Yuri Kazakov - Quiet morning
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Kazakov Yuri Pavlovich
Quiet morning
Yuri Kazakov
Quiet morning
The sleepy roosters had just crowed, it was still dark in the hut, the mother had not milked the cow and the shepherd had not driven the flock out into the meadows, when Yashka woke up.
He sat up in bed and stared for a long time at the bluish sweaty windows and the dimly whitening stove. The pre-dawn sleep is sweet, and his head falls on the pillow, his eyes are stuck together, but Yashka overcame himself, stumbling, clinging to benches and chairs, and began to wander around the hut, looking for old pants and a shirt.
After eating milk and bread, Yashka took fishing rods in the entryway and went out onto the porch. The village was covered with fog, like a big duvet. The nearby houses were still visible, the distant ones were barely visible as dark spots, and even further, towards the river, nothing was visible, and it seemed as if there had never been a windmill on the hill, no fire tower, no school, no forest on the horizon... Everything disappeared , hid now, and the center of the small closed world turned out to be Yashkin’s hut.
Someone woke up before Yashka and was hammering near the forge; and pure metallic sounds, breaking through the veil of fog, reached a large invisible barn and returned from there already weakened. It seemed as if two people were knocking: one louder, the other quieter.
Yashka jumped off the porch, swung his fishing rods at a rooster that had turned up at his feet, and trotted cheerfully toward the barn. At the barn, he pulled out a rusty mower from under the board and began digging the ground. Almost immediately, red and purple cold worms began to appear. Thick and thin, they sank equally quickly into the loose soil, but Yashka still managed to grab them and soon filled up an almost full jar. Having sprinkled fresh earth on the worms, he ran down the path, tumbled over the fence and made his way backwards to the barn, where his new friend Volodya was sleeping in the hayloft.
Yashka put his soil-stained fingers in his mouth and whistled. Then he spat and listened. It was quiet.
- Volodka! - he called. - Get up!
Volodya stirred in the hay, fidgeted and rustled there for a long time, and finally awkwardly climbed down, stepping on his untied shoelaces. His face, wrinkled after sleep, was senseless and motionless, like a blind man’s, hay dust was in his hair, and it apparently got into his shirt, because, standing below, next to Yashka, he kept jerking his thin neck, rolled his shoulders and scratched his back.
- Isn’t it early? - he asked hoarsely, yawned and, swaying, grabbed the stairs with his hand.
Yashka got angry: he got up a whole hour early, dug up worms, brought fishing rods... and to tell the truth, he got up today because of this runt, he wanted to show him the fishing spots - and instead of gratitude and admiration - “early !”
- For some it’s too early, and for some it’s not too early! - he answered angrily and looked Volodya from head to toe with disdain.
Volodya looked out into the street, his face became animated, his eyes sparkled, and he began hastily lacing up his shoes. But for Yashka, all the charm of the morning was already poisoned.
-Are you going to wear boots? — he asked contemptuously and looked at the protruding toe of his bare foot. “Will you wear galoshes?”
Volodya remained silent, blushed and began working on the other shoe.
“Well, yes...” Yashka continued melancholy, placing the fishing rods against the wall. “You probably don’t go barefoot there, in Moscow...”
- So what? “Volodya looked down into Yashka’s wide, mockingly angry face.
- Nothing... Run home, grab your coat...
- Well, I’ll run in! - Volodya answered through gritted teeth and blushed even more.
Yashka got bored. He shouldn't have gotten involved with this whole thing. Why should Kolka and Zhenka Voronkovs be fishermen, and they even admit that there is no better fisherman in the entire collective farm than him. Just take me to the place and show me - they’ll cover you with apples! And this one... came yesterday, polite... “Please, please...” Should I hit him in the neck, or what? It was necessary to contact this Muscovite, who, probably, has never even seen a fish, goes fishing in boots!..
“You should put on a tie,” Yashka said sarcastically and laughed hoarsely. “Our fish get offended when you go near them without a tie.”
Volodya finally managed to take off his boots and, his nostrils quivering with resentment, looking straight ahead with an unseeing gaze, left the barn. He was ready to give up fishing and immediately burst into tears, but he was so looking forward to this morning! Yashka reluctantly followed him, and the guys silently, without looking at each other, walked down the street. They walked through the village, and the fog receded before them, revealing more and more houses, and barns, and a school, and long rows of milky-white farm buildings... Like a stingy owner, he showed all this only for a minute and then closed tightly behind him again .
Volodya suffered severely. He was not angry with himself for his rude answers to Yashka, he was angry with Yashka and seemed awkward and pitiful at that moment. He was ashamed of his awkwardness, and in order to somehow drown out this unpleasant feeling, he thought, becoming embittered: “Okay, let him... Let him mock me, they will still recognize me, I won’t let them laugh! Just think, the importance of going barefoot is great! Imagine what! But at the same time, he looked with open envy and even admiration at Yashka’s bare feet, and at the canvas fish bag, and at the patched trousers and gray shirt worn especially for fishing. He envied Yashka’s tan and his gait, in which his shoulders and shoulder blades and even his ears move, and which many village children consider to be especially chic.
We passed by a well with an old log house overgrown with greenery.
- Stop! - Yashka said gloomily. - Let's drink!
He went up to the well, rattled his chain, pulled out a heavy tub of water and greedily leaned into it. He didn’t want to drink, but he believed that there was nowhere better than this water, and therefore every time he passed by the well, he drank it with great pleasure. The water, overflowing over the edge of the tub, splashed on his bare feet, he tucked them in, but he drank and drank, occasionally breaking away and breathing noisily.
“Here, drink,” he finally said to Volodya, wiping his lips with his sleeve.
Volodya also didn’t want to drink, but in order not to anger Yashka even more, he obediently fell down to the tub and began to take small sips of water until the back of his head ached from the cold.
- How's the water? - Yashka inquired smugly when Volodya walked away from the well.
- Legal! - Volodya responded and shivered.
— I suppose there isn’t one like this in Moscow? - Yashka squinted venomously.
Volodya didn’t answer, he just sucked in air through clenched teeth and smiled reconcilingly.
-Have you caught fish? - Yashka asked.
“No... Only on the Moscow River I saw how they were caught,” Volodya admitted in a fallen voice and timidly looked at Yashka.
This confession softened Yashka somewhat, and he, touching the can of worms, said casually:
- Yesterday our club manager in the Pleshansky bochaga saw a catfish...
Volodya's eyes sparkled.
- Big?
- What did you think? Two meters... Or maybe all three - it was impossible to make out in the darkness. Our club manager was already scared, he thought it was a crocodile. Do not believe?
- You're lying! - Volodya exhaled enthusiastically and shrugged his shoulders; it was clear from his eyes that he believed everything unconditionally.
- I'm lying? - Yashka was amazed. - If you want, let’s go fishing this evening! Well?
- Can i? - Volodya asked hopefully, and his ears turned pink.
“Why…” Yashka spat and wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I have the tackle.” We'll catch frogs, loaches... We'll capture the crawlies - there are still chubs there - and at two dawns! We'll light a fire at night... Will you go?
Volodya felt incredibly cheerful, and only now did he feel how good it was to leave the house in the morning. How nice and easy it is to breathe, how you want to run along this soft road, rush at full speed, jumping and squealing with delight!
Why was that strange sound back there? Who was it that suddenly, as if striking a tight string over and over again, screamed clearly and melodiously in the meadows? Where was it with him? Or maybe it wasn’t? But why then is this feeling of delight and happiness so familiar?
- Why did that crackle so loudly in the field? Motorcycle?” Volodya looked questioningly at Yashka.
- Tractor! - Yashka answered importantly.
- Tractor? But why does it crack?
- It’s starting... It’ll start soon... Listen. Whoa... Did you hear that? Buzzed! Well, now he’ll go... This is Fedya Kostylev - he plowed all night with headlights, slept a little and went again...
Volodya looked in the direction from which the roar of the tractor was heard, and immediately asked:
- Are your fogs always like this?
- Not... when it’s clean. And when it’s later, closer to September, you’ll see that it will hit you with frost. In general, the fish takes it in the fog - have time to carry it!
-What kind of fish do you have?
- Fish? All kinds of fish... And there are crucian carp on the reaches, pike, well, then these... perch, roach, bream... And tench. Do you know tench? Like a pig... So fat! The first time I caught it, my mouth was agape.
- Can you catch a lot?
- Hm... Anything can happen. Another time it was five kilos, and another time it was only... for a cat.
-What's that whistling sound? - Volodya stopped, raising his head
- This? These are ducks flying... Teals.
- Yeah... I know. And what's that?
- The blackbirds are ringing... They flew to Aunt Nastya’s garden on the rowan tree. When did you catch blackbirds?
- I’ve never caught...
- Mishka Kayunenka has a net, just wait, let's go catch it. They, thrushes, are greedy... They fly through the fields in flocks, taking worms from under the tractor. Stretch the net, throw in rowan berries, hide and wait. As soon as they fly, about five of them will immediately crawl under the net... They are funny... Not all of them, really, but there are smart ones... I had one all winter, he could do it in every way: both as a steam locomotive and as a saw.
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The gist: what is the story about?
A village boy named Yashka wakes up at dawn to get ready to go fishing with a new friend. He quickly has breakfast with bread and milk, collects worms for bait and goes to wake up his partner. He greets his friend with dissatisfaction - in Moscow he doesn’t get up so early. Yashka is offended by the unhappy reception and vents his anger with caustic remarks.
Finally, they reach the river. It rarely bites, but the fish cannot be brought to shore. Yashka gets angry again, mentally blaming his inexperienced comrade for all the failures. Suddenly a large bream clings to the hook, and this time the catch falls into the hands of young fishermen. But then Volodya almost loses his fishing rod and, trying to get it out of the water, drowns himself. After thinking briefly about whether to call for help, Yashka nevertheless dives after him, as he understands that he will not have time to run after the adults.
Twice he tries to pull out the unlucky Volodya, almost gives up, but in the end, both end up on the shore, where they make peace and rejoice at the happy outcome. A detailed summary with feedback for the reader's diary can be found here.
