At the end of the school year, students handed their textbooks to the school library. Careful librarian carefully put them on the bookshelves, where the textbooks were to spend the whole summer. When the school librarian closed the door to the key, the textbooks revived and began to talk lively and condemn the long school year. Some boasted of their appearance, others boast of what is written in them.
On the furthest shelf is an old shabby textbook. It has long been not given out to schoolchildren, but for some reason they do not throw it out. He seldom talks, usually sleeps wrapped in a thick layer of dust. Many new textbooks look with caution at the old book. After all, it does not look like a quality publication. He has a worn binding, somewhere a few pages are lost, in the middle of the cover there is a black ink spot.
On one of the hot days, books in the library sighed heavily. They hardly spoke, but only whined from the exhausting heat. A small pamphlet with formulas
on physics did not notice the heat, she tried to talk to other textbooks, but they only haughtily dismissed them from the baby. Then the pamphlet turned to the old textbook.
The old man coughed, looked at the pamphlet and began to say:
“You ask why it’s so hot outside,” the soft, pleasant voice was to the textbook. “You can not imagine what happened before.” I’ve lived half a century, I’ve seen a lot. Killed me kids. I remember how Pavel Pavel Zhilov played football with me. I never opened it, but I kicked it nobly.
The textbook cleared its throat and fell silent. But the pamphlet did not lag behind, so a few minutes later the old book continued its story.
– Oh yes. I used to have good memory, but now I do not remember anything. I could calmly talk about the Great October Revolution, and now I will not even mention Lenin’s patronymic. In general, I had a hard life. One day, I was propped up by a window to ventilate the class, then I blew heavily and now the flyleaf is always breaking. But there were good students. One girl dressed me in
a beautiful cover with flowers, pasted a silken loin. And after it I was in the hands of a young poet, he wrote poems in me. There were also artists, painted a mustache, glasses and every other nonsense to portraits. And I always served faithfully, only then did I become not needed forgotten. I’m falling apart now, but no one will glue me.
After these words, the textbook turned away from the pamphlet. She tried to find out about the life of the old textbook, but he did not say a word.
Many books have heard the story of the old textbook, after his monologue they stopped haughty to look at the old man. After all, everyone could be in his place. And only schoolchildren could prevent this. But how can you explain them.