The pantry of the sun Prishvin Michael
In one village, near the Bludov bog, near the city of Pereslavl-Zalesskiy, two children were orphaned. Their mother died of illness, his father died in the Patriotic War. We lived in this village only through one house from children. And of course, we, too, together with other neighbors, tried to help them, than they could. They were very nice.
“Muzhichok in the bag,” like Nastya, was all in gold freckles, and his nose, as clean as his sister’s, looked up. After the parents, all their farming belonged to the children: a five-walled cottage, a cow Zorka, a heifer Daughter, a goat Dereza, nameless sheep, chickens, a golden rooster Petya and a pig Horseradish.
It is very good that Nastya is older than his brother for two years, otherwise he would have become conceited and in friendship they would not have, as now, perfect equality. It happens, and now Mitrasha will remember how his father instructed his mother, and will take it into his head, imitating his
II. Sour and very healthy berries cranberries grow in swamps in the summer, and collect it in late autumn. But not everyone knows that the most-good cranberry, sweet, as we say, happens when it falls under the winter under snow. This spring, snow in thick spruce forests still held and at the end of April, but in marshes there is always much warmer: there was no snow at that time.
Nastya, beginning to gather, hung herself over her shoulder with a large basket on the towel. “Why do you need a towel?” Mitrasha asked. – And how? – answered Nastya. “Do not you remember how Mom went for mushrooms?” ”
I remember,” answered Nastya, “about the cranberries saying that he knows the place and cranberries are there puffing up, but that he was talking about some Palestinian, I do not know. Still I remember, I spoke about the terrible place of Blind Elan *. “There’s a Palestinian near the village,” said Mitrasha. –
After passing
Over the small gnarled Christmas trees and birches gray haze hung a night blanket and silenced all the wonderful sounds of the Call of Borina. Only heard a painful, aching and unhappy howl. “What is it, Mitrasha,” Nastenka asked, shivering, “so terribly howling in the distance?” –
My father said – Mitrasha said – it howl at the dry river wolves, and, probably, it is now the wolf howling Gray landowner. My father said that all the wolves on the Dry River were killed, but it’s impossible to kill Gray. “So why is he scared now?” “My father said that wolves howl in the spring because they have nothing to eat now.” But Gray is still alone, and he howls.
It was very quiet in nature, and the children, cold, were so quiet that the black grouse did not pay any attention to them. He sat at the very top, where a bough of pine and bitches ate formed as a bridge between two trees. Settled on this bridge, for him quite wide, closer to the fir-tree, the stalker seemed to blossom in the rays of the rising sun. On his head, his scallop flared up with a fiery flower.
Motionless hunters for sweet cranberries sat motionless, like statues. The sun, so hot and clean, went out against them over the marsh trees. But there was one cloud in the sky at that time. It appeared as a cold blue arrow and crossed the rising sun in half. At the same time, suddenly the wind jerked again, and then the pine pressed, and the fir growled.
Kra! cried the crow. And the male quickly ran across the bridge the rest of the way to the kosach and with all his strength fucked him. Like a scalded man rushed to the departing grouse, but the angry male caught up with him, tore it, blew a bundle of white and rainbowy feathers and chased and drove away. Then the gray hamor drew close and closed all the sun with its life-giving rays.
It’s been two whole years since the terrible misfortune happened in the life of the Grass: the forester, the old hunter Antipych, died. We have traveled to this Antipych for hunting since ancient times, and the old man, I think, forgot how old he was, lived all his life, lived in his forest lodge, and it seemed that he would never die. “How old are you, Antipych?” we asked. –
The grass turned and went out into the yard. “That’s it, guys,” said Antipitch. “Here is the Grass, the hound dog, understands everything with one word, and you, silly ones, ask where the truth lives.” All right, come. And miss me, Travke, I’ll whisper everything. And so Antipych died. Soon after, the Great Patriotic War began. There was no other guard at the place where Antipych was appointed, and the lodge was abandoned.
The guardhouse of Antipitch was not far from Dry River, where several years ago, at the request of local peasants, our wolf team came. Local hunters have seen that a large wolf brood lived somewhere on the Dry River. We came to help the peasants and began to work on all the rules for combating the predatory beast.
Through the trees the grass broke through, the ivy lianas curled in frequent young aspen trees. And so there was a strong place, or even, we can say in our own way, a hunting wolf fortress. After determining the place where the wolves lived, we walked around him on skis and on a skier, in a circle of three kilometers, we hung on the bushes on the string flags, red and odorous.
The gray landowner became a thunder-storm, and again the peasants came for our wolf team. Five times we tried to fake it, and all five times he waved us through flags. And now, in the early spring, after experiencing the harsh winter in terrible cold and hunger, Gray waited in his lair with impatience, when the real spring finally comes and the village shepherd will sound.
Dry river with a large semicircle around the Bludovo swamp. On one side of the semicircle the dog howls, on the other – the wolf howls. And the wind presses on the trees and carries their howling and moaning, not knowing at all to whom he serves. He does not care who is howling, the tree, the dog is a friend of man, or the wolf is his worst enemy, if only he would howl.
The grass, standing a little, even rose up to its hind legs, like a hare… It was with her once during the lifetime of Antipitch. The forester had a hard job in the woods for the release of firewood. Antipych, so as not to interfere with him Grass, tied her at the house.
The grass returned to the Lying stone, checked the smell of the basket on the stone with what the wind had inflicted. Then she checked the trace of another little man and also a hare’s footprint. One can guess, she thought: “The hare-hare went straight on to the day’s lounging, he was somewhere nearby, near Blind Elani, and lay down all day and will not go anywhere.” And that man with bread and potatoes can leave.
Blind Elan, which led Mitrashu compass, it was the site of perdition, and then on the eyelids lot sucked into the swamp people and more cattle. and, of course, everyone who goes to Bludova swamp, should be good to know what the blind We understand this so that all Bludovo swamp, with all the huge reserves of fuel, peat, is a treasure Vai sun.
The layer under the feet of Mitrasha was getting thinner and thinner, but the plants were probably very tightly intertwined and held the person well, and, rocking and shaking everything away, he kept walking and walking forward. Mitrache could only believe the man who walked ahead of him and left even the path behind him.
Dron-tone! cried the raven from above. And the magpies, who were very clever for every fucking affair, understood the utter impotence of a small man who was immersed in the swamp. They jumped off the top fingers of the Christmas tree on the ground and began their offensive on different sides with leaps.
Who has never seen a cranberry grow, he can go for a very long time in the swamp and not notice that he is on a cranberry. Here to take a berry of a bilberry, – that grows, and you see it: the small stalk is stretched upwards, on a stalk like wings, in different directions green small leaves, and at leaves small berries of a bilberry sit black berries with a blue fluff.
In remote places, where a huge bird is a capercaillie, there is a bush, a red and ruby berry with a brush, and each rubychik is in a green frame. Only we have a single berry cranberry, especially in early spring, hiding in a marsh hummock and almost invisible from above. Only when very much it will gather in one place, you will notice from above and you will think: “Here someone cranberries scattered”.
Frightened by the moose, Nastenka looked in amazement at the snake: the viper still lay curled in a warm ray of sunlight. Nastya imagined that she herself had stayed there, on a stump, and now she had come out of the hide with a snake and was standing, not knowing where she was. A large red-haired dog with a black strap on his back was standing nearby and looking at her. This dog was Grass.
Nesmelo near the recumbent stone on the soothing trees was sharpened by a tapered sharpener. And the cranes shouted three times, not as in the morning – “victory”, but like as if: – Sleep, but remember: we will soon wake you all, wake up, wake you up! The day ended not with a gust of wind, but with the last slight breath. Then there was complete silence, and everywhere it became audible, even as hazel grouses perched in the thickets of the Dry river.
After listening to the gypsy fox, Grasses, just like us hunters, understood the range of the hare’s run: from the Lying stone the hare ran to the Blind Elk and from there to the Dry river, from there for a long time in a semicircle to the Palestinian and again, by all means, to the Lying Stone – and hid here in thick juniper bush.
While the dog was straightening, the hare with huge leaps was already flying along the Mitra’s path directly to the Blind Elan. Then the wolf mode of hunting was not successful: it was impossible to wait until the hare returned to darkness. And the grass with its canine way rushed after the hare and, screaming in a gulp, measured, even doggy bark filled the evening silence.
Magpies on the Blind Elani, hearing the approach of the hare, divided into two parties: one was left with a little man and shouted: “Dry-ty-ti! Others shouted about the hare: – Dragon-ta! It is difficult to understand and guess in this soroca anxiety. To say that they are calling for help – what kind of help is there!
For Travka, all people were like two people – one Antipich with different faces and another person – this is the enemy of Antipitch. And that’s why a good, intelligent dog does not fit right at once to a person, but stops and finds out whether it’s the master or its enemy. So there was Grass and looked into the face of a small man, lit by the last ray of the setting sun.
In a small man, in words, not only friendship and joy was, as Travka thought, but also concealed the cunning plan of his salvation. If he could tell her clearly her plan, with what joy she would rush to save him. But he could not make himself understandable to her and had to deceive her with a kind word.
After a storm of joy from the meeting with Antipych, the business trawl immediately remembered her first gong on the hare. And it is understandable: The grass is a hound dog, and it’s her job to drive for oneself, but for the owner of Antipych to catch the hare is all her happiness. Having found out now in Mitrasz Antipycha, she continued her broken circle and soon got on the exit trail of the harem and on this fresh trail at once went with a voice.
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