Summary “What horses cry about” Abramova

“Every time I went down from the village eel to the meadow, I again and again fell into my distant childhood – in the world of fragrant grasses, dragonflies and butterflies and, of course, in the world of horses that grazed on a leash, each near their own cola.

I often took bread with me and fed the horses, and if there was no bread, I still stayed near them, patted them on the back, on the neck, encouraged me with a kind word, rubbed my warm velvety lips and then for a long time, almost all day, sensed on his palm with incomparable horse’s douche. “

The horses “pleased my peasant heart, but more often than not they evoked a feeling of pity and even some kind of incomprehensible guilt before them.

The groom Mikolka, always drunk, sometimes did not say day and night to them, and around the stake it was not that the grass-the sod was gnawed and the daughter was beaten out. They were constantly tormented, they died of thirst, they were

tormented by infamy. “

Equine horses and village women.

One day the narrator notices among his other horses his favorite Clara, or Ryzhukha.

It was from the breed of “so-called mesenok, horses of medium size, plain, but very hardy and unpretentious, well adapted to the difficult conditions of the North.”

Hard work disfigured her. But still, Ryzhuha was a filly clean, and besides, she still retained her cheerful, resilient temper, the youthfulness of youth. “

She always joyfully meets her friend-narrator. But this time fossils at his stake. Even the bread does not react.

The hero sees tears on her face. “Great, with a good bean, horse tears.”

-What happened to you? the man asks.

And as if he hears the answer of the horse.

“I’m crying about horse life.” I told them that there were times when we, the horses, were spared and protected more than anything in the world, and they raised me to laugh, began to mock me.

It turns out that on the distant mowing, from which Ryzhukha had just returned, she met an

old mare with whom she went for a couple in a horse mower.

Old woman Zabava during the hard labor consoled her young girlfriend with songs.

From these songs, Ryzhukha learned that “there were times when we, the horses, were called wet nurses, groveled and caressed, decorated with ribbons.”

Other horses did not believe the songs Ryzhukha: “Shut up! And so sick!”

“Ryzhuha with hope, with pleading, raised her huge, still wet, sad eyes to me, in the violet depth of which I suddenly saw myself – a small, tiny little man.”

Ryzhuha and other horses ask the person to tell the truth.

“There was, there were such times, and were still recently, in my memory, when the horse was breathing and lived, when she was fed the most tasty piece, or even the last crust of bread – we, then somehow we’ll get out, we’ll get lost with a hungry belly until morning. We do not get used to it. What happened in the evenings when the horse that had worked out for the day entered its lane! The whole family, from young to old, ran out to meet her, and how many affectionate, how many thankful words she listened to, with what love they unharnessed her, lived, led to a watering place, scraped, cleaned! “

The horse was the main support and hope of the whole peasant life. And the Russian festivities on horseback at the Maslenitsa holiday!

“The first toy of a peasant’s son was a wooden horse, the horse looked at the child from the roof of his father’s house, about the horse-hero, sang and told his mother about the blue-haired burka, he adorned with a horse, grown up, a spinning wheel for his spouse, and horse horseshoe – a sign of the long-awaited muzhitskogo happiness – met you almost every porch. All – a horse, everything – from the horse: the whole life of the peasant, from birth to death. “

Favorite horse Karko, as the hero tells us, worked all the war on the timber fellowship. And on the Victory Day the collective farmers brought down heavy logs on it and sent it to the festive cauldron.

The narrator dressed his pet and other horses with bread and, “putting his hands into the pockets of the fashionable jeans, he moved quickly to the river with a quick, cheeky gait.”

“And what could I say to those poor fellows?” To say that the old mare did not invent anything, that the horses had happy times? “

“All my being, all my ears were turned back to the horses.” I waited, with every nerve I waited, when they would begin to gnaw the bread, with the usual horse-crunch and grunt, cutting grass in the meadow.

Not the slightest sound came from there. And then I suddenly began to realize that I had done something irreparable, terrible, that I had deceived Ryzhukha, deceived all these unfortunate nags, and that I’d never, never again with Ryzhukha, have the sincerity and confidence that was before so far.

And longing, a heavy horse’s melancholy leaned against me, bent to the ground. And soon I myself seemed to myself some ridiculous, obsolete being.

A creature of the same horse breed. “

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Summary “What horses cry about” Abramova