Lavrenev Boris. Forty-first

Lavrenev B. - FORTY-FIRST (radio play)

A detachment of Red Army soldiers is moving across the white sands of Central Asia. The best shooter of Maryutka’s detachment has forty killed White Guards to his combat account. In the last shootout, Lieutenant Govorukha-Otrok was captured. He will become forty-first on her track record when they are left alone in the space of sand, sky, sea
and difficult feelings. The sudden and fleeting love of a white officer and the “red sniper” Maryutka, the selfless devotion to the revolution of the red commander Vasily Gulyavin, a sincere attempt to understand new government former General Adamov, the desperate determination of “Comrade Anna,” the daughter of a military officer, to save her beloved brother who ended up in the Volunteer Army - all this is the essence of the tragedy of the greatest power in the world, Russia! Boris Andreevich Lavrenev (1891-1959) entered the annals of Russian literature as a revolutionary romantic.

Director: Vera Grigorievna Dubovskaya;

In the role of Maryutka - Inna Churikova;
in other roles: Alexey Eibozhenko, Georgy Taratorkin, Evgeny Fedorov;

Boris Andreevich Lavrenev ( real name- Sergeev) was born on July 17 (July 5, old style) in Kherson, in the family of a literature teacher. Elementary education received at the 1st Kherson men's gymnasium. IN early years tried himself as an artist and as a writer, published first in Kherson, then in Moscow magazines. The pseudonym "Lavrenev" first appeared in 1912, when the young poet, at that time a student at the Faculty of Law at Moscow University, published his poems in the symbolist almanac "Harvest." In 1913, he joined the Futurists and was close to the group of poets “Mezzanine of Poetry” (Vadim Shershenevich, Sergei Tretyakov, Lev Zak, Konstantin Bolshakov). At the height of the First World War he was mobilized to the front. After October revolution from 1918 to 1921 he served in the Red Army, participated in the Civil War, and took part in military operations in Turkestan.

Later he worked as a prose writer. His works of the twenties, such as the stories “Wind”, “Star Color”, “Forty-First” (all - 1924), “The Story of a Simple Thing” (1927) and the hugely successful play “Break” (1928) were dedicated to the events revolution and civil war. One of the main issues for the writer at this time is the topic of the intelligentsia and its place in the era of global social upheaval and in the emerging new world. This theme was most vividly embodied in “The Fault” and the story “The Seventh Sputnik” (1927), the heroes of which, breaking with the past, went over to the side of the Soviet regime. His plays “Enemies” (1929) and “We Will Live” (1930) were also devoted to the same problem.
Died in Moscow on January 7, 1959.

The story received its first film adaptation just three years later - in 1927. It was directed by one of the most outstanding filmmakers of the USSR and pioneers of world cinema, 46-year-old Yakov Protazanov, who by that time had already directed more than a hundred films (his career began in 1909). He returned from emigration three years ago and has already consolidated his authority in his new place with “Aelita” and “Cutter from Torzhok”. The main roles in his new film were played by young, aspiring actors Ada Wojcik and Ivan Koval-Samborsky (the latter, by the way, himself participated in the battles for Bukhara in the ranks of the Red Army several years earlier). The script for the film was written by the author of the story himself.

The second film adaptation in 1956 was filmed according to the script of Grigory Koltunov, but to a greater extent the result was determined by the director, Grigory Chukhrai (there was a conflict between the screenwriter and the director; the director wrote his own version of the script). “The Forty-First” became Chukhrai’s first independent film (although it should be noted that Romm flew to the set several times), who at the time he began working on the film was a young director who had gone through the Great Patriotic War. Even more vivid were its events in the memory of the veteran paratrooper; he was greatly impressed by the capture of a large group of Germans, when he saw with his own eyes those with whom he had fought so much, and... was unable to experience the burning hatred that he expected from himself. Chukhrai belonged to the generation that went through the most terrible war in the history of mankind, and did not lose faith in people. On the contrary, life for them became main value. Therefore, he measured the events of the Civil War by the experience of the world, for which, even at the stage of agreeing on the script, he received a wave of criticism from filmmakers of the older generation, the generation of the Civil War, who did not agree with such interpretations (he was recommended not to touch those he did not know, but rather to make a film about Great Patriotic War). Nevertheless, he pushed through the script (largely thanks to the protectionism of Ivan Pyryev), and the film with a distinctly humanistic message went into production, and Europe, which had exactly the same sentiments, greeted the film warmly: at Cannes “The Forty-First” received a special prize - “For the original script, humanism and romance” (it is doubly strange that some of our contemporaries do not notice this humanism and fiercely criticize Chukhrai for the lack of it). By the way, an interesting transcript of the film’s discussion by the artistic council has been preserved. In short, eminent directors, who were initially skeptical of the script, recognized the film as very successful (better than a good one from Protazanov), Chukhrai - promising, Urusevsky - a slightly carried away genius, who played the role of Lieutenant Strizhenov - talented, who played the role of Maryutka Izolda Izvitskaya - not corresponding to the complexity of the role (the verdict of the actors was challenged only by Pyryev himself), the ending was blurry. And, frankly speaking, there is nothing special to cover them with.

So, our film adaptations. Doug Walker has a technique that I like to compare the old and the new “component by component”: the main characters, minor characters, plot, etc. This is probably more correct when it is necessary to identify the “winner”. But in this case, I am not eager to show blasphemy and compare in absolute categories the two mastodons of Soviet cinema - Chukhrai and Protazanov. I'm more interested in their interpretation of the story, how they worked with specific scenes and what they put into them. So let's just go through storyline, addressing two films simultaneously and revealing noticeable differences, even to the point of being opposites (this " artistic retelling"is replete with spoilers, so I ask those unfamiliar with any of the three works to refrain from further reading!). I must make a reservation that the differences are primarily caused by the individual vision of the two outstanding directors. But with my research I still want to arouse in the reader suspicions that in how this vision took shape, and how warmly each of them was received by contemporaries, was influenced by the experience before and after the Great Patriotic War, which significantly changed the worldview of people, and the inevitable mythologization of the past becoming distant. We should not discount other factors, such as the political situation, serious changes in the level of education, the development of cinema, etc., although I personally think their role is less significant.

The first significant difference awaits us at the very beginning. Lavrenev’s first chapter, in which he introduces the reader to the characters and tells how the remnants of Evsyukov’s detachment broke out of encirclement and went into the heart of the deadly desert, was characterized by the author himself as “written solely out of necessity” and “completely superfluous in the story.” Therefore, Chukhrai with a clear conscience threw out the distracting action, introducing the characters in a voice-over on the way through the sands. Protazanov succumbed to the temptation to demonstrate his extraordinary abilities in a rather lengthy battle scene, where a detachment of mounted Red Army soldiers, under the cover of an abandoned machine gun (filmed from three different angles), breaks out of the ring of relaxed adversaries. Protazanov is good at dynamics, an excellent find is the close-up photography of the hooves of rushing horses.
The detachment wanders through the desert, the first stop at which a decision is made on further actions. There is unrest in the detachment, people have lost heart, there is little hope for a successful outcome. Protazanov creatively approached the dialogue scene (he was forced to shackle the dialogue), escalating the conflict: due to an oversight, the camels break the jugs with the last water, one of the fighters shouts in despair at Evsyukov, the rest silently support him. The Commissioner is having great difficulty restoring order, the situation in the detachment is tense to the limit and threatens to erupt into scandal again. In the scene of the first halt, Chukhrai stayed closer to the original source, but softened the tone of the dialogues - Evsyukov’s people are simply tired, lost in spirit, but the authority of the commander remains unquestioned, the commissar energetically encourages the people. By the way, Chukhrai’s Evsyukov is much older and more confident, speaks weightily, with authority, and is generally more charismatic than his counterpart from Protazanov’s film (well, Kryuchkov, of course). It is worth mentioning separately that both directors embellished the image of the commissioner, because in the original source, he was short, round, similar to an Easter egg, and his voice in moments of crisis broke into a woman’s voice. The selection of extras for the Red Army detachment is characteristic. Protazanov’s physiognomies, frankly speaking, are gangster-like, but Chukhrai’s, of course, couldn’t be like that anymore - soldiers are like soldiers, overgrown and grimy, but with stern determination in their eyes. It is curious that the Magyar who once pestered Maryutka was replaced by Chukhrai with a Red Navy man, and Protazanov was completely excluded from the plot. Chukhrai also diluted the squad with a purely positive Kazakh guy, who was absent from the original source.

Of course, Protazanov did not have the technology like Chukhrai, much less the “Soviet Lyubetsky” - Sergei Urusevsky. But he actively uses meaningful details shown in close-up, noticing and unraveling the meaning of which gives special pleasure to the viewer. He designated the disastrous desert simply but succinctly - a vulture. However, the desert in Chukhrai’s film is simply incomparable, and Urusevsky is a real god of the camera, every frame of which begs to be put on canvas. However, he was criticized for idealizing the desert (they say that the viewer is crazy about the beauty and cannot perceive it as dangerous).

The attack on the caravan is the first plot-significant scene. Here we meet Lieutenant Govorukha, whom Maryutka misses ("the lieutenant remained in the world as an extra figure in the account of living souls"). It is curious that in the 1927 film the lieutenant is not the most pleasant guy, in addition, it was he who initiated the armed resistance and shot several attackers in cold blood. The lieutenant was captured by force in a desperate fight, and then humiliatingly ridiculed by his victors. In Chukhrai's film, Oleg Strizhenov simply pours nobility onto the viewer from the screen. He didn’t start the firing, but he stopped it, throwing out the white flag and calmly walking out to meet the Red Army soldiers. Let me remind you that the very concept of an officer was perceived differently at the time of these film adaptations. During the civil war (and Protazanov shot his film long before it died down last fights) it was practically a curse; an officer meant a servant of the regime and a despot who calmly resorted to violence. The Great Patriotic War brought back the association of the officer with honor, valor and dignity.

The scene following the fight contains one of the key differences between Protazanov’s and Chukhrai’s productions, and I would like to draw the reader’s attention to it. Evsyukov’s hungry and brutal people, in Protazanov’s interpretation, are engaged in the most natural robbery. They attack watermelons and jugs, roughly pushing away the drivers, trying on the shoes of the dead, and, in principle, at this moment they present a repulsive sight. Evsyukov behaves more decently, as befits a commander and an experienced warrior, but does not interfere with what is happening, listening with indifference to the complaints of the caravan workers. Based on fresh traces of events that have not yet acquired heroic status in the mass consciousness, romantic halo It was easier for Protazanov to shoot naturalistically, showing people as they are. Chukhrai depicts the scene of expropriation completely differently, and personally I am not inclined to look for the iron hand of censorship here. It’s just that the events of the Civil War over the years have acquired their own mythology, historical tradition in interpretation, and the experience of the Great Patriotic War suggested to Chukhrai a completely different vision of the relationship between the civilian population and combatants. Of course, no idealism can be portrayed here - the caravan is still being robbed. But Chukhrai skillfully uses conflict to reveal characters. People on both sides are depressed by what is happening (especially that same Kazakh Red Army soldier), Evsyukov himself is burdened by the conversation with the caravan driver and, it seems, is doing everything to calm him down. Chukhrai did not sweeten the pill - the caravan workers (despite what will happen soon) evoke pity in the viewer.

Evsyukov’s conversation with the lieutenant was, of course, also filmed in radically different ways. Here Strizhenov stands with dignity and even some disdain - with his back to the commissar. And only after hearing his last name does he finally show a keen interest - not without irony, but also quite respectfully. He doesn’t even look at the gun pointed at him, is not afraid of threats, and in general corresponds in every possible way to the modern stereotype of the white officer that we are treated to from the screens (and wasn’t he the one who created this stereotype?)

Govorukha in the silent film adaptation does not hide hatred and contempt. However, when talking with the commissioner, he decides to change tactics and begins to talk to him like a man, on equal terms, sitting down opposite his interrogator and even mirroring his pose. Such a circus naturally confuses the subdued Red Army soldiers, and Evsyukov himself seemed at a loss.

Before the further campaign, Evsyukov entrusts the supervision of the prisoner to Maryutka. The relationship between the prisoner and the guard in the desert develops curiously. Protazanov’s Maryutka, who until recently had looked at the officer as if he were a lucky animal who would still have to trample the ground a little, already at the next stop becomes imbued with some sympathy, bringing a mug of water and kindly looking at him from the back until he turned around. The main thing for her is to keep her sympathy for the officer a secret from him - for the safety of the case. Maryutka, played by Izolda Izvitskaya, from the very beginning shows clearly exaggerated severity towards the lieutenant, pushing him and every now and then swinging her butt unnecessarily. It seems that the main thing for her is to keep her sympathy a secret from herself. In Chukhrai, the lieutenant behaves with Maryutka with emphatic respect, even if the situation amuses him, but in this grin one does not feel either disdain or superiority. The Protazanovsky officer openly and smugly makes fun of Maryutka.

At the next overnight stop, a disaster happens: the sentry falls asleep, all the camels are taken away by the caravan guards, leaving the Red Army soldiers with virtually no hope of survival. By the standards of wartime (regardless of the historical and political context of the era), the sentry’s offense is more than a serious offense, and the most severe punishment will be neither surprising nor reprehensible. In Protazanov’s film, the sentry is pitiful and ugly, crying and begging for mercy, provoking the contempt of the viewer and the anger of Evsyukov and his comrades. Having beaten him fairly, they leave him alive, depriving him of rations (by the way, he remains deprived of it in the story and in both film adaptations). At Chukhrai's, the sentry falls asleep and sees in a dream a peaceful life, a village somewhere in central Russia, and when he wakes up, he discovers not only the absence of camels, but also the corpse of one of his more vigilant comrades. The director is filled with pity for the unfortunate man, and this pity is naturally transmitted to the viewer. Horror and bitter remorse are completely different emotions of the sentry after waking up; he does not think about the safety of his life and the retribution of his comrades. By the way, no one even thinks of beating him: in strict silence, the Red Army soldiers follow with their gaze the hunched figure separated from them, collapsing on the sand in helpless despair.

At the next halt at Protazanov, the lieutenant is almost killed by the Red Army soldiers, crazy from the need to feed the prisoner, and Maryutka has to recapture him. And then the not-too-repentant guilty guard will look with undisguised anger and envy at the lieutenant, delicately crushing the rations that could have been his. The White Guard shows slightly dismissive condescension and shares a crust of bread with the punished. The soldier pounces on a piece, but, noticing the lieutenant’s grin, he throws the bread in his face with hatred. Chukhrai did not allow such an aggressive confrontation: Commissar Evsyukov showed humanity by returning to the figure who was keeping a respectful distance from the detachment and violating the order he himself had recently announced. Chukhrai's commissar is clearly a more independent, authoritative and influential character, corresponding to the director's ideas about the commander.

What follows is a long march and the death, one after another, of most of the detachment, which, for obvious reasons, again turned out to be more expressive in Chukhrai. One more small observation: in Protazanov’s film adaptation, all members of the detachment, including Maryutka and Govorukha, pass by the helplessly fallen soldier, one after another, deigning the unfortunate man with only a short and almost indifferent glance. And only the commissar stops and in grief hugs the head of the still living doomed man. In Chukhrai’s version, in a similar scene, everyone moved towards the fallen man, including the lieutenant.

However, it’s time for us to move on to the life-saving exit to the fishing village. In Protazanov's version, the fighters cry and hug each other when they meet a flock of sheep. Chukhrai turned out to be more romantic, and arranged for them to have a date with the soft surf of the Aral Sea (the film is a real monument to the sea, which will begin to disappear in the next decade). In the village itself, Protazanov glimpses a scene that is very important for understanding Maryutka. Entering one of the yurts, she looks at the hanging cradle with tenderness and even comes up to rock it a little. The condition for Maryutka’s entry into the army was her refusal from civilian life and childbearing until the end of the war, she even gave a receipt for this, and this character takes obligations and debt very seriously, fearing to give rise to ridicule from male comrades. Protazanov, much earlier than Lavrenev and Protazanov, reveals femininity in Maryutka and makes it clear that maternal instincts have awakened in the girl, she has some kind of future after the war, to which she is drawn. Accordingly, the feeling for the ward lieutenant is to some extent instinctive; someone else could have taken his place. But in Chukhrai’s version, the lieutenant flirts with a local girl named Altynai, which causes an attack of jealousy in Maryutka, again hidden under manly rudeness. His Maryutka has already “fell” on the lieutenant, and this is precisely a personal attachment.

The scene with poetry is played very well in both film adaptations - the lieutenant learns about the pitiful poetic efforts of his escort, but instead of disdain, he unexpectedly (even for himself) looks at Maryutka differently and is imbued with sympathy for her, paying attention to her as a person. And the offer to evaluate and help creates the first serious bridge in their relationship. I didn't see any significant difference in the interpretation of the scene.

Let's get on the boat already. Protazanov's version is strangely crumpled in this place, and rough editing suggests that some of the material was simply lost. In general, he doesn’t have a voyage as such, there is only the unloading of the surviving lieutenant and his escort onto the island, and Maryutka’s bookish vigor is not felt here: here the officer actively carries heavy loads, and even pulls his exhausted girlfriend out of the water and leads her to the shore. Chukhrai makes strange amendments to Lavrenev’s text at first glance, but they definitely made sense for him. From this moment on, the lines of Maryutka and Govorukha, which were important for revealing the characters, are greatly cut off. Lavrenev’s lieutenant continually reveals his erudition and thereby evokes respect in his interlocutor, while at the same time showing neither arrogance nor complacency. Maryutka regrets the frivolity of Govorukha, who does not seem to realize that he is being taken to slaughter (Chukhrai actually gave these thoughts to one of the sailors), demonstrates his experience and confidence in the man’s seafaring craft, and in a storm generally shows composure, courage and leadership qualities, actively issuing commands. Why were these character qualities not so important to Chukhrai? By this time, Maryutka’s bright masculinity began to reveal a certain comedy, which the director apparently wanted to avoid. After the shipwreck, he rather abruptly begins to develop the film as a melodrama, apparently, which is how he initially conceived it. And the heroes of a melodrama should be equal and balanced. Well, in this genre gender certainty is still desirable. At least, that’s how I see the director’s logic.

By the way, in Protazanov’s version the last 20 minutes of the film are devoted to the island, which is why this solid and important piece seems somewhat crumpled. And Chukhrai’s second half is just beginning, and admittedly, it was much more successful than the first (the actors, director and cameraman finally worked together, and besides, there were no difficult conditions of hasty filming in the winter desert and in the rarely stormy Aral Sea). As I already said, Chukhrai is interested in romantic relationships between the characters, and in my opinion he still does it too abruptly. It is clear that we are simply releasing a whole week when Maryutka was nursing the unconscious Govorukha, and her feelings for her ward were somehow developing all this time (there are few things that bind you to a person so strongly as disinterested care for him). But still, where has Maryutka’s rudeness gone, why is there so much tenderness and femininity in her? Isolda Izvitskaya, having gotten rid of rough clothes, a hat, a sword belt and a rifle, with her hair flowing (and makeup!) and her near-model appearance becoming obvious to the viewer, certainly looks like a girl in love (jumping along the shore with bowler hats), but there is no soldier or fisherman in her anymore almost not. And Lavrenev had it. Perhaps here we can also remember the complaints against the actress, but the director directs the actor. The question of interpretation here is very important (along with the episodes I noted in the fishing village), because this is the background for the denouement on which its interpretations are based. Well, Chukhrai decided so, we’ll see what comes of it.

Izvitskaya's main problem is... Ada Wojcik. Because she was able to get into the melodrama, and into the soldiery, and into the ending, and she did it extremely organically and, I would even say, impressively. Well known to modern audiences for her sound roles (mostly small ones) at the age of over 40, in her youth she was, perhaps, not as spectacular in the philistine sense as her follower, but - hmm-hmm-hmm - it’s really nothing. The shirt and loose hair transformed her in the same way into a real woman, without killing the impression of a character “from the people”: she carries Govorukha on her dark shoulders, and all their simple life and the storm of passions that erupted in her soul. Protazanov did not need to shift the emphasis to the passive lieutenant, and Wojcik carried out several very important close-ups more than adequately (the last one is simply stunning, but more on that later).

So, what was so important that Protazanov highlighted in his 20 island minutes? Some believe that sound marked the end of the true art of cinema, spoiling directors with additional visual aids and allowing text to explain what had previously been solved by visual images. When you watch silent films by directors like Protazanov, you understand: there is something in such a position. In just 3-4 scenes he depicted this love story, albeit fluently, but very naturally and sensually. And in each of these key scenes there is character development, psychological significance. Maryutka is forced to look after the hot lieutenant by his official duty and human mercy. But allowing herself to be held back by Govorukha, who grabbed her in oblivion, she sacrificed the boiled and runaway stew - thereby symbolically giving vent to her own boiling feelings. She realized her sympathy and came to terms with it, and along with anxiety she found the happiness of certainty of spiritual impulses.

Meanwhile, an idyll reigns on the island. And the openly frank Govorukha destroys it, voicing his desire to give up everything and lock himself with Maryutka at the dacha in Sukhumi. Maryutka stuns him with her continued loyalty to principles and the triumph of the public over the private, and the quarrel that breaks out results in a loud slap to the lieutenant. For Lavrenev, the conflict (as often happens in life) remained unresolved and for the time being died out. However, just before the denouement, the lieutenant nevertheless admitted that Maryutka was right and is ready to return to the fight - without changing sides, however, but by doing this he returns the girl’s respect. For Protazanov, Maryutka is the one who is most worried about what happened, and she is unsuccessfully looking for contact. In general, in this scene there are again many small telling details, and it is pointless to list them all. Protazanov’s general meaning is that Maryutka regrets the disturbed balance, and no principles will make her forget about the happiness that turned out to be overshadowed by an unsuccessful conversation. But with Chukhrai, Maryutka shows her strength and integrity here, and outwardly it is the lieutenant who is most burdened by the quarrel. To the delight of the fair sex viewers, the lieutenant is unjustifiably rude (but not enough to destroy the romantic aura), is comical in his attempt to cut the fish himself, unsuccessfully tries to apologize, but cannot break through Masha’s pride. Pride, however, turns out to be feigned, and hearing muffled sobs behind the wall, Govorukha rushes to her friend. Chukhrai was most concerned about the personal relationships of the characters, so he did not allow the conflict to freeze: the characters still explain themselves to each other, everything ends very emotionally and well. By the way, Govorukha Strizhenova displays a sentimentality unusual in other interpretations, and the sincerity of his feelings raises the least doubt.

And here is the ending (at the beginning we agreed that you know the plot, although the main spoiler is in the title itself). Lavrenev has a highly artistic description of the death of the lieutenant (“Suddenly, behind him, he heard a deafening, solemn roar of the planet dying in fire and storm. Before he could understand why, he jumped to the side, fleeing the disaster, and this roar of the death of the world was the last earthly sound for him.”) ends with a picture, harsh in its naturalism, of an eye knocked out of a disfigured skull and stained with blood, howling over Maryutka’s lover. Main question: why did this happen? The simplest interpretation (which, of course, does not suit us): Maryutka’s sincere convictions and her military consciousness. In some way, Lavrenev also leads to this conclusion, reminding Maryutka and the reader of Evsyukov’s order not to hand over a prisoner to the enemy (by the way, someone reproached Chukhrai for not making such a flashback in his finale). However, her inconsolable grief and repentance speaks of the impulsiveness of the act (I don’t believe that she would have been able to shoot point-blank if the lieutenant had remained nearby), in which some more subtle factors also played a role, such as the paternalism of Evsyukov, for whom Maryutka had deep personal respect , as well as Maryutka’s discipline precisely because of her special position, the desire to prove her professional suitability in absolutely everything. On the other hand, the impulsiveness of her action could be determined precisely by the heroine’s feelings: the sudden awareness of the end of the idyll, the feeling of loss and, superimposed on all this, the apparent indifference of Govorukha joyfully jumping along the beach to her fate (he didn’t even turn an ear to her screams). But Masha will not hide her convictions, and the likelihood of her being expelled is very, very high.

There is also such a moment. We are confident in Maryutka’s sincerity, but we have certain doubts about the lieutenant (however, we remember that Chukhrai tried to get rid of the ambiguity): what was in his feelings for the girl besides the feeling of gratitude for saving his life (he talks about this indecently often, I would shot for this and without any boat with the White Guards) and natural attraction to the opposite sex in conditions of autonomous existence? In Protazanov’s film, the lieutenant does not shine with sentimentality (as in the story), and Maryutka answered the White Guard’s question, which sounded as if from some other universe as part of idle curiosity: who did you just spank, mademoiselle? - her face changes several times (that amazing performance by Wojcik that I was talking about), and an epaulette appears in her memory, and other, much more complex and ambiguous emotions appear through her tears. That is, Protazanov’s sequence is the opposite, and Maryutka only thought about the fact that she shot the enemy now. However, this conscious cruel thought crumbles the entire lyric and becomes decisive, and - my God! - It’s better not to look into the girl’s dark heart at this moment.

Almost everyone blamed Chukhrai for the ending - for underplaying Izvitskaya, for focusing on the lieutenant instead of Maryutka, for a melodramatic interpretation instead of an ideological one. Chukhrai admitted that the actress simply couldn’t pull off the finale. True, the emphasis on the lieutenant, seemingly justified by Izvitskaya’s reproach, could also have been caused by the desire to emphasize the tragedy of the denouement, which was entirely consistent with the artistic intent. Chukhrai portrays two people who are sincerely in love and delivers a pathetic Shakespearean ending with motifs of inexorable fate, the wind of time that destroys human destinies.

Let's summarize. Lavrenev’s story differs from both film adaptations in its greater cruelty and rudeness, understandable for a veteran of two wars (and for literary work unlike the cinematic one), and somewhat greater attention to the lieutenant, whose character, although passive compared to Maryutka, is written much more deeply (in a way, we see the story through his eyes). Chukhrai uses the plot to make a humanistic statement, and for this he emphasizes the natural love between the characters, trying to align and empower them big feelings- sometimes to the detriment of psychologism. The acting style of the 1950s also leaves a certain imprint. (slightly exaggerated feelings were in the order of things in Hollywood films that era). It seems that the main goal of Chukhrai’s film is to ensure that the viewer is guaranteed to shed tears when the inscription “The End” appears and leaves the screening with longing in his heart. Protazanov handles the material more boldly, is not shy about ambiguity and, quite in the manner of breakthrough cinema of the 1920s, sharpens the edges of the conflict, delving into its psychological and external causes. He does not consider the denouement a fatal accident; in the spirit of the times, he glorifies destructive heroism (and not the contemplative one characteristic of post-war authors).

I didn’t want to compare in absolute categories, but I was still taken by a subjective position. Perhaps, if we leave Urusevsky's foppish filming out of the equation (tell me who needs to be killed for Krupnyy Plan to start releasing his films on BluRay), the 1927 film is more cinematic. Experienced Protazanov clearly knows what he is doing, almost every frame, every small detail works for his plan, but in the era of early cinema, not a single close-up can be accidental. At the same time, he has the tact not to impose his opinion on the viewer, but to leave him immersed in his thoughts after the film. Chukhrai is more obvious, predictable, his picture came out more genre, poetic, but for me this is not a minus. Being a person not devoid of sentimentality, I was imbued with his story, and I definitely liked the Strizhenov-Izvitskaya couple. The story has come to an end, and it’s even a pity to part with the characters, especially on such a sad note. Therefore, as a farewell, once again Robinson and the “beautiful Amazon” Friday.

Lavrenev B., Forty-first.
Civil War. After the battle with the whites, only the crimson commissar Evsyukov (crimson because of the color of his jacket and face), twenty-three and Maryutka remained alive. They broke through the front, but found themselves alone in the cold desert. A few camels, some food - that's all the Red Army soldiers had.
“The special one among them was Maryutka. The plump fishing orphan Maryutka... From the age of seven, for twelve years, she sat astride a bench greasy with fish guts, in stiff canvas pants, ripping open the silver-slippery bellies of herring with a knife.” When the Civil War broke out, she voluntarily went to fight for the Reds.
“Maryutka is a thin coastal reed, she braids her red braids like a wreath under a Tekin brown hat, and Maryutka’s eyes are crazy, slanted, with a yellow cat’s fire.” She is a dreamy girl who writes mediocre, but from the heart, poetry. They are not accepted for publication, but she persistently writes new ones. If her poems were not good, then Maryutka fired without a miss, “and said every time: “Thirty-ninth, fish cholera. Forty, fish cholera.”
Such was Maryutka, walking along with twenty-three and Evsyukov through the cold desert. The transition was difficult, food was running out, and morale was fading more and more. At the council it was decided to go to the Aral Sea, to the Kyrgyz lands. The next morning, Maryutka woke up Evsyukov - she found out that a caravan was passing nearby. The commissioner raises the people, and they go towards the Kyrgyz caravan. As they approached, they were fired upon - there were several White Guards among the merchants. But the caravan was captured by the Reds. One of the whites surrendered - it was Lieutenant Govorukha-Otrok, who was supposed to convey an important report to the white headquarters. Maryutka shot at him, but missed. The 41st survived.
Maryutka was entrusted with guarding the prisoner. She tied him up and tied the rope to her. The Kyrgyz stole the camels from the Reds, so they continued their further journey on foot. Cold and hunger depleted people's strength. But they were able to reach the Kyrgyz lands.
There the Reds were received, fed, and given a rest. Maryutka discussed her poems with the lieutenant. Evsyukov learned that the boat had washed ashore. He decides to send the prisoner, Maryutka and two other Red Army soldiers to headquarters. While sailing, a storm washes the boat ashore on a small fishing island. Maryutka’s comrades die, She and Govorukha-Youth manage to escape. To hide from the thunderstorm, they hide in one of the fish sheds. At night the boat is carried out to sea. The lieutenant falls ill. Maryutka is nursing him. At this time, tender feelings begin to flow through her. When Govorukha-Youth finally recovers, they move to another barn, where Maryutka found small supplies of flour left by the owners. There they remained, waiting for spring, when ships would begin sailing along the Aral Sea and rescue them. Maryutka’s feelings for the lieutenant are growing stronger; he also fell in love with her for her simplicity and sincerity. Every evening, the Youth Govorukha tells the girls stories that he once read. He says he's tired and doesn't want to fight anymore. The lieutenant invites Maryutka to drop everything and leave with him. But the girl firmly believes that she must help bring about the proletarian revolution. She is for the victory of the Reds. Maryutka is outraged by the conformist attitude of Govorukha-Youth to the events taking place in the country: “Others are plowing up the ground for new land, and you? What a son of a bitch!”
“The lieutenant and Maryutka did not speak for three days after the quarrel.” But still, he admitted that the girl was right: “You’ve grown wiser, my dear! You’ve grown wiser! Thank you - I taught you! If we now sit down to the books and leave you the land for complete ownership, you will do such a thing on it that five generations will howl with tears of blood. No, You’re a fool, my dear. Once culture is against culture, then it’s all over...”
At this moment a ship appears on the horizon. But their saviors were whites. Maryutka strictly remembered Evsyukov’s order: “If you accidentally run into white people, don’t give up alive.”
She shoots the lieutenant.
“The lieutenant fell headlong into the water. Red streams from the crushed skull dispersed in the oily glass.
Maryutka stepped forward and bent down. With a scream, she tore the tunic on her chest, dropping the rifle.
In the water, on a pink thread of nerve, an eye knocked out of its socket swayed. The ball, blue as the sea, looked at her in bewilderment and pity.
She splashed her knees into the water, tried to raise her dead, mutilated head and suddenly fell on the corpse, thrashing, staining her face in crimson clots, and howled in a low, oppressive howl:
- My dear! What have I done? Wake up, my sick one! Sinegla-azenky!
Stunned people looked on from the longboat crashing into the sand."

Sections: Literature

Lesson epigraph:

I can't forget anything.
Sizzling years!
Is there madness in you, is there hope?
From the days of war, from the days of freedom
There is a bloody glow in the faces.

Music is playing (Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons"). The candle is lit. Poems read:

We are children of the terrible days of Russia -
I can't forget anything.
Sizzling years!
Is there madness in you, is there hope?
From the days of war, from the days of freedom
There is a bloody glow in the faces.

Love and duty
Dignity and honor
There are so many concepts
You can't count them all.

But then she came
Civil War,
And there is no longer a clue
No honor, no kindness.

Here principles are more important
Human life.
Ideas of brotherhood, equality
Bathing in blood.
This has been the case for centuries.

And there is no love, no beauty, no goodness,
While the civil war is going on.
You are not my friend, not my brother -
Comrade in arms.
And we have no more happiness,
Than a whirlwind of a combat attack.

And only then, when we have finished the world in blood,
Then, then,
We'll wash ourselves off
And for some reason you are surprised
That we have neither honor nor love,
And that our descendants will not understand our ideas
And we will be recorded as executioners.

Teacher: Today we will turn to one of the most striking works of the 20s of the XX century about civil war– to the story “The Forty-First” by Boris Lavrenev. I would like that in our lesson we not only get to know each other and try to analyze this work, but also try, through the writer’s word, to understand the tragedy of this time, the tragedy of love.

A word about the writer

(Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata plays)

2 students: Let's take you back many years, to the distant spring of 1957. Evening. Apartment in the center of Moscow. The owner will be back soon, but for now let's look around. Antique – Pavlovsk – armchairs and sofa. On the walls are miniatures of court beauties in elegant frames; sketches, landscapes, portraits by modern brushes. There is a piano, above it there is an amazing portrait of Peter I - it looks like it is from the 18th century. Who lives here? Artist? Historian? But in this case, why and where is there a small copy of the Odessa port lighthouse, a ship bell? There is a portable typewriter on the table. Journalist? Writer?

Yes, he is an artist, a historian, a sailor, and above all this is a writer, Boris Andreevich Lavrenev.

He did not enter literature - he burst in, striking everyone, causing the ardent commitment of some, the indignation of others, leaving no one indifferent.

He himself, the years of his youth become history. Lavrenev wrote: “I was lucky enough to live in an era of great social changes, to observe the collapse of the old world and the birth of a new one. Remembering what I experienced, I always repeat the wonderful lines of Tyutchev:

"Blessed is he who has visited this world
In fatal moments."

I will always love the revolution. Everything seen and experienced was retained in memory and came into a coherent system.”

If Boris Sergeev had not escaped to Odessa (Sergeev is the writer’s real surname, Lavrenev is a pseudonym, the surname of one of his relatives), there would have been no service on the ship, no wanderings, no participation (after graduating from university) in hostilities, and there would have been no writer Lavrenev .

Out of times, windy and bloody, joyful and tragic, a writing program grew. "Literature should be short, clear, believable. Literature should excite and captivate. Read voraciously."

Teacher: Have you read it voraciously? Have you been captivated by Lavrenev’s story? What is your first impression of the work?

How does the piece begin? What time is it?

- “And the time has come, loud, vague, leathery.” A detachment of Red Commissar Evsyukov is walking along the yellow sands of Turkestan. The squad was defeated, hungry, and frozen. “In total, the crimson Evsyukov, twenty-three and Maryutka escaped from the mortal circle in the velvet basin.

How do you see Arsentiy Evsyukov?

In a crimson jacket and pants, “Evsyukov’s face is also crimson, covered in red freckles, and on his head instead of hair there is delicate duck fluff... He is small in stature, has a strong build” and looks like two peas in a pod like a painted Easter egg. But he doesn’t believe in God - “he believes in the Council, in the International, the pin and the heavy revolver.”

What are the rest of the Red Army soldiers like?

The most common ones.

Who is special? And with what?

Maryutka is a Red Army soldier. “A thin coastal reed.” Maryutka’s life, which began quite ordinary, the further, the more it revealed the human uniqueness of an illiterate fisherman.

What are the main traits of her character?

In Maryutka, mercilessness towards enemies is combined with tenderness. poetic soul, lyricism with determination, intransigence with softness, rudeness with spiritual purity, cruelty with pity... She is always different, unpredictable, capable of anything. Paradoxical....

Fearless in battle, Maryutka’s main thing in life is her dreams. Naive, chaste. But he does not write lyrical poems, but about the revolution, battles, Lenin. Not the men, but she is the best shooter in the squad. He will shoot and name the number. Maryutka destroyed forty (!) enemies and suddenly missed. Forty-one was captured.

For the first time we meet a new hero. The forty-first was to be the Youth Govorukha. What kind of person is this? How did he behave?

Vadim Govorukha-Otrok - guard lieutenant, nobleman. The university, home library, and passion for philology are behind me. Young, handsome, educated, intelligent, sometimes tactful, sometimes ironic, sometimes simply hardened by the blows of the revolution. The very name “Vadim” sounds romantic, Lermontov-like. It is not for nothing that loneliness becomes the leitmotif of the youth’s image. One shot, one walked, not bending under the wind, he was alone in life in general. Seeing the sail, he shouted: “The lonely sail is white...” - this line is a metaphor for the fate of the hero, the fate of noble Russia... He does not deny himself the pleasure of sarcastic “Monsieur” Evsyukov, taking a ride at Maryutka’s address. Class hostility depersonalizes figures in the enemy camp. For Govorukha-Youth, the Red Army soldiers are gray cattle, for them he is an unfinished bastard. Where can the pampered Govorukha-Youth endure a hungry march through the dunes? And he - to everyone's surprise - walks more firmly than others. Evsyukov wonders where the master got his self-control from? Evsyukov did not catch the smug notes of a superman.

What made Vadim take a fresh look at the “Amazon” and discover the inner life in it? Did the lieutenant expect this? What is the discussion between Maryutka and her captive about?

Why does Maryutka write poetry?

- “I have poems in the middle of my cradle. So the soul burns, so that they write it down in the book and sign it everywhere: “Poem by Maria Basova.” This means that for Maryutka, poetry is not only self-expression, but a way to become famous.

Lavrenev does not mock Maryutka’s poems. The heroine’s soul would like to break through to the beautiful, the lofty, and the author respects this desire.

What is the name of the island where the heroes ended up? What is the last order that Evsyukov gives to Maryutka?

Island in the Aral Sea Barsa-Kelmes, which means “human death”. The name is not accidental.

Evsyukov ordered Maryutka to deliver the lieutenant to headquarters. “If you accidentally run into white people, don’t hand him over alive.”

How did the heroes behave? What did the island become for them? (Staging of the scene of a quarrel between the heroes - chapter 9)

People are not born enemies, but they become them. This is not an inherent feeling, but an acquired one. However, it is so powerful that it overcomes seemingly irresistible love.

On the island there is a natural division of labor and responsibilities, prepared by the previous life. Arrogant Robinson is more helpless than Friday. Maryutka is practical, skillful, and tenacious. However, Vadim is not white-haired either.

Maryutka fell in love with the officer, ceasing to see him as an enemy. She saw only a handsome young blue-eyed man in need of her help. Evsyukov’s order to deliver the cadet to headquarters, alive or dead, became invalid. Instead of merciless orders, hostile distrust - selfless female pity. This is where love begins. Vadim is no less shocked than Maryutka. Immutable ideas and categories are being destroyed. The fisherman's attitude towards one person changes, while the Talker-Youth's whole philosophy changes.

What does Govorukha-Youth see as a way out?

The Govorukha-Youth, disillusioned with the war, the revolution, and his homeland, clings to the illusory hope of a secluded refuge, books. Disappointment turned into fatal emptiness. And the way out is to hide with Maryutka in a quiet corner, fenced off with books, and there, at least the grass won’t grow. Paradise in a hut with bookshelves. But everything returned to its place, mercilessly indicated by history. The “blue blood” began to speak in Govorukha-Youth, and the officer’s arrogance leapt up. “You've grown wiser, my dear! Wise! Thank you - I taught you. If we now sit down to write books and leave you full possession of the land, you will do such a thing on it that five generations will howl with tears of blood. Once culture is against culture, then so be it.”

How does the work end? Why did Maryutka do this?

It is impossible not to pay attention to the denouement, for the sake of which the entire edifice of the narrative was built. A sail flashing on the horizon interrupted the angry speech. Paradise in the hut collapsed. The shot is simply the execution of an order, it is one’s own impulse. But love is alive, mortal melancholy tore at her heart. Stolen happiness was born out of misfortune and ended in misfortune...

Love, which has conquered death for centuries, was defeated.

Both main characters are victims scary world, and Maryutka’s shot, which crushed the head of Govorukha-Youth, is aimed at her heart.

Finale of the work

(Expressive reading by the teacher of the end of the tenth chapter)

"The planet perishing in fire and storm." "The roar of the world's destruction." What does the author make you think about?

These words characterize not only the lieutenant’s dying feelings, but also the Apocalypse that has come for the entire country, torn not only into red and white, but into pink threads of nerves.

If such a situation is possible when a woman kills her only love, her future, this means, possibly, everything that follows - executions, camps, genocide.

The association of Vadim’s death with “the roar of a planet dying in fire and storm” is unusual. “In the water, on a pink thread of nerve, an eye knocked out of its orbit swayed. The ball, blue as the sea, looked at her in bewilderment and pity.” Perhaps the eye is like the globe, which has been engulfed by a terrible war - revolution, and the pink thread of the nerve is that intelligentsia that is still capable of saving the world from this catastrophe, but which is becoming less and less and soon this thread will break, leaving an indelible trace of the terrible years Russia and all over the world. The planet is dying, love can no longer exist.

Why is the work called that?

It was named not “Maryutka”, not “Vadim”, but after the number indicating the number of victims. This testifies to the author’s sympathy for the lieutenant, but: the lieutenant, who fell in love with the savage Friday, did not understand one thing: poisoned by the ideology of the “crimson” Evsyukov, who personally committed forty (!) murders, Maryutka was not suitable for life on the lieutenant’s spiritual continent. He is a humanist, she is a killer?

Does this mean that revolution is opposed to love?

Sweeping away class boundaries, the revolution helped give birth to this love, but it also killed it.

Teacher: Boris Lavrenev told a love story, intertwining idyll with tragedy, the depth of psychologism with the aching pain of bewilderment: “What have I done?” This last cry of the distraught Maryutka was just right to be picked up by the whole country. Isn't this what the author wanted to say?

Many, after reading the story, ask themselves questions: “Why did Maryutka do this?” How could you kill your loved one? What would I do in her place? And can Maryutka be blamed for what happened? There is only one answer - no.

The revolution turns all life values ​​upside down, and a person becomes just a pawn in a cruel game of death.

What does “Forty-one” mean for our days? Is the story relevant?

There is no need to say “no, because the revolution is in the past..” With the constant turmoil going on in our state, the possibility of a new revolution being brewing cannot be ruled out. They will wait for her again, like a deliverance from all troubles, like a whirlwind taking away everything old. This is what Lavrenev is trying to protect from: it’s not in vain that Govorukha the Youth heard the crash of the dying planet - Russia is lost!

This story is relevant for our time, so the reader needs it not only as a beautiful short story about love, but also as a warning that nothing can be worse than fighting against ourselves.

(The music of Chopin's "Revolutionary Etude" is played, the words of Alexey Remizov are heard)

“Russian people, what have you done? I was looking for my happiness, I believed, who did you believe? Have you forgotten your lullaby? Where is your Russia? Where is your conscience, where is your wisdom, where is your cross? I was proud that I was Russian, I cherished and cherished the name of my homeland, I prayed to “Holy Rus'.” Now I bear punishment, I am pitiful, poor and naked. I don’t dare raise my eyes! Lord, what have I done! And I have one consolation, one hope: I will patiently bear the burden of the days, I will purify my heart and mind and, if destined, I will rise on a Bright Day.

Russian people!
A bright day will come!”

Do you guys believe in the Bright Day of Russia?

It is impossible to live in the world without faith in your country!

A candle is lit and the student reads a poem of her own composition.

Why did love come to me?
Fate gave you to me
Teased me with a moment of happiness
And she took it away so cruelly!

Forgetting about duty to the country,
In your eyes the blue ones were drowning,
How happy I was
Under the enchanted wave.

I forgot about the sound of gunfire,
About the death of the guys in the dry desert,
Looking into the eyes... like a sea of ​​blue -
Like a priceless gift from fate.

Moon and stars from above
They look so tenderly, silently,
And the waves gently lick the shore...

Everything breathes when you are near...
And now the fateful hour has come,
You have become a cadet for me again.
You didn't run away from the answer,
How the fortieth didn’t leave...

Then the shot rang out... you fell...
Becoming Maryutka’s forty-first,
For a woman - such a loss!
What has no one ever lost...

Love, why did you come to us,
Enchanted by magical powers?
"We are children of the terrible years of Russia."
Why did you burn our souls?

Teacher:We close Boris Lavrenev’s book “The Forty-First”... What remains in our souls is a pressing feeling of pity for Vadim, for Maryutka, a feeling of longing for lost Russia, the bright colors of Lavrenev’s landscapes. This work leaves a mark on the soul of every reader, it has become a classic, and classics are eternal! This trace will always ache in our soul for the fate of those who found themselves with Russia at the turning point of history. A.A. Blok gave an absolutely precise definition of his generation: “We are the children of the terrible years of Russia...”. Every nation deserves the fate it deserves. Russian people - great people, because he managed to survive what the country suffered. Russia. This word contains a lot. Love, the meaning of life, home. But this is also our past, our tragedy. And our duty is to love and take care of Russia, without dividing its people into whites and reds.

LITERATURE

1. GERONIMUS B.A. B.A. Lavrenev. - M., 1983.
2. CARDIN V. Finding. –M., 1989.
3. LAVRENEV B. Forty-first – M., 1989.
4. STARIKOVA E. B.A. Lavrenev (1891-1959) – M., 1982.

Boris Lavrenev

Forty-first

Pavel Dmitrievich Zhukov

The sparkling ring of Cossack sabers in the morning disintegrated for an instant in the north, cut off by the hot streams of a machine gun, and the crimson commissar Evsyukov broke through the gap with a feverish last stop.

In total, the crimson Evsyukov, twenty-three and Maryutka escaped from the mortal circle in the velvet basin.

One hundred and nineteen and almost all camels remained spread out on the frozen scree of sand, between the snake saxaul loops and red tamarisk twigs.

When they reported to Captain Buryga that the remnants of the enemy had broken through, he twirled his shaggy mustache with his bestial paws, yawned, stretched out his mouth, similar to the hole in a cast-iron ashtray, and growled lazily:

- Hit them! Don't race, because there's no need to kill the horses, they'll die in the sand. Bara-bir!

And the crimson Evsyukov with twenty-three and Maryutka, with the evasive swing of an enraged steppe coin, ran away into the endless grain-sands.

The reader is already impatient to know why “raspberry Evsyukov”?

Everything is in order.

When Kolchak plugged the Orenburg line with the rifle-scarred human mess, like a tight cork, putting the stupefied steam locomotives on their backs - to rust in remote dead ends - there was no black paint in the Turkestan Republic for painting leather.

And the time has come, loud, vague, leathery.

Thrown from the sweet comfort of house walls into heat and ice, into rain and buckets, into the piercing whistle of a bullet, the human body needs a durable tire.

That's why leather jackets became popular among people.

Jackets were painted everywhere in black, a steel-blue shimmer, a stern and hard color, like the owners of the jackets.

And there was no such color in Turkestan.

The revolutionary headquarters had to requisition from the local population reserves of German aniline powders, with which the dry-lipped Turkmen wives colored the airy silks of their shawls and the shaggy patterns of Tekin carpets in the firebird flashes.

They began to paint fresh sheep skins with these powders, and the Turkestan Red Army burst into flames with all the hues of the rainbow - crimson, orange, lemon, emerald, turquoise, lilac.

For Commissioner Evsyukov, fate, in the person of the pockmarked janitor of the clothing warehouse, gave bright crimson pants and a jacket as part of his staff uniform.

Since childhood, Evsyukov’s face has also been crimson, covered in red freckles, and on his head instead of hair there is delicate duck fluff.

If we add that Evsyukov is small in stature, has a well-built build and his whole figure represents a regular oval, then in a crimson jacket and pants he looks like two peas in a pod - like a painted Easter egg.

On Evsyukov’s back, the combat equipment belts cross in the shape of an “X,” and it seems that if the commissar turns around, the letter “B” should appear.

Christ is Risen!

But this is not the case. Evsyukov does not believe in Easter and Christ.

He believes in the Council, in the International, the Cheka and in the heavy blued revolver in his knobby and strong fingers.

The twenty-three who left with Evsyukov to the north from the mortal saber circle are Red Army soldiers like Red Army soldiers. The most ordinary people.

And Maryutka is special among them.

The round fisher orphan Maryutka, from a fishing village in the Volga, swollen with reed grass, wide-water delta near Astrakhan.

From the age of seven, for twelve years, she sat astride a bench greasy with fish innards, wearing stiff canvas pants, ripping open the silver-slippery bellies of herring with a knife.

And when the recruitment of volunteers for the Red Guard, then still a guard, was announced in all cities and villages, Maryutka suddenly stuck a knife into the bench, stood up and went in her stiff pants to sign up for the Red Guards.

At first they kicked her out, then, seeing her persistently walking every day, they cackled and accepted her as a Red Guard, on equal rights with others, but they took a subscription to renounce the woman’s lifestyle and, by the way, childbearing until the final victory of labor over capital.

Maryutka is a thin coastal reed, she braids her red braids like a wreath under a Tekin brown hat, and Maryutka’s eyes are crazy, slanted, with a yellow cat-like fire.

The main thing in Maryutkina’s life is dreaming. She is very prone to dreaming and also loves to use a stub of a pencil on any piece of paper, wherever she comes across, to write poems in slanting letters in falling letters.

The whole squad knows this. As soon as they came somewhere in the city where there was a newspaper, Maryutka begged for a sheet of paper in the office.

Licking her lips, which were drying from excitement, with her tongue, she carefully copied the poems, putting a title above each one, and a signature at the bottom: a poem by Maria Basova.

The poems were different. About the revolution, about the struggle, about the leaders. Between others about Lenin.

Lenin is our proletarian hero,
Let's put your statues in the square.
You overthrew that royal palace
And he began to work.

I brought poems to the editor. In the editorial office they stared at the thin girl in a leather jacket, with a cavalry carbine, took the poems in surprise, and promised to read them.

After calmly looking at everyone, Maryutka left.

The interested editorial secretary read the poems. His shoulders rose and began to tremble, his mouth burst with uncontrollable guffaws. The employees gathered, and the secretary, choking, read poetry.

The employees rode on the window sills: there was no furniture in the editorial office in those days.

Maryutka appeared again in the morning. Stubbornly looking into the secretary’s twitching face with unblinking pupils, she collected the sheets of paper and said in a sing-song voice:

- So it’s impossible to create people? Unfinished? I chop them off from the very middle, just like with an axe, but everything is bad. Well, I’ll still work hard, nothing can be done! And why are they so difficult, fish cholera? A?

And she left, shrugging her shoulders, pulling her Turkmen hat over her forehead.

Maryutka was not successful in her poetry, but she aimed her rifle at the target with remarkable accuracy. She was the best shooter in the Yevsyukov detachment and was always with the crimson commissar in battles.

Evsyukov pointed with his finger:

- Maryutka! Look! An officer!

Maryutka narrowed her eyes, licked her lips and slowly moved the gun. The shot always fired without missing.

She lowered the rifle and said each time:

- Thirty-nine, fish cholera. Fortieth, fish cholera.

“Fish cholera” is Maryutka’s favorite word.

And she didn’t like swear words. When they cursed in front of her, she frowned, remained silent and blushed.

Maryutka firmly held onto the subscription given at headquarters. No one in the detachment could boast of Maryutka’s favor.

One night, Gucha, who had just joined the Magyars detachment, came up to her and showered her with bold glances for several days. It ended badly. The Magyar barely crawled away, missing three teeth and with a bruised temple. Finished with the handle of a revolver.

The Red Army soldiers laughed lovingly at Maryutka, but in battle they took better care of themselves.

They spoke of unconscious tenderness, deeply hidden under the hard, brightly colored shell of jackets, of longing for the hot, cozy women’s bodies abandoned at home.

Such were the twenty-three, crimson Evsyukov and Maryutka who went north, into the hopeless grain of frozen sands.

Stormy February sang with silver blizzard trills. It carried soft carpets of icy fluff over the ridges between the sandy mounds, and the sky whistled above them into the turbidity and storm - either with a wild wind, or with the annoying screech of enemy bullets crossing the air in pursuit.

It was difficult for the heavy legs in broken boots to be pulled out of the snow and sand; the hungry rough camels wheezed, howled and spat.

The wind-blown takyrs glittered with salt crystals, and for hundreds of miles around the sky was cut off from the earth, like a butcher knife, along a smooth and cloudy line of a low horizon.

This chapter, in fact, is completely unnecessary in my story.

It would be easier for me to start with the most important thing, with what will be discussed in the following chapters.

But the reader needs to know where and how the remnants of the special Guryev detachment appeared thirty-seven versts to the north-west from the Kara-Kuduk wells, why there was a woman in the Red Army detachment, why Commissar Evsyukov is crimson, and much more the reader needs to know.

Yielding to necessity, I wrote this chapter.

But, I dare to assure you, it does not matter.

Chapter two

In which a dark spot appears on the horizon, which, upon closer examination, turns into the guard of Lieutenant Govorukh-Otrok

From the wells of Dzhan-Gelda to the wells of Soi-Kuduk seventy miles, from there to the Ushkan spring another sixty-two.

At night, poking his rifle butt into an uprooted root, Evsyukov said in a frozen voice:

- Stop! Overnight!

We lit the saxaul scrap. It burned with a greasy, sooty flame, and the sand wetted around the fire in a dark circle.

We took rice and lard out of the packs. Porridge boiled in a cast-iron cauldron, smelling pungently of sheep.

They huddled close by the fire. They were silent, chattering their teeth, trying to save the body from the chilling fingers of the snowstorm, creeping into all the holes. They warmed their feet right on the fire, and the hardened leather of the boots cracked and hissed.