and gentlest by nature, but there was some kind of cautious, cunning, bewilderment regarding to herself and seemed to say: I wonder how I ended up here and what I’m doing here? Now I think that by that time she had managed to be married; in her voice, in her gait - soft, but confident, free, in her entire behavior one could feel courage and experience in her. And besides, I have always been of the opinion that girls who study French or Spanish, become women earlier than their peers who study, say, Russian or German.

It’s a shame to remember now how frightened and confused I was when Lidia Mikhailovna, having finished our lesson, called me to dinner. If I were hungry a thousand times, all appetite would immediately jump out of me like a bullet. Sit down at the same table with Lydia Mikhailovna! No no! I’d better learn all French by heart by tomorrow so I never come here again. A piece of bread would probably actually get stuck in my throat. It seems that before that I did not suspect that Lydia Mikhailovna, too, like the rest of us, eats the most ordinary food, and not some kind of manna from heaven, so she seemed to me an extraordinary person, unlike everyone else.

I jumped up and, muttering that I was full and that I didn’t want it, backed along the wall towards the exit. Lidia Mikhailovna looked at me with surprise and resentment, but it was impossible to stop me by any means. I was running away. This was repeated several times, then Lidia Mikhailovna, in despair, stopped inviting me to the table. I breathed more freely.

One day they told me that downstairs in the locker room there was a package for me that some guy had brought to school. Uncle Vanya, of course, is our driver - what a guy! Probably, our house was closed, and Uncle Vanya couldn’t wait for me from class, so he left me in the locker room.

I could hardly wait until the end of class and rushed downstairs. Aunt Vera, the school cleaner, showed me a white plywood box in the corner, the kind they use to store mail packages. I was surprised: why in the box? - Mother usually sent food in an ordinary bag. Maybe this is not for me at all? No, my class and my last name were written on the lid. Apparently, Uncle Vanya has already written here - so that they don’t get confused about who it’s for. What did this mother come up with to stuff groceries into a box?! Look how intelligent she has become!

I couldn’t carry the package home without finding out what was in it: I didn’t have the patience. It is clear that there are no potatoes there. The container for bread is also perhaps too small and inconvenient. Besides, they sent me bread recently; I still had it. Then what's there? Right there, at school, I climbed under the stairs, where I remembered the ax lay, and, having found it, tore off the lid. It was dark under the stairs, I crawled back out and, looking around furtively, put the box on the nearby windowsill.

Looking into the parcel, I was stunned: on top, neatly covered with a large white sheet of paper, lay pasta. Wow! Long yellow tubes, laid one next to the other in even rows, flashed in the light with such wealth, more expensive than which nothing existed for me. Now it’s clear why my mother packed the box: so that the pasta wouldn’t break or crumble, and would arrive to me safe and sound. I carefully took out one tube, looked at it, blew into it, and, unable to restrain myself any longer, began to snort greedily. Then, in the same way, I took on the second, and the third, thinking about where I could hide the drawer so that the pasta would not get to the overly voracious mice in my mistress’s pantry. That’s not why my mother bought them, she spent her last money. No, I won’t let go of pasta that easily. These are not just any potatoes.

And suddenly I choked. Pasta... Really, where did the mother get the pasta? We haven’t had them in our village for a long time; you can’t buy them there for any price. What happens then? Hastily, in despair and hope, I cleared away the pasta and found at the bottom of the box several large pieces of sugar and two slabs of hematogen. Hematogen confirmed: it was not the mother who sent the parcel. In this case, who is who? I looked at the lid again: my class, my last name - for me. Interesting, very interesting.

I pressed the nails of the lid into place and, leaving the box on the windowsill, went up to the second floor and knocked on the staff room. Lidia Mikhailovna has already left. It’s okay, we’ll find it, we know where he lives, we’ve been there. So, here’s how: if you don’t want to sit down at the table, get food delivered to your home. So, yes. Will not work. There is no one else. This is not the mother: she would not have forgotten to include a note, she would have told where such wealth came from, from what mines.

When I sidled through the door with the parcel, Lidia Mikhailovna pretended that she didn’t understand anything. She looked at the box that I placed on the floor in front of her and asked in surprise:

What is this? What did you bring? For what?

“You did it,” I said in a trembling, breaking voice.

What have I done? What are you talking about?

You sent this package to the school. I know you.

I noticed that Lydia Mikhailovna blushed and was embarrassed. This was obviously the only time when I was not afraid to look her straight in the eye. I didn’t care if she was a teacher or my second cousin. Here I asked, not she, and asked not in French, but in Russian, without any articles. Let him answer.

Why did you decide it was me?

Because we don't have any pasta there. And there is no hematogen.

How! Doesn't happen at all?! - She was so sincerely amazed that she gave herself away completely.

Doesn't happen at all. I had to know.

Lidia Mikhailovna suddenly laughed and tried to hug me, but I pulled away. from her.

Really, you should have known. How can I do this?! - She thought for a minute. - But it was hard to guess - honestly! I'm a city person. You say it doesn’t happen at all? What happens to you then?

Peas happen. Radish happens.

Peas... radishes... And we have apples in Kuban. Oh, how many apples there are now. Today I wanted to go to Kuban, but for some reason I came here. - Lydia Mikhailovna sighed and looked sideways at me. - Do not get mad. I wanted the best. Who knew you could get caught eating pasta? It's okay, now I'll be smarter. And take this pasta...

“I won’t take it,” I interrupted her.

Well, why are you doing this? I know you're starving. And I live alone, I have a lot of money. I can buy whatever I want, but I’m the only one... I eat little, I’m afraid of gaining weight.

I'm not hungry at all.

Please don't argue with me, I know. I spoke to your owner. What's wrong if you take this pasta now and cook yourself a nice lunch today? Why can't I help you for the only time in my life? I promise not to slip any more parcels. But please take this one. You must definitely eat your fill in order to study. There are so many well-fed loafers in our school who don’t understand anything and probably never will, but you’re a capable boy, you can’t leave school.

Her voice began to have a sleepy effect on me; I was afraid that she would persuade me, and, angry with myself for understanding that Lydia Mikhailovna was right, and for the fact that I was going to still not understand her, I, shaking my head and muttering something, ran out the door.

Our lessons did not stop there; I continued to go to Lydia Mikhailovna. But now she really took charge of me. She apparently decided: well, French is French. True, this did some good, and gradually I began to pronounce quite passably French words, they no longer broke off at my feet like heavy cobblestones, but, ringing, tried to fly somewhere.

“Okay,” Lidia Mikhailovna encouraged me. - You won’t get an A in this quarter, but in the next quarter it’s a must.

We didn’t remember about the parcel, but I kept my guard up just in case. Who knows what else Lidia Mikhailovna will come up with? I knew from myself: when something doesn’t work out, you will do everything to make it work, you won’t give up so easily. It seemed to me that Lydia Mikhailovna was always looking at me expectantly, and as she looked closer, she laughed at my wildness - I was angry, but this anger, oddly enough, helped me to remain more confident. I was no longer that unrequited and helpless boy who was afraid to take a step here; little by little I got used to Lydia Mikhailovna and her apartment. I was still, of course, shy, huddled in a corner, hiding my teals under a chair, but the previous stiffness and depression receded, now I myself dared to ask Lydia Mikhailovna questions and even enter into arguments with her.

She made another attempt to seat me at the table - in vain. Here I was adamant, I had enough stubbornness for ten.

Probably, it was already possible to stop these classes at home, I learned the most important thing, my tongue softened and began to move, the rest would have been added over time in school lessons. There are years and years ahead. What will I do next if I learn everything from beginning to end at once? But I did not dare to tell Lydia Mikhailovna about this, and she, apparently, did not at all consider our program completed, and I continued to pull my French strap. However, is it a strap? Somehow, involuntarily and imperceptibly, without expecting it myself, I felt a taste for language and in my free moments, without any prodding, I looked into the dictionary and looked into the texts further away in the textbook. Punishment turned into pleasure. I was also spurred on by my pride: if it didn’t work out, it would work out, and it would work out - no worse than the best. Am I cut from a different cloth, or what? If only I didn’t have to go to Lydia Mikhailovna... I would do it myself, myself...

One day, about two weeks after the parcel story, Lydia Mikhailovna, smiling, asked:

Well, don’t you play for money anymore? Or are you going somewhere on the sidelines and playing?

How to play now?! - I was surprised, pointing with my gaze outside the window where the snow lay.

What kind of game was this? What is it?

Why do you need? - I became wary.

Interesting. When we were children, we also played once, so I want to know whether this is the right game or not. Tell me, tell me, don't be afraid.

I told him, keeping silent, of course, about Vadik, about Ptah, and about my little tricks that I used in the game.

No,” Lydia Mikhailovna shook her head. - We played "wall". Do you know what this is?

Here look. “She easily jumped out from behind the table where she was sitting, found coins in her purse and pushed the chair away from the wall. Come here, look. I hit a coin against the wall. - Lydia Mikhailovna struck lightly, and the coin, ringing, flew off in an arc to the floor. Now, - Lydia Mikhailovna put the second coin in my hand, you hit. But keep in mind: you need to hit so that your coin is as close to mine as possible. To measure them, reach them with the fingers of one hand. The game is called differently: measurements. If you get it, it means you win. Hit.

I hit - my coin hit the edge and rolled into the corner.

“Oh,” Lidia Mikhailovna waved her hand. - Far. Now you are starting. Keep in mind: if my coin touches yours, even just a little, with the edge, I win double. Understand?

What is unclear here?

Shall we play?

I couldn't believe my ears:

How will I play with you?

What is it?

You are a teacher!

So what? A teacher is a different person, or what? Sometimes you get tired of being just a teacher, teaching and teaching endlessly. Constantly checking yourself: this is impossible, this is impossible,” Lydia Mikhailovna narrowed her eyes more than usual and looked out the window thoughtfully, distantly. “Sometimes it’s good to forget that you’re a teacher, otherwise you’ll become so mean and boorish that living people will become bored with you.” For a teacher, perhaps the most important thing is not to take himself seriously, to understand that he can teach very little. - She shook herself and immediately became cheerful. - And as a child, I was a desperate girl, my parents had a lot of trouble with me. Even now I still often want to jump, gallop, rush somewhere, do something not according to the program, not according to the schedule, but according to desire. Sometimes I jump and jump here. A person ages not when he reaches old age, but when he ceases to be a child. I would love to jump every day, but Vasily Andreevich lives behind the wall. He is a very serious person. Under no circumstances should he let him know that we are playing “measuring games.”

But we don’t play any “measuring games”. You just showed it to me.

We can play it as simply as they say, make-believe. But still, don’t hand me over to Vasily Andreevich.

Lord, what is going on in this world! How long have I been scared to death that Lidia Mikhailovna would drag me to the director for gambling for money, and now she asks me not to betray her. The end of the world is no different. I looked around, frightened by who knows what, and blinked my eyes in confusion.

Well, shall we try? If you don't like it, we'll quit.

Let’s do it,” I hesitantly agreed.

Get started.

We took up the coins. It was obvious that Lidia Mikhailovna had actually played once, and I was just trying out the game; I had not yet figured out for myself how to hit a coin against a wall, edgewise or flat, at what height and with what force, when it was better to throw. My blows were blind; If they had kept score, I would have lost quite a lot in the first minutes, although there was nothing tricky in these “measurements.” Most of all, of course, what embarrassed and depressed me, what kept me from getting used to it was the fact that I was playing with Lidia Mikhailovna. Not a single dream could such a thing be dreamed of, not a single bad thought could be thought of. I didn’t come to my senses right away or easily, but when I came to my senses and began to take a closer look at the game, Lidia Mikhailovna stopped it.

No, that’s not interesting,” she said, straightening up and brushing the hair that had fallen over her eyes. - Playing is so real, and the fact is that you and I are like three-year-old kids.

But then it will be a game for money,” I timidly reminded.

Certainly. What are we holding in our hands? Playing for money cannot be replaced by anything else. This makes her good and bad at the same time. We can agree on a very small rate, but there will still be interest.

I was silent, not knowing what to do or what to do.

Are you really afraid? - Lydia Mikhailovna egged me on.

Here's another! I'm not afraid of anything.

I had some small items with me. I gave the coin to Lydia Mikhailovna and took mine out of my pocket. Well, let's play for real, Lidia Mikhailovna, if you want. Something for me - I wasn’t the first to start. At first, Vadik also paid zero attention to me, but then he came to his senses and started attacking with his fists. I learned there, I will learn here too. This is not French, but I’ll soon get to grips with French too.

I had to accept one condition: since Lydia Mikhailovna has a larger hand and longer fingers, she will measure with her thumb and middle finger, and I, as expected, with my thumb and little finger. It was fair and I agreed.

The game started again. We moved from the room to the hallway, where it was freer, and hit a smooth board fence. They beat, dropped to their knees, crawled on the floor, touching each other, stretched their fingers, measuring coins, then rose to their feet again, and Lydia Mikhailovna announced the score. She played noisily: she screamed, clapped her hands, teased me - in a word, she behaved like an ordinary girl, and not a teacher, I even wanted to shout at times. But nevertheless she won, and I lost. I didn’t have time to come to my senses when eighty kopecks ran up on me, with great difficulty I managed to knock this debt down to thirty, but Lydia Mikhailovna hit mine from afar with her coin, and the count immediately jumped to fifty. I started to worry. We agreed to pay at the end of the game, but if things continue like this, my money will very soon not be enough, I have a little more than a ruble. This means that you can’t pass the ruble for a ruble - otherwise it’s a disgrace, disgrace and shame for the rest of your life.

And then I suddenly noticed that Lidia Mikhailovna was not trying to win against me at all. When taking measurements, her fingers hunched over, not extending to their full length - where she supposedly could not reach the coin, I reached without any effort. This offended me, and I stood up.

No,” I said, “that’s not how I play.” Why are you playing along with me? This is unfair.

But I really can’t get them,” she began to refuse. - My fingers are kind of wooden.

Okay, okay, I'll try.

I don’t know about mathematics, but in life the best proof is by contradiction. When the next day I saw that Lydia Mikhailovna, in order to touch the coin, was secretly pushing it towards her finger, I was stunned. Looking at me and for some reason not noticing that I see her perfectly clean water fraud, she continued to move the coin as if nothing had happened.

What are you doing? - I was indignant.

I? And what am I doing?

Why did you move it?

No, she was lying here, - in the most shameless way, with some kind of joy, Lidia Mikhailovna opened the door, no worse than Vadik or Ptah.

Wow! It's called a teacher! With my own eyes, at a distance of twenty centimeters, I saw that she was touching the coin, but she assures me that she did not touch it, and even laughs at me. Is she taking me for a blind man? For the little one? He teaches French, it's called. I immediately completely forgot that just yesterday Lydia Mikhailovna tried to play along with me, and I only made sure that she did not deceive me. Well well! Lidia Mikhailovna, it's called.

On this day we studied French for fifteen to twenty minutes, and then even less. We have a different interest. Lidia Mikhailovna made me read the passage, made comments, listened to the comments again, and we immediately moved on to the game. After two small losses, I began to win. I quickly got used to the “measurements”, understood all the secrets, knew how and where to hit, what to do as a point guard so as not to expose my coin to the measurement.

And again I had money. Again I ran to the market and bought milk - now in frozen mugs. I carefully cut the flow of cream from the mug, popped the crumbling ice slices into my mouth and, feeling their satisfying sweetness throughout my body, closed my eyes in pleasure. Then he turned the circle upside down and hammered out the sweetish milky sediment with a knife. He allowed the rest to melt and drank it, eating it with a piece of black bread.

It was okay, it was possible to live, and in the near future, once the wounds of the war were healed, a happy time was promised for everyone.

Of course, accepting money from Lydia Mikhailovna, I felt awkward, but every time I calmed down that it was an honest win. I never asked for a game; Lidia Mikhailovna offered it herself. I didn't dare refuse. It seemed to me that the game gave her pleasure, she was having fun, laughing, and bothering me.

If only we knew how it would all end...

...Kneeling opposite each other, we argued about the score. Before that, too, it seems they were arguing about something.

“Understand, you garden-variety fool,” Lidia Mikhailovna argued, crawling on me and waving her arms, “why should I deceive you?” I'm keeping score, not you, I know better. I lost three times in a row, and before that I was a chick.

- “Chika” is not readable.

Why doesn't it read?

We were shouting, interrupting each other, when a surprised, if not shocked, but firm, ringing voice reached us:

Lidia Mikhailovna!

We froze. Vasily Andreevich stood at the door.

Lidia Mikhailovna, what’s wrong with you? What's going on here?

Lydia Mikhailovna slowly, very slowly rose from her knees, flushed and disheveled, and, smoothing her hair, said:

I, Vasily Andreevich, hoped that you would knock before entering here.

I knocked. Nobody answered me. What's going on here? Explain, please. I have the right to know as a director.

“We’re playing wall games,” Lidia Mikhailovna answered calmly.

Are you playing for money with this?.. - Vasily Andreevich pointed his finger at me, and out of fear I crawled behind the partition to hide in the room. - Playing with a student?! Did I understand you correctly?

Right.

Well, you know... - The director was choking, he didn’t have enough air. - I’m at a loss to immediately name your action. It is a crime. Molestation. Seduction. And again, again... I’ve been working at school for twenty years, I’ve seen all sorts of things, but this...

And he raised his hands above his head.

Three days later Lydia Mikhailovna left. The day before, she met me after school and walked me home.

“I’ll go to my place in Kuban,” she said, saying goodbye. - And you study calmly, no one will touch you for this stupid incident. It's my fault. Learn,” she patted me on the head and left.

And I never saw her again.

In the middle of winter, after the January holidays, I received a package by mail at school. When I opened it, taking the ax out from under the stairs again, there were tubes of pasta lying in neat, dense rows. And below, in a thick cotton wrapper, I found three red apples.

Previously, I had only seen apples in pictures, but I guessed that this was them.

Notes

Kopylova A.P. - mother of playwright A. Vampilov (Editor's note).

Rasputin's story “French Lessons” is studied in 6th grade during literature lessons. The heroes of the story are close to modern children due to their diversity of characters and desire for justice. In “French Lessons,” it is advisable to analyze the work after reading the author’s biography. In our article you can find out what the work teaches, and get acquainted with a detailed analysis according to the “French Lessons” plan. This will greatly facilitate the work in the lesson when analyzing the work, and analysis of the story will also be needed for writing creative and test papers.

Brief Analysis

Year of writing – 1973.

History of creation– the story was first published in 1973 in the newspaper “Soviet Youth”

Subject– human kindness, caring, the importance of a teacher in a child’s life, the problem of moral choice.

Composition- traditional for the short story genre. It has all the components from exposition to epilogue.

Genre- story.

Direction- village prose.

History of creation

The story “French Lessons,” which takes place in the late forties, was written in 1973. Published in the same year in the Komsomol newspaper of Irkutsk “Soviet Youth”. The work is dedicated to the mother of a close friend of the writer Alexander Vampilov, teacher Anastasia Prokopyevna Kopylova.

According to the author himself, the story is deeply autobiographical; it was childhood impressions that formed the basis of the story. After graduating from a four-year school in his native village, the future writer was forced to move to the regional center of Ust-Uda to continue his studies in high school. It was a difficult period for the little boy: living with strangers, half-starved existence, the inability to dress and eat as expected, and rejection of the village boy by his classmates. Everything that is described in the story can be considered real events, because this is exactly the path that the future writer Valentin Rasputin took. He believed that childhood is the most important period in the formation of talent; it is in childhood that a person becomes an artist, writer or musician. There he draws his inspiration for the rest of his life.

In the life of little Valya there was the same Lidia Mikhailovna (this is the real name of the teacher), who helped the boy, tried to brighten up his difficult existence, sent parcels and played “the wall”. After the story came out, she found her former student and the long-awaited meeting took place; with particular warmth he recalled the conversation that took place with Lydia Mikhailovna as an adult. She forgot many things that the writer remembered from childhood; he kept them in his memory for many years, thanks to which a most wonderful story appeared.

Subject

The work raises theme of human indifference, kindness and help to those in need. Problem moral choice and special “morality”, which is not accepted by society, but has reverse side- bright and selfless.

The young teacher, who managed to consider the boy’s misfortune, his deplorable situation, became a guardian angel for a certain period of his life. Only she considered the boy’s diligence and ability to study behind the poverty. The French lessons she gave him at home became life lessons for both the boy and the young woman herself. She really missed her homeland, prosperity and comfort did not give her a feeling of joy, but “returning to a serene childhood” saved her from everyday life and homesickness.

The money I received main character story in a fair game, they allowed him to buy milk and bread, to provide himself with the most necessary things. In addition, he did not have to participate in street games, where boys out of envy and impotence beat him for his superiority and skill in the game. Rasputin outlined the theme of “French Lessons” from the first lines of the work, when he mentioned the feeling of guilt before teachers. Main thought The story is that by helping others, we help ourselves. Helping the boy, giving in, being cunning, risking her job and reputation, Lydia Mikhailovna realized what she herself lacked in order to feel happy. The meaning of life is to help, to be needed and not to depend on the opinions of others. Literary criticism emphasizes the value of Rasputin's work for all age categories.

Composition

The story has a traditional composition for its genre. The narration is told in the first person, which makes the perception very realistic and allows you to introduce a lot of emotional, subjective details.

The climax there is a scene where the school director, without reaching the teacher’s room, comes to her and sees a teacher and a student playing for money. It is noteworthy that the idea of ​​the story is presented by the author in the philosophical phrase of the first sentence. It also follows from it problems story: feeling of guilt before parents and teachers - where does it come from?

The conclusion suggests itself: they invested their best in us, they believed in us, but were we able to live up to their expectations? The story ends abruptly, the last thing we learn is a package from Kuban that came to the boy narrator from a former teacher. He sees real apples for the first time in the hungry year of 1948. Even from a distance, this magical woman manages to bring joy and celebration into the life of a little person.

Main characters

Genre

The genre of story in which Valentin Rasputin dressed his narrative is ideal for depicting true life events. The realism of the story, its small form, the ability to plunge into memories and reveal the inner world of the characters through various means - all this turned the work into a small masterpiece - deep, touching and truthful.

The historical features of the time were also reflected in the story through the eyes of a little boy: hunger, devastation, impoverishment of the village, the well-fed life of city residents. Direction village prose, to which the work belongs, was widespread in the 60s-80s of the 20th century. Its essence was as follows: it revealed the features of village life, emphasized its originality, poeticized and in some way idealized the village. Also, the prose of this direction was characterized by showing the devastation and impoverishment of the village, its decline and anxiety for the future of the village.

Work test

Rating Analysis

Average rating: 4.8. Total ratings received: 950.

Composition

History of creation

“I am sure that what makes a person a writer is his childhood, the ability at an early age to see and feel everything that then gives him the right to put pen to paper. Education, books, life experience nurture and strengthen this gift in the future, but it should be born in childhood,” wrote Valentin Grigoryevich Rasputin in 1974 in the Irkutsk newspaper “Soviet Youth.” In 1973, one of Rasputin’s best stories, “French Lessons,” was published. The writer himself singles it out among his works: “I didn’t have to invent anything there. Everything happened to me. I didn't have to go far to get the prototype. I needed to return to people the good that they did for me in their time.”

Rasputin's story "French Lessons" is dedicated to Anastasia Prokopyevna Kopylova, the mother of his friend, the famous playwright Alexander Vampilov, who worked at school all her life. The story was based on a memory of a child’s life; it, according to the writer, “was one of those that warms even with a slight touch.”

The story is autobiographical. Lydia Mikhailovna is named in the work by her own name (her last name is Molokova). In 1997, the writer, in a conversation with a correspondent of the magazine “Literature at School,” talked about meetings with her: “I recently visited me, and she and I long and desperately remembered our school, and the Angarsk village of Ust-Uda almost half a century ago, and a lot from that difficult and happy time.”

Genre, genre, creative method

The work “French Lessons” is written in the short story genre. The rise of the Russian Soviet story falls on the twenties (Babel, Ivanov, Zoshchenko) and then the sixties and seventies (Kazakov, Shukshin, etc.) years. The story reacts more quickly to changes in social life than other prose genres, since it is written faster.

The story can be considered the oldest and first of the literary genres. Brief retelling an event - a hunting incident, a duel with an enemy, and the like - is already an oral story. Unlike other kinds and types of art, which are conventional in their essence, storytelling is inherent in humanity, having arisen simultaneously with speech and being not only the transfer of information, but also a means of social memory. The story is the original form of literary organization of language. A story is considered to be a completed prose work of up to forty-five pages. This is an approximate value - two author's sheets. Such a thing is read “in one breath.”

Rasputin's story “French Lessons” is a realistic work written in the first person. It can fully be considered an autobiographical story.

Topics

“It’s strange: why do we, just like before our parents, always feel guilty before our teachers? And not for what happened at school, no, but for what happened to us.” This is how the writer begins his story “French Lessons”. Thus, he defines the main themes of the work: the relationship between teacher and student, the depiction of life illuminated by spiritual and moral meaning, the formation of the hero, his acquisition of spiritual experience in communication with Lydia Mikhailovna. French lessons and communication with Lydia Mikhailovna became life lessons for the hero and the education of feelings.

From a pedagogical point of view, a teacher playing for money with her student is an immoral act. But what is behind this action? - asks the writer. Seeing that the student (during the hungry post-war years) was malnourished, the French teacher, under the guise of additional classes, invites him to her home and tries to feed him. She sends him packages as if from her mother. But the boy refuses. The teacher offers to play for money and, naturally, “loses” so that the boy can buy milk for himself with these pennies. And she’s happy that she succeeds in this deception.

The idea of ​​the story lies in the words of Rasputin: “The reader learns from books not life, but feelings. Literature, in my opinion, is, first of all, the education of feelings. And above all kindness, purity, nobility.” These words directly relate to the story “French Lessons”.

Main characters

The main characters of the story are an eleven-year-old boy and a French teacher, Lidia Mikhailovna.

Lydia Mikhailovna was no more than twenty-five years old and “there was no cruelty in her face.” She treated the boy with understanding and sympathy, and appreciated his determination. She recognized her student's remarkable learning abilities and was ready to help them develop in any way possible. Lydia Mikhailovna is endowed with an extraordinary capacity for compassion and kindness, for which she suffered, losing her job.

The boy amazes with his determination and desire to learn and get out into the world under any circumstances. The story about the boy can be presented in the form of a quotation plan:

1. “In order to study further... and I had to equip myself in the regional center.”
2. “I studied well here too... in all subjects except French, I got straight A’s.”
3. “I felt so bad, so bitter and hateful! “worse than any disease.”
4. “Having received it (the ruble), ... I bought a jar of milk at the market.”
5. “They beat me in turns... there was no more unhappy person that day than me.”
6. “I was scared and lost... she seemed to me like an extraordinary person, not like everyone else.”

Plot and composition

“I went to fifth grade in 1948. It would be more correct to say, I went: in our village there was only an elementary school, so in order to study further, I had to travel from home fifty kilometers to the regional center.” For the first time, due to circumstances, an eleven-year-old boy is torn away from his family, torn from his usual surroundings. However, the little hero understands that the hopes of not only his relatives, but also the entire village are placed on him: after all, according to the unanimous opinion of his fellow villagers, he is called to be a “learned man.” The hero makes every effort, overcoming hunger and homesickness, so as not to let his fellow countrymen down.

A young teacher approached the boy with special understanding. She began to additionally study French with the hero, hoping to feed him at home. Pride did not allow the boy to accept help from a stranger. Lydia Mikhailovna’s idea with the parcel was not crowned with success. The teacher filled it with “city” products and thereby gave herself away. Looking for a way to help the boy, the teacher invites him to play wall game for money.

The climax of the story comes after the teacher begins to play wall games with the boy. The paradoxical nature of the situation sharpens the story to the limit. The teacher could not help but know that at that time such a relationship between a teacher and a student could lead not only to dismissal from work, but also to criminal liability. The boy did not fully understand this. But when trouble did happen, he began to understand the teacher’s behavior more deeply. And this led him to realize some aspects of life at that time.

The ending of the story is almost melodramatic. Parcel with Antonov apples, which he, a resident of Siberia, had never tried, seems to echo the first, unsuccessful package with city food - pasta. More and more new touches are preparing this ending, which turned out to be not at all unexpected. In the story, the heart of a distrustful village boy opens up to the purity of a young teacher. The story is surprisingly modern. It contains the great courage of a little woman, the insight of a closed, ignorant child, and the lessons of humanity.

Artistic originality

With wise humor, kindness, humanity, and most importantly, with complete psychological accuracy, the writer describes the relationship between a hungry student and a young teacher. The narrative flows slowly, with everyday details, but its rhythm imperceptibly captures it.

The language of the narrative is simple and at the same time expressive. The writer skillfully used phraseological units, achieving expressiveness and imagery of the work. Phraseologisms in the story “French Lessons” mostly express one concept and are characterized by a certain meaning, which is often equal to the meaning of the word:

“I studied well here too. What was left for me? Then I came here, I had no other business here, and I didn’t yet know how to take care of what was entrusted to me” (lazily).

“I had never seen a bird at school before, but looking ahead, I’ll say that in the third quarter it suddenly fell on our class out of the blue” (unexpectedly).

“Hunging and knowing that my grub would not last long, no matter how much I saved it, I ate until I was full, until my stomach hurt, and then after a day or two I put my teeth back on the shelf” (fast).

“But there was no point in locking myself away, Tishkin managed to sell me whole” (betray).

One of the features of the story’s language is the presence of regional words and outdated vocabulary characteristic of the time the story takes place. For example:

Housing - renting an apartment.
A lorry is a truck with a carrying capacity of 1.5 tons.
A teahouse is a type of public canteen where visitors are offered tea and snacks.
Toss - to sip.
Naked boiling water is clean, without impurities.
To blather - to chat, talk.
To bale is to hit lightly.
Khluzda is a rogue, a deceiver, a cheater.
Hiding is something that is hidden.

Meaning of the work

The works of V. Rasputin invariably attract readers, because next to the everyday, everyday things in the writer’s works there are always spiritual values, moral laws, unique characters, and the complex, sometimes contradictory, inner world of the heroes. The author's thoughts about life, about man, about nature help us discover inexhaustible reserves of goodness and beauty in ourselves and in the world around us.

In difficult times, the main character of the story had to learn. The post-war years were a kind of test not only for adults, but also for children, because both good and bad in childhood are perceived much brighter and more acutely. But difficulties strengthen character, so the main character often displays such qualities as willpower, pride, a sense of proportion, endurance, and determination.

Many years later, Rasputin will again turn to the events of long ago. “Now that quite a large part of my life has been lived, I want to comprehend and understand how correctly and usefully I spent it. I have many friends who are always ready to help, I have something to remember. Now I understand that my closest friend is my former teacher, a French teacher. Yes, decades later I remember her as a true friend, the only person who understood me while studying at school. And even years later, when we met, she showed me a gesture of attention, sending me apples and pasta, as before. And no matter who I am, no matter what depends on me, she will always treat me only as a student, because for her I was, am and will always remain a student. Now I remember how then she, taking the blame upon herself, left school, and at parting she said to me: “Study well and don’t blame yourself for anything!” With this she taught me a lesson and showed me how a real man should act. a kind person. It’s not for nothing that they say: a school teacher is a teacher of life.”

Literature lesson notes, 6th grade

“French Lessons” – Life Lessons

(based on the story by V.G. Rasputin “French Lessons”)

Target: show the teacher’s spiritual generosity and her role in the boy’s life.

Tasks:

a) educational: reveal techniques for creating a hero's image in work of art;

b) developing: improve analytical reading skills and episode analysis;

c) educational: promote mutual understanding between teachers and students, foster respect for the teaching profession.

Lesson type: combined with the use of ICT.

Methodical techniques: analytical conversation, expressive reading, role-playing, watching a video clip.

I.Organizational moment (welcoming students)

Guys, do we have a regular lesson today? (Today we have guests, teachers from schools in our area, but you and I will work as usual, answer, analyze, express our thoughts. Agreed?)

Shall we talk? - Let's talk.

Do you know what? - About what?

About different things. About what is good and not so good. Shall we talk? - Let's talk, it will be interesting for us!

II. Work on the topic of the lesson “French Lessons” - life lessons.

Teacher: Guys, how do you understand the word “lessons”, “lesson”? Please continue the lesson - this is... (1) conclusions, life observations, something instructive 2) class hours in the schedule 3) educational work, task for the student)

Teacher: What do you think the lesson will be about? (about school, about lessons, about the teacher, about the heroes of Rasputin’s story, about what lesson the main character of the story learned)

Teacher: That's right. Today we will once again turn to V.G. Rasputin’s story “French Lessons”. Let's talk about heroes of this work, let’s think about the meaning of the story, about such concepts as kindness, honesty, nobility, humanity. Let's try to understand what life lessons the hero learned from the situations he finds himself in; what lessons have we learned; Let's think about what a teacher should be like. Using the example of the heroes of the story, we will learn how to act correctly in life, to distinguish between true and false.

Rasputin wrote this: (1 slide)

“I wrote this story in the hope that the lessons taught to me in due time will fall on the soul of both young and adult readers.”

The writer hopes that the life lessons that fate has prepared for him will help each of us understand ourselves and think about our future.

Teacher: First, let's check if you all know the content of the story well.

(questions about the content of the story, student answers NOT REALLY):

The story takes place in 1948 (yes)

The independent life of the heroes began at the age of 11 (yes)

The main character got "A" grades in all subjects (no)

The main character was homesick, his family, his village (yes)

The hero’s mother sent the parcel with pasta (no)

The school principal found out about the game of chica (no)

Lidia Mikhailovna played measuring games with her student (yes)

2 slide The hero's independent life

Teacher: Please listen to quotes from the story. Determine who they refer to. What are these quotes about?

“In order to study further, I had to enroll in the regional center” (the main character goes to study in the regional center, since in his village there was only an elementary school, he studied well, and everyone in the village told him to study further)

“We lived without a father, we lived very poorly” (there were three children in the family, raised by one mother, there was not enough food, no money, we were starving, these were difficult post-war years)

“As soon as I was left alone, homesickness immediately set in,” “I felt so bad, so bitter and hateful” (the main character missed home, relatives, the village. He was not used to living with strangers, after school he came and he was overcome with wild homesickness)

“I was constantly undernourished”, “a good half of my bread disappeared somewhere” (The boy was starving, there was not enough food: bread, potatoes, sent by his mother by Uncle Vanya, someone stole these products from him)

Teacher: Of course, from these quotes you all recognized the main character of the story of an eleven-year-old boy. Let's listen to the story about the hero's independent life on his behalf.

(Story on behalf of the hero of the story)

Teacher: Now let’s watch an episode from the movie (director E. Tashkov “French Lessons”, episode of the mother’s arrival)

Why did the main character “come to his senses”? Why, despite hunger and wild homesickness, did he not run away to the village? What did the hero understand while living in the regional center? (1 life lesson: perseverance, willpower, ability to overcome the first difficulties in life, responsibility for one’s actions, desire to learn, learn to live independently)

Slide 3

Teacher: Look at the slide. What episode of the story is shown? (game of chica)

Why did the main character of the story start playing chica? (made hunger, hunger made the hero think about how to get money. His mother helped him, but there was no money on the collective farm. Playing chica is the only way to earn money. The boy bought milk with this money, 1 ruble per liter, he had to drink milk because he was suffering from anemia and was dizzy)

The lesson from this situation: be independent, take care of yourself.

How did the game of chica end for the main character? (He began to win, he played better than Vadik and Ptakh. They don’t forgive him for this. Three of them brutally beat the boy. They attack him from behind. The next morning he had a bruise on his face, an abrasion on his cheek, his nose was swollen)

Teacher: The main character is faced with a difficult situation, communicating with guys who live according to the laws of the street. There is no place for honesty, goodness, justice in these laws; force and power rule in them.

What lessons does the hero learn in this company? (on the one hand, these are lessons of meanness, anger, envy, cruelty. The main character enters into a fight, although he understands, give in to those to whom you can’t prove anything; on the other hand, the boy shows his pride, honesty, he stubbornly insists: he turned it over. He ready to defend his rightness. During a fight, the main thing for him is not to fall, this is a shame)

The main character remains honest, unshakable, and proud to the end. He shows the ability to stay on top in any, even the most unfavorable circumstances. This quality is called self-esteem.

(Vocabulary work: self-esteem)

Slide 4 The role of Lydia Mikhailovna in the boy’s life

Teacher: By entering into a conflict with Vadik, the hero puts himself in a difficult position: he is deprived of a source of money, and he can be kicked out of school for playing. Who comes to the boy's aid? Who will play an important role in the fate of the main character?

Look at the slide (in the role of Lydia Mikhailovna - Tashkova T.)

(Working with the textbook: expressive reading and description of Lydia Mikhailovna’s appearance)

How does the hero see Lydia Mikhailovna?

Listen to quotes about Lydia Mikhailovna. What character traits are evident in these quotes?

“Lidiya Mikhailovna was more interested in us than other teachers, it was difficult to hide anything from her”

“She came in, said hello, carefully examined almost each of us, making seemingly humorous, but obligatory remarks.”

Write in a notebook, fill out the table: 1st column – character traits of Lydia Mikhailovna, 2nd column – what kind of teacher are you waiting for? (After recording - discussion)

Lidia Mikhailovna

The teacher I choose

Why did Lidia Mikhailovna choose a boy to study French? Is this a coincidence? (L.M. understood that the main character is a talented boy, but his studies could be hindered constant feeling hunger. She realized that the boy was starving, that it was very difficult for him to live in someone else’s family. Communication with Vadik, Ptah, can send the boy on the wrong path. She tries to feed him, so she invites him to her home for classes)

Reading from the textbook:“You definitely need to study. There are so many well-fed loafers in our school... you can’t leave school.”

Lidia Mikhailovna realized that it was difficult for the boy, he was starving, she saw him beaten, she found out that he was gambling for money. Seeing her student beaten for the second time, she decided to help him at all costs.

Understanding a person, taking on part of his pain is one of the best qualities person.

Slide 5“Know how to feel a person next to you, know how to read his soul, see joy, misfortune, misfortune, grief in his eyes” V.A. Sukhomlinsky

How else is Lydia Mikhailovna trying to help the boy? (sends a parcel with pasta)

How did Lydia Mikhailovna manage to help the main character?

(Reading the episode “The Measuring Game” by role)

Discussion of this episode:

Can a teacher play for money with her student? With t.zr. pedagogical science this act is immoral. And the school director, having learned about this, calls Lydia Mikhailovna’s act “a crime, corruption, seduction,” and dismisses her from the school. Do you condemn Lydia Mikhailovna?

What is behind the teacher’s action?

How can you call Lydia Mikhailovna’s action?

Teacher: Lydia Mikhailovna’s actions, her French lessons are lessons of kindness, courage, true humanity, spiritual generosity, sensitivity: “be kind, sympathetic, love people” - that’s what her action says.

V.G. Rasputin wrote about this years later: “Still very young, a recent student, she did not think that she was educating us by her example, but the actions that came naturally to her became the most important lessons. Lessons of kindness."

I would like each of you to express your opinion about Lydia Mikhailovna by writing a syncwine.

Compiling a syncwine.

(Example: Lidia Mikhailovna

Kind, sensitive

Teaches, helps, worries

Lidia Mikhailovna loves children

Sensitivity (kindness, real man, ray of goodness)

Teacher: This story is dedicated to Anastasia Prokopyevna Kopylova, the mother of the famous playwright Alexander Vampilov, with whom Rasputin was friends.

“It seems to me,” wrote V.G. Rasputin, “a person’s profession can be recognized by his face. I often guessed the teachers by some very tired, stern look. He guessed and thought that the teacher was being drained by his work, that it was very difficult for him to maintain a lively interest in children, spiritual gentleness and warmth. I dedicated the story, the heroine of which was Lydia Mikhailovna, to Anastasia Prokopyevna. Looking into the face of this amazing woman, ageless, kind and wise, more than once I remembered my teacher and knew that the children had a good time with both.”

That other teacher's name was L.M. Molokova Slide 6

(Vocabulary work: prototype)

In 1951, she, a young graduate of the Irkutsk Institute foreign languages, arrived in distant Ust-Uda. She got a desperate class. They played truant and behaved like hooligans - everything happened. Lidia Mikhailovna organized a drama club, and the “robbers” soon changed.

Valya Rasputin was not the leader in the class, but he was respected for his justice and courage.

Life was bad then, as everywhere else in the post-war years, from hand to mouth. The children were dressed in a variety of ways: old hats, sweatshirts worn out by others, and leggings on their feet.

In an interview with the newspaper Trud, Molokova L.M. said that Valya Rasputin was one of her many students who had a very difficult life, but she did not play “chick” and “measuring” with them.

It is interesting that after Transbaikalia, this woman lived in Saransk and taught French at the Mordovian University. Then she worked in Cambodia, Algeria, and France. She taught Russian to those who spoke French.

In Paris, in one of the bookstores, Lidia Mikhailovna bought a book by her former student and recognized herself in the main character. She herself found V. Rasputin, and they for a long time corresponded. True, Lidia Mikhailovna refused to recognize herself as the only prototype of the heroine, claiming that this was a collective image. And I didn’t even remember how I sent the parcel with pasta. Rasputin wondered how anyone could forget this? But I realized that

Slide 7“True goodness on the part of the one who creates it has less memory than on the part of the one who receives it”

Teacher: So, V.G. Rasputin’s story “French Lessons” has been read.

What feelings does he foster in us? (kindness, selflessness, sensitivity, patience, love)

Kindness, love, sympathy are the spiritual values ​​of a person. People who have such qualities are people with spiritual beauty. A person receives spiritual beauty from others. So, the hero of the story remembered that the young teacher saved him from hunger and shame. The boy realized that he was not alone, that there was kindness, love, and responsiveness in the world.

It’s good when people remember you for the good things you did for them, isn’t it?

III .Reflection ( Filling out the Tree of Souls) On the Tree of Souls you need grow only beautiful fruits (we fill the tree, write on the leaves the qualities that a person needs in life, attach it to the board).

(Reading the poem to the guests of the lesson, teachers, while the children fill out the sheets)

Slide 8 « You can forget the teacher’s last name, it is important that the word “TEACHER” remains (V. Astafiev)

Teacher, the days of your life are like one,

You dedicate it to the school family.

You are everyone who came to you to study,

You call them your children.

Favorite teacher, dear person.

Be the happiest in the world

Even though sometimes it’s hard for you

Your naughty children.

You rewarded us with friendship and knowledge.

Accept our gratitude!

We remember how you brought us into the public eye

From timid, funny first-graders.

But children grow up, from school

Walking the roads of life

And your lessons are remembered,

And they keep you in their hearts.

M. Sadovsky “Native Man”

4.Slide 9

Summing up the lesson. Ratings. Homework: Essay “I want to talk about... (optional: about the main character - a boy; Lydia Mikhailovna)”