Read the book The Living and the Dead online. Technology of writing essays in the Russian language. Source text problem. K1 Before the evening drive there was another meeting

Let's begin. Here is the source text.

Let us immediately take into account that there are many texts and they are different:

by style: artistic, journalistic, popular and scientific, for example, psychology, philosophy, cultural studies, etc.,
according to the difficulty of presentation and, consequently, according to the degree of difficulty in understanding the content,
by topic and, more importantly, by issue (the range is huge),
in terms of total volume and number of problems considered in them: mono- and multi-problem.

How to select texts for practice essays?

I won’t be mistaken if I assume that you have already written some essays. Surely, from all the diversity, from this diversity of texts, you like or dislike some. I am convinced that when choosing training texts, you should try to work with all the variety and not avoid texts of any particular type, or indulge your preferences.

I receive letters:

I don't like writing essays on texts from fiction. They are so abbreviated that sometimes you can't understand anything about them. And the author almost never says directly what he thinks.

I don't like philosophizing. I am simply not able to understand what A.F. Losev writes in this text.
If only I could get some normal text! A lot of normal light texts!

Stop! Yes, the text by A.F. Losev is not easy, I agree.

(1) Leaving aside for now all the material benefits that we receive from science, let’s turn our attention to that side of it that gives us inner satisfaction and serves as the main reason for our spiritual development. (2) The purpose of studying the sciences and processing the information that they provide is the formation of a personality in us, namely a personality, that is, a set of ideas and beliefs that would constitute an integral part of our “I”. (3) Each person is an independent and separate whole. (4) To be whole, to be an independent unit, that is, to truly have one’s own, is the ideal of an educated person. (5) But it is possible to acquire beliefs that would form a personality in us only through a long and persistent study of the sciences. (6) Having our own beliefs, we form a certain attitude towards the people around us, towards society, towards the state, and this should already give us great satisfaction. (7) Yes, in addition, pure knowledge alone, without any use of it to develop a worldview, already serves as a source of high pleasures for a person.

(8) But science brings “sweet fruits” even to people who, due to their myopia, do not expect spiritual satisfaction from it. (9) Many people, when studying science, pursue only material benefits, and in their awareness, the achievement of a certain “education” is always combined with obtaining material advantages. (10) In this case, the “fruits of the teaching” are even more obvious. (11) Once a person has achieved a certain position in society, if he has secured a comfortable existence for himself, then the “sweet fruit” of the teaching becomes a direct reality for him. (12) But one can often meet people who, either through their own fault or simply because of bad conditions of existence, having not received sufficient education in their youth, entered life without any knowledge and preparation for activities as useful member of society. (13) These people, if they have not experienced all the difficulties of the first years of study due to their laziness, always reproach themselves and begin to “learn” already in their mature years. (14) Until they become educated, they cannot count on the benefits and benefits that other people receive after many years of labor and hardship for the sake of education.

(15) Together with those who were previously prevented from studying by external circumstances, they, starting to study, endure all the difficulties of learning with pleasure and think along with the poet, who, “having wasted a lot of life on various amusements,” said with regret:

(16) It’s sad to think that it’s in vain

We were given youth!

(17) The benefits of education can be compared to the harvest on a peasant’s land. (18) In early spring, he begins his field work and works all summer, despite the terribly sweltering heat, in a field where there is not a single tree that could hide him under its shadow. (19) But the peasant who has worked honestly can expect the pleasure of rest and complete material prosperity all year round. (A.F. Losev)

But who said that it’s easier to write a high-scoring paper using easy texts?

The text is easy! This means that everyone will understand him. Everyone can handle it. Are you sure that you will be able to show your level using such, perhaps even very primitive material, attract attention, and win over an expert? During preparation, such texts are usually skipped without thinking that they have their own specifics. They reason like this: the text is easy, why waste time on it? It's better to focus your attention and effort on the harder texts! Teachers and tutors usually initiate this tactic.

But you, you personally, must be prepared for any turn of events, you must not get confused and demonstrate your own personal potential in the exam under any set of circumstances.

Advice:

Work with a variety of texts: difficult, and easy, and artistic, and scientific, and journalistic, and with those in which there is one problem, and with multi-problems, and with generally non-problematic ones. Gain experience. And don't avoid things you don't like. It may seem funny, but people often don't like the very things that cause difficulties. I can say that a graduate is in excellent shape when it practically does not matter to him which text to write an essay on. “Yes, whatever!”

It is not necessary to write papers on all the texts that you come across. But it is very advisable to constantly read a variety of texts and think about what you could say in relation to them. Oral preparation is also preparation. I highly recommend it to teachers and tutors. Your students should be constantly reading and discussing a wide variety of texts. But, of course, switching exclusively to the oral form of preparation is also a mistake. The effective ratio is approximately 5:1. You read five texts and take them apart piece by piece. And on the next, sixth, write an essay.

How to read source texts?

When I ask about this, I get the following answers:

Very thoughtful and attentive.
Repeatedly.

This is right. And thoughtfully, and carefully, and each text several times. But... every time - with a new goal, that is, in different ways.

First reading will lead you to understand the general content of the text. This is an introductory reading.

Second reading it is necessary to specifically find out what problems are presented in it. When reading, you strive to delve into the content and understand the problems of the text. To do this, you study the text. This is educational reading.

Typical question:

This is a misguided and short-sighted tactic. You are quickly grasping at straws, instead of identifying all the problems that you are able to identify and consciously deciding which of them can not only be formulated, but also commented on in the best way. That is, you need not only to make a choice, but also to evaluate its benefits. Precisely benefit, because this is pure pragmatics: it is better to dwell on the problem that you can comment on more meaningfully and regarding which you have your own opinion: this is something you, in due time, when the time comes to write a comment K4, will be able to argue conclusively and expressively .

So, after the second reading, you briefly, in working order, identify for yourself the problems that you were able to identify.

Third reading. You look through the text again for self-checking and at the same time think about which of the problems raised or touched upon by the author you can present more interestingly. This is a preview reading..

What problem statements are best avoided?

It is not beneficial to select the most common problems. When commenting on them, it is difficult to avoid commonplaces and platitudes.

On the other hand, it is dangerous to concentrate on secondary or minor problems. You may not be understood or appreciated for your efforts. At the same time, writing about something unimportant can be difficult: you will not scrape up material for subsequent comments in the text and will not find good examples for argumentation later.

Example from essays:

(1) Before the evening halt, another meeting took place, unlike all the others. (2) A sergeant came from a side patrol moving through the thicket of the forest, bringing with him two armed men. (3) One of them was a short Red Army soldier, wearing a shabby leather jacket over a tunic and with a rifle on his shoulder. (4) The other is a tall, handsome man of about forty, with an aquiline nose and noble gray hair visible from under his cap, giving significance to his youthful, clean, wrinkle-free face; he was wearing good riding breeches and chrome boots, a brand new PPSh with a round disc was hanging on his shoulder, but the cap on his head was dirty and greasy, and just as dirty and greasy was the Red Army tunic that sat awkwardly on him, which did not meet at the neck and was short in the sleeves .
(5) “Comrade brigade commander,” the sergeant said, approaching Serpilin along with these two people, looking sideways at them and holding his rifle at the ready, “permit me to report?” (6) Brought the detainees. (7) He detained them and brought them under escort because they did not explain themselves, and also because of their appearance. (8) They didn’t disarm because they refused, and we didn’t want to open fire in the forest unnecessarily.
(9) “Deputy Chief of the Operations Department of the Army Headquarters, Colonel Baranov,” the man with the machine gun said abruptly, throwing his hand to his cap and stretching out in front of Serpilin and Shmakov, who was standing next to him.
(10)—Serpilin! - he exclaimed, spreading his arms, and it was difficult to understand whether this was a gesture of extreme amazement, or whether he wanted to hug Serpilin.
(11) “Yes, I am brigade commander Serpilin,” Serpilin said in an unexpectedly dry, tinny voice, “the commander of the division entrusted to me, but I don’t see who you are yet.” (12) Your documents!
(13) - Serpilin, I’m Baranov, are you crazy?
(14) “For the third time I ask you to present your documents,” said Serpilin in the same tinny voice.
(15) “I don’t have documents,” Baranov said after a long pause.
(16)—How come there are no documents?
(17) - So it happened, I accidentally lost... (18) I left it in that tunic when I exchanged it for this... Red Army one. (19) Baranov moved his fingers along his greasy, too-tight tunic.
(20)—Did you leave the documents in that tunic? (21) Do you also have the colonel’s insignia on that tunic?
(22) “Yes,” Baranov sighed.
(23) - Why should I believe you that you are the deputy chief of the army’s operational department, Colonel Baranov?
(24) - But you know me, you and I served together at the academy! - Baranov muttered completely lost.
(25) “Suppose that is so,” Serpilin said without softening at all, still with the same tinny harshness unusual for Sintsov, “but if you had not met me, who could confirm your identity, rank and position?”
(26) “Here he is,” Baranov pointed to the Red Army soldier in a leather jacket standing next to him. (27)—This is my driver.
(28) - Do you have documents, comrade soldier? - Without looking at Baranov, Serpilin turned to the Red Army soldier.
(29) - Yes... - the Red Army soldier paused for a second, not immediately deciding how to address Serpilin, - yes, comrade general! (30) He opened his leather jacket, took out a Red Army book wrapped in a rag from his tunic pocket and handed it to him.
(31) “So,” Serpilin read aloud. (32)— "Red Army soldier Pyotr Ilyich Zolotarev, military unit 2214." (33) I see. (34) And he gave the Red Army soldier the book.
(35) - Tell me, Comrade Zolotarev, can you confirm the identity, rank and position of this person with whom you were detained? - and he, still not turning to Baranov, pointed his finger at him.
(36) — That’s right, Comrade General, this is really Colonel Baranov, I’m his driver.
(37) - So you certify that this is your commander?
(38) — That’s right, Comrade General.
(39)—Under what circumstances did you end up here? - he asked after a pause.
(40) The Red Army soldier, at first hesitating, and then more and more confidently, trying not to forget anything, began to tell how three days ago, having arrived from the army, they spent the night at the division headquarters, how in the morning the colonel went to headquarters, and bombing immediately began all around, how Soon, one driver who arrived from the rear said that German troops had landed there, and when he heard this, he took the car out just in case. (41) And an hour later the colonel came running, praised him that the car was already ready, jumped into it and ordered him to quickly drive back to Chausy. (42) When they got onto the highway, there was already heavy shooting and smoke ahead, they turned onto a dirt road, drove along it, but again heard shooting and saw German tanks at the intersection. (43) Then they turned onto a remote forest road, drove straight off it into the forest, and the colonel ordered the car to stop.
(44) - Go! - Serpilin said commandingly. (45)—You are free.
(46) The driver left. (47) There was a heavy silence.
(48) - Why did you need to ask him in front of me? (49) They could have asked me without compromising myself in front of the Red Army soldier.
(50)—I compromised him in front of the Red Army soldier! (51) Do you hear, Shmakov? - Serpilin turned to Shmakov. (52)—Like laughter! (53) He chickened out, took off his command tunic in front of the Red Army soldier, threw away his documents, and I, it turns out, compromised him. (54) It was not I who compromised you in front of the Red Army soldier, but you, with your shameful behavior, compromised the command staff of the army in front of the Red Army soldier. (55) If my memory serves me right, you were a party member. (56) Did they burn your party card too?
(57) “I curse the hour when I burned the documents...” Baranov began again, but Serpilin interrupted him: “I believe that you regret it now. (58) You regret that you were in a hurry, because you ended up with your own people, but if it had turned out differently, I don’t know, you would have regretted it. (59) How, commissar, did he turn to Shmakov, “shall we give this former colonel a company to command?”
(60) “No,” said Shmakov.
(61)—Platoon?
(62)—No.
(63) - In my opinion, too. (64) After everything that happened, I would sooner trust your driver to command you than you to command him! - said Serpilin and for the first time, half a tone softer than anything said before, he addressed Baranov: - Go and get into formation with this brand new machine gun of yours and try, as you say, to wash away your guilt with blood... (K. M. Simonov)

This formulation narrowed the author's options. You see, cowardice is definitely bad; the word itself already contains an assessment expressing a negative attitude towards the phenomenon of cowardice in the popular consciousness.
If we propose a different edition, then writing the essay will be much easier, because there will be room for reasoning.

Let's formulate the problem like this:

What's the problem then? In choise. Choice is already a problematic situation. Remember, if you go to the left, you will lose your horse, to the right... Cowardice is weakness. But wouldn’t you and I show weakness ourselves, finding ourselves on the brink of death? Cowardice is easy to condemn. It's always easy to judge. And if we think like this: war, death, people die every day... And you are faced with a choice: remain honest with yourself and your comrades (the same driver, say) or allow yourself weakness, lies, after which you are worthy or simply honest a person will cease to respect himself and will lose the respect of other people...

Attention:

The problem should really be a problem, and not the topic of the text or a question.

The practice of inspections shows that quite often guys confuse problem And topic, problem And question. Let's say the text is devoted to the problem of betrayal, but the action in the literary fragment offered to you clearly takes place during the war. In this case, do not write that the text discusses the problem of war, as this may expose you to attack. And they use words even more often topic, problem, question as synonyms.

Examples from essays:

The text by S. A. Alexievich is dedicated to theme of love.

We talk a lot about those who write books, forgetting about those who read them. The reader, unlike the writer, remains in the background in the life of the book, but he also plays an important role. But does the reader really decide the fate of the book? The answer to this question worries many. So S. Ya. Marshak, the author of this text, is concerned the theme of the reader’s interaction with the writer’s works.

We encounter such a phenomenon as rudeness quite often. Unfortunately, it has become very deeply ingrained into our lives. For some, boorish behavior has even become the norm. I think that's exactly the issue of rudeness This text is dedicated to our lives.

V. Konetsky raises the question of human cruelty towards the living world.

Advice:

Neither from the very beginning, nor in K2’s comment, nor further, do not use the words subject And question. Forget about their existence while writing. I know of cases where the use of words in exam papers topic—problem And question-problem as synonyms came at great cost to examinees. Pedantic experts noted that the author of the essay did not distinguish between important conceptual categories and reduced points:

— for K10 (precision of formulation),
- for K1 or for K2 (that part of the work where the words were found subject or question).

What is required in ""? State the problem. Write about the problem.

Only now, having read the text several times with different goals, do you clearly formulate the problem. Many manuals provide sample wording. Usually there are two of them: 1) in question form, 2) in the form of a thesis.

It is ideal if you learn to prepare both formulations of the problem: both in the form of a question and in the form of a thesis. It’s good to use them together: start an essay with a question or questions. And then give the second formulation in the form of a thesis. You will get a full start to work.

Examples from essays:

Why do people need books? For knowledge? For mental development? Why does a person read some books and avoid others? The author of the text, writer Vladimir Soloukhin, considers the problem of reading.

Why are there so many elderly people living alone these days? What kind of treatment do older people deserve from the younger generation? Writer B.L. Vasiliev raises the problem of the attitude of young people towards older people.

What helped people overcome difficulties during the most difficult times of war? Journalist Galina Galler raises the problem of overcoming severe trials during the Great Patriotic War.

Attention:

If at this stage of work several synonymous formulations come to your mind, write them down. They will also be useful to you when you write a continuation of your work.

In all but one case, when the text is devoted to a single problem, I would recommend explicitly expressing the idea that such and such a problem is one of the problems that the author is thinking about. Otherwise, your wording may sound inaccurate or categorical. Your grade won't be reduced for this, but the opinion about your work as a whole is made up of many factors, so we won't neglect even such little things.

You need to understand that every text allows for different interpretations. This is possible because interpretations are given by people. Everyone has their own picture of the world. Personal pictures of the world never coincide completely. This means that two different people will never write identical essays on the same text.

Yes, there is only one text, and this is objective reality. But when working with it, everyone passes it through the prism of their own perception. It is likely that your perception and the perception of the expert reviewing your work will be very different. If at the same time you present the problem you have identified as the only one, its formulation may cause protest and not be accepted by the expert. If, when formulating a problem, you immediately show that there are different problems in the text, and you write only about one, which for some reason interested you more, you can certainly count on greater loyalty: the examiner does not come into conflict with you, because you leave it this way right to himself on his perception of the text's problems. In short, you will not look categorical, which means that when reading your work there should not be a confrontation between subjective factors of perception.

Example from an essay:

(1) Tenderness is the most meek, timid, divine face of love. (2) Love-passion - always with an eye on yourself. (3) She wants to conquer, seduce, she wants to please, she preens herself, puts her hands on her hips, measures, and is always afraid of missing out on what she has lost. (4) Love-tenderness gives everything, and there is no limit to it. (5) And she will never look back at herself, because “she is not looking for her own.” (6) She’s the only one who’s not looking. (7) But one should not think that a feeling of tenderness degrades a person. (8)On the contrary. (9) Tenderness comes from above, it takes care of the beloved, protects, takes care of him. (10) But only a defenseless creature in need of care can be looked after and protected, therefore words of tenderness are diminutive words, going from the strong to the weak. (11) Tenderness is rare and increasingly rare.

(12) Modern life is difficult and complex. (13) Modern man, even in love, strives first of all to establish his personality. (14) Love is a martial arts. - (15) Yeah! (16) Love? (17) Well, okay. (18) Roll up your sleeves, straighten your shoulders - come on, who will win? (19) Is there any tenderness here? (20) And who to protect, who to pity - all are well done and heroes. (21) He who knows tenderness is marked. (22) In the minds of many, tenderness is always depicted in the form of a meek woman bending towards the head of the bed. (23) No, that’s not where you need to look for tenderness. (24) I saw her differently: in forms that were not at all poetic, in simple, even funny ones. (25) We lived in a sanatorium near Paris. (26) We walked, ate, listened to the radio, played bridge, and gossiped. (27) There was only one real patient - a feisty old man recovering from typhus. (28) The old man often sat on the terrace in a chaise lounge, covered with pillows, wrapped in blankets, pale, bearded, always silent and, if anyone passed by, he turned away and closed his eyes. (29) His wife hovered around the old man, like a trembling bird. (30) The woman is middle-aged, dry, light, with a faded face and anxiously happy eyes. (31) And she never sat quietly. (32) She kept adjusting something around her patient. (33) Now she turned over the newspaper, now she fluffed the pillow, now she tucked in the blanket, now she ran to warm the milk, now she dripped medicine. (34) The old man accepted all these services with obvious disgust. (35) Every morning, with a newspaper in her hands, she rushed from table to table, talked friendly with everyone and asked: - Maybe you can help me? (36) Here is a crossword puzzle: “What happens in a residential building?” (37) Four letters. (38) I write it down on a piece of paper to help Sergei Sergeevich. (39) He always solves crosswords, and if he gets stuck, I come to his aid. (40) After all, this is his only entertainment. (41) Patients are like children. (42) I’m so glad that at least this amuses him. (43) They pitied her and treated her with great sympathy. (44) And somehow he crawled out onto the terrace earlier than usual. (45) She sat him down for a long time, covered him with blankets, and propped up pillows. (46) He winced and angrily pushed her hand away if she did not immediately guess his wishes. (47) She, shivering joyfully, grabbed the newspaper. - (48) Here, Serezhenka, today seems to be a very interesting crossword puzzle. (49) He suddenly raised his head, rolled out his angry yellow eyes and began to shake all over. - (50) Finally, get to hell with your idiotic crossword puzzles! - he hissed furiously. (51) She turned pale and somehow sank. - (52) But you... - she babbled in confusion. - (53) After all, you were always interested. .. - (54) I was never interested! - he kept shaking and hissing, looking with animal pleasure at her pale, desperate face. - (55) Never! (56) It was you who climbed with the tenacity of the degenerate that you are! (57) She didn’t answer anything. (58) She just swallowed air with difficulty, pressed her hands tightly to her chest and looked around with such pain and such despair, as if she was looking for help. (59) But who can take such a funny and stupid grief seriously? (60) Only a little boy, sitting at the next table and seeing this scene, suddenly closed his eyes and cried bitterly.(N.A. Teffi)

What can sacrificial, selfless, slavish love lead a person to? The family scene is the culmination of N. A. Teffi’s text. This text is dedicated to the problem of slave love.

I don’t think this is a sufficiently correct interpretation of the content of the text. Apparently, the impression from reading it was based on some internal experiences or thoughts of the author of the essay. But, you see, if we read that this is just one of the problems, it would be easier to understand and accept the wording. Moreover, the text generally allows for such an interpretation. For comparison, I will give examples from the works of other authors who saw other problems in this text:

In this text, Nadezhda Aleksandrovna Teffi raises the problem of sacrificial love.

What should true love be like? Russian writer N.A. thinks about this problem. Teffi.

Love. We use this word so often, but in fact we don’t know what it is. So what is love? How does it manifest itself? These are the questions* raised by the Russian writer Nadezhda Teffi.

*I would suggest a different edition: So what is love, and how does it manifest itself? This is exactly the problem...

Before us are Nadezhda Alexandrovna Teffi’s thoughts on the topic* of tenderness.

The problem of this text: what is love-tenderness?

In the text proposed for analysis, the Russian writer N. A. Teffi raises the problem of understanding true love.

Tenderness... Probably everyone enjoys experiencing this feeling. What is it? Is there a place for tenderness in the modern world? Why are people afraid of their feelings, afraid of seeming too warm and sincere? In my opinion, all these questions are facets of the problem of love, which is the focus of the author of the text, Nadezhda Aleksandrovna Teffi.

Real love. What is she like? It is this problem that N.A. Teffi considers.

Never miss an opportunity to signal that you see several problems in the text, but choose one for analysis. This is not difficult at all and will benefit you every time.

What errors are found in problem formulations?

1. Control errors. These are language errors. Points are reduced according to the K9 criterion.

These are highly common errors.

Examples from essays:

What should a well-mannered person be like? What rules should he obey? Exactly on these issues(for word choice, see recommendations above) reasons in his text, modern writer Alexey Dorokhov.

What is happiness? When is a person interested in living in the world? Can a job you love bring you joy? He's discussing this V.M. Peskov in his text.

How big and powerful is the Russian language? Could there be a “weakening” or “degradation” of the Russian language? Suggests focusing on this author.

What are the features of the Russian character? In what life circumstances do they manifest themselves especially clearly? He's discussing this author of the text A. N. Tolstoy.

The writer raises memory problem.

Remember:

talk (about what?) about a problem
write (about what?) about a problem
talk (about what?) about the problem
talk (about what?) about the problem

consider (what?) the problem
analyze (what?) the problem
study (what?) problem
lift (what?)
brings to our attention (what?) a problem
puts (what?) the problem in the spotlight

concentrate attention (on what?) on the problem
focus attention (on what?) on the problem

reflect (on what?) on the problem, (about what?) on the problem
think (about what?) about a problem, (about what?) about a problem

problem (what?) memory

2. Errors in proper names. They will be deducted a point for K12.

Examples from essays:

N. Tefi instead of: N. Teffi

N. A. Tefi instead of: N. Teffi

Teffiy's hopes instead of: Teffi's hopes

Nadezhda Tefiya instead of: Nadezhda Teffi

F.A. Losev instead of: A. F. Losev

Galina Geller instead of: Galina Galler

3. Inaccurate choice of words. Your K10 score may suffer.

This is surprising, but in almost every second work, graduates write that the author of the text “touches on” or “has touched upon” this or that problem.

Examples from essays:

How to find ways of mutual understanding between people of different age generations and ideological positions? Exactly this problem affects E. Korenevskaya in the text.

And this is about a text entirely devoted to one single problem.

(1) The editor of the magazine received an interesting letter. (2) The author, a seventy-two-year-old Muscovite, writes: “When I look at my fourteen-year-old grandson, it sometimes seems to me that he is some kind of alien - he doesn’t look like his mother, me, or his grandmother. (3) No, he’s actually a good guy, it’s a shame to complain: he studies decently, helps his mother - my daughter - with the housework as much as he can, and even in his rude address to me “grandfather” I sometimes feel affection... (4) But his clothes, this sweater with hanging sleeves, jeans with holes in the knees, two earrings in one ear, his speech with all these “outfits” and “gags”, his views and the fact that all my thoughts and judgments cause him ridicule, - all this makes him a real alien in our family...

(5) Looking at my grandson and his friends, passing by noisy groups of teenagers, I cannot help but wonder: where did they come from, these strange, self-confident and ignorant youths? (6) Who made them like this?

(7) There is no need to argue with the author of the letter. What he writes about is probably familiar to most readers who have grandchildren. (8) The only thing we cannot agree with unconditionally is the question “Who made them like this?” (9) We are so accustomed to looking for the guilty in everything that a calm look at things, an attempt to find an objective explanation, is, unfortunately, difficult for us. (10) Of course, it is much easier to say that television, American films, schools, the market economy, and the government are to blame for everything, than to try to understand the reason for the so frighteningly widening gap between fathers and children, not to mention grandchildren.

(11) And this abyss, by the way, has always been there. (12) About this one hundred and forty years ago I.S. Turgenev wrote his famous novel “Fathers and Sons”. (13) Why Turgenev! (14) In one of the ancient Egyptian papyri, the author complains that children have ceased to respect their fathers, their religion and customs, and that the world is truly collapsing.

(15) Another thing is that in previous times changes in human society occurred immeasurably slower than now. (16) While studying the impact of the accelerated pace of history in the second half of the 20th century, psychologists even coined the term “future shock.” (17) This is a feeling of confusion, helplessness, disorientation that covers people when their psyche ceases to keep up with too rapid changes in society, in technology, in morals and customs. (18) What can we say about us, when in one decade - an elusive moment by the standards of history - we experienced a number of shocks: the economic formation, the political system changed, the familiar country disappeared. (19) This is not just a future shock, it is a super shock. (20) One can only be amazed at the mental fortitude that allowed people to withstand such historical tsunamis.

(21) So is it worth looking for those to blame for the fact that children and grandchildren are not like us? (22) They just live in a different time, in a different era. (23) Who is better, us or them, is a question to which there will never be a clear answer. (24) If for some of us they are aliens, then for them we are, at best, strange old people who do not understand anything about modern life and are afraid of everything.

(25) What should be done to somehow narrow the ditch separating us? (26) First of all, we need to be patient and learn to respect each other’s views and morals, no matter how alien they may seem to us. (27) And this, of course, is difficult, but necessary.

(According to E. Korenevskaya)

You see, affect- This along the way, slightly, slightly. Touch and pass by. The dictionaries give the meaning: “ touch on something in a statement or conversation"(See, for example, "Dictionary of the Russian language in four volumes" of the USSR Academy of Sciences, vol. 1, p. 586). But you want to say something else: that the text is devoted to such and such a problem.

This is one example of the quality of those templates that are replicated on the Internet. Why is this word so catchy, why does it attract you so much? Beautiful? Yes, this in itself is a wonderful word that allows you to express the meaning: someone said something casually, along the way. But in 99% of cases in essays it is used by graduates inappropriately and is a speech error. Remember, you are writing an essay as part of a Russian language exam. Think about how best to convey your idea. If you use speech cliches, your thoughts will seem cliched. And sometimes, failing to correctly assess how bad they are, you will pay for craving them with points.

In addition, I want to give two pieces of advice to those who wants to be in line with cultural tradition.

1. There is no need to write in the text of the essay: “Anton Pavlovich Chekhov”, “Alexander Sergeevich Griboyedov”, “Boris Mikhailovich Bim-Bad” and especially use the full name, patronymic and surname of the author of the text multiple times.

Refer to works of literary criticism or literary criticism. You will see what is usually written: A. P. Chekhov., L. N. Tolstoy; Leo Tolstoy, Viktor Astafiev; A. Pushkin, M. Lermontov or quite simply: Dostoevsky, Akhmatova. Please know that when you give your first, middle and last names in full, this breaks tradition. And using a first and patronymic name without a last name is generally unacceptable! You can't write: " Lev Nikolaevich raises the problem...” This is bad taste and dishonesty.

2. For the same reason, there is no need to rewrite the certificate about the author of the source text that is given to you after the text: “ N. I. Polotai (1909-1987) - Ukrainian writer, author of fairy tales, short stories, humoresques", "Lev Niko-la-e-vich Tolstoy - all-world-but-famous Russian pro-za-ik, drama-turgist, pub-li-cist”, “Viktor Petrovich Astafiev (1924-2001) - Russian writer, a prominent representative of “village prose”, participant in the Great Patriotic War.”

Firstly, sometimes these certificates themselves sound outlandish. Yes, it happens that a person showed himself in different spheres, but in the history of Russian culture, say, V. Soloukhin entered as a writer, and not as a poet, L. N. Tolstoy - as a writer and philosopher, V. M. Peskov - as journalist and so on. It turns out that you, mindlessly repeating the formulations of FIPI employees, only show your own lack of independence of thinking.
It is clear to anyone that you are being cunning and thus want to increase the volume of your essay.

Secondly, think about what such a citation gives you? Do you want to show yourself as an opportunist? In no text does the content depend on the status and field of activity of the author. By switching your attention to quoting the FIPI certificate, you are only distracted from the author’s meanings with which you actually need to work.

Thirdly, FIPI gives you background information, because children are not always free to navigate a broad sociocultural context. This is a kind of educational program. For what purpose do you repeat the information received along with the text in an essay? Do you think experts are impenetrable idiots? Do you think that seeing the source text with the FIPI certificate is not enough for experts? What is your task to drive this information into the expert’s consciousness? Remember, experts read many papers in a row. This kind of insertion is noise, dirt, which is terribly tiring, especially if it is repeated from composition to composition.

Examples from essays:

In the story all-world-but-from-the-famous Russian pro-za-ik, dramatist and publicist Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy“The Power of Childhood” raises the problem of humane treatment of people in wartime.

Russian poet, prose writer and publicist Vladimir Alekseevich Soloukhin ponders the problem of distracted attention. How can we cope with the flow of information that we constantly receive from the outside world?

Fedor Mikhailovich examines the problem of the influence of a person’s childhood on his future life.

Why should we take the determination of the problems of the text and the choice of problems for writing an essay very seriously?

Last year's example:

The young man received a text that began with the words: “On the day on which this unusual military story began, everything was the same as on other days.” He did not work on our site, and did not consult with me. After the exam, he accidentally wandered onto our website. And he wrote to me.

Letter 1:

[...] Here, of course, the obvious problem is the influence of art on people during the war. But I didn't remember the arguments. Everyone wrote about Natasha Rostova in Otradnoye, but she sang there before the war and did not influence the soldiers in any way. I took the problem: separating people from their past and dear life. That is, they used to do what they loved, like, for example, a choreographer. He remembers his past life with warmth, and now they are involved in the horror of war, they know nothing but to lay mines, run out into the cold on orders, etc. The first argument I gave was: “And the dawns here are quiet.” Girl anti-aircraft gunners used to study, work, enjoy life, and could have gotten a lot out of life, but now they constantly risk their lives and eventually die. I also gave the second argument. Tell me, have I identified the problem correctly?

NB! I don’t want to comment on this letter. A letter is not an essay. But remember: everything is important: and What

In contact with

Current page: 9 (book has 33 pages total) [available reading passage: 22 pages]

Chapter Six

It was a sunny morning. One hundred and fifty people remaining from the Serpilinsky regiment walked through the dense forests of the Dnieper left bank, hurrying to quickly move away from the crossing point. Among these one hundred and fifty people, every third was slightly wounded. The five seriously wounded, who miraculously managed to be dragged to the left bank, were replaced on stretchers by twenty of the healthiest soldiers allocated for this by Serpilin.

They also carried the dying Zaichikov. He alternately lost consciousness, and then, waking up, looked at the blue sky, at the tops of pine and birch trees swaying above his head. His thoughts were confused, and it seemed to him that everything was shaking: the backs of the fighters carrying him, the trees, the sky. He listened with effort to the silence; He either imagined the sounds of battle in it, then suddenly, having come to his senses, he heard nothing, and then it seemed to him that he had gone deaf - in fact, it was just real silence.

It was quiet in the forest, only the trees creaked from the wind, the steps of tired people were heard, and sometimes the clinking of pots. The silence seemed strange not only to the dying Zaychikov, but also to everyone else. They were so unaccustomed to it that it seemed dangerous to them. Reminiscent of the pitch hell of the crossing, the steam from the uniforms drying out as they walked still smoked above the column.

Having sent patrols forward and to the sides and leaving Shmakov to move with the rear guard, Serpilin himself walked at the head of the column. He moved his legs with difficulty, but to those walking behind him it seemed that he was walking easily and quickly, with the confident gait of a man who knows where he is going and is ready to walk like this for many days in a row. This gait was not easy for Serpilin: he was middle-aged, battered by life and very tired from the last days of fighting, but he knew that from now on, surrounded by nothing unimportant and unnoticeable. Everything is important and noticeable, and this gait with which he walks at the head of the column is also important and noticeable.

Amazed at how easily and quickly the brigade commander was walking, Sintsov followed him, shifting the machine gun from his left shoulder to his right and back: his back, neck, shoulders ached from fatigue, everything that could hurt ached.

The sunny July forest was wonderfully good! It smelled of resin and warmed moss. The sun, breaking through the swaying branches of the trees, moved on the ground with warm yellow spots. Among last year's needles were green strawberry bushes with cheerful red drops of berries. The fighters kept bending down after them as they walked. For all his fatigue, Sintsov walked and never tired of noticing the beauty of the forest.

“Alive,” he thought, “still alive!” Three hours ago, Serpilin ordered him to compile a list of names of everyone who crossed. He made a list and knew that there were one hundred and forty-eight people left alive. Of every four who went on a breakthrough at night, three died in battle or drowned, and only one survived - the fourth, and he himself was also like that - the fourth.

To walk and walk like this through this forest and by evening, no longer meeting the Germans, go straight to your own people - that would be happiness! And why not? The Germans were not everywhere, after all, and ours may not have retreated that far!

- Comrade brigade commander, do you think maybe we’ll reach ours today?

“I don’t know when we’ll get there,” Serpilin half-turned as he walked, “I know that we’ll get there someday.” Thanks for that for now!

He began seriously and ended with gloomy irony. His thoughts were directly opposite to Sintsov's thoughts. Judging by the map, it was possible to walk at most another twenty kilometers through the continuous forest, bypassing the roads, and he expected to cover them before evening. Moving further east, it was necessary not to cross the highway there, but to cross the highway here, which means meeting the Germans. To go deeper again without meeting them into the forests that were green on the map on the other side of the highway would be too amazing a success. Serpilin did not believe in it, and this meant that at night when entering the highway he would have to fight again. And he walked and thought about this future battle among the silence and greenery of the forest, which brought Sintsov into such a blissful and trusting state.

-Where is the brigade commander? Comrade brigade commander! - Seeing Serpilin, a Red Army soldier from the head patrol who ran up to him cheerfully shouted. - Lieutenant Khoryshev sent me! They met our people from 527!

- Check this out! – Serpilin responded joyfully. -Where are they?

- Out, out! – the Red Army soldier pointed his finger forward, to where the figures of military men walking towards him appeared in the thicket.

Forgetting about fatigue, Serpilin quickened his pace.

People from the 527th regiment were led by two commanders - a captain and a junior lieutenant. All of them were in uniform and with weapons. Two even carried light machine guns.

- Hello, comrade brigade commander! – stopping, the curly-haired captain with his cap pulled to one side said bravely.

Serpilin remembered that he had seen him once at the division headquarters - if memory served correctly, he was the commissioner of the Special Department.

- Hello dear! - said Serpilin. - Welcome to the division, thank you for everyone! - And he hugged him and kissed him deeply.

“Here they are, comrade brigade commander,” said the captain, touched by this kindness that was not required by the regulations. “They say the division commander is here with you.”

“Here,” said Serpilin, “they carried out the division commander, only...” Without finishing, he interrupted himself: “Now let’s go to him.”

The column stopped, everyone looked joyfully at the new arrivals. There were not many of them, but it seemed to everyone that this was just the beginning.

“Keep moving,” Serpilin said to Sintsov. “There are still twenty minutes until the required stop,” he looked at his large wrist watch.

“Lower it,” Serpilin quietly said to the soldiers carrying Zaychikov.

The soldiers lowered the stretcher to the ground. Zaichikov lay motionless, eyes closed. The joyful expression disappeared from the captain's face. Khoryshev immediately upon meeting him told him that the division commander was wounded, but the sight of Zaychikov struck him. The division commander's face, which he remembered as fat and tanned, was now thin and deathly pale. The nose was pointed, like a dead man's, and black teeth marks were visible on the bloodless lower lip. On top of the overcoat lay a white, weak, lifeless hand. The division commander was dying, and the captain knew it as soon as he saw him.

“Nikolai Petrovich, Nikolai Petrovich,” Serpilin called quietly, bending his legs aching from fatigue and kneeling on one knee next to the stretcher.

Zaichikov first rummaged through his overcoat with his hand, then bit his lip, and only then opened his eyes.

“They met our people from 527!”

- Comrade division commander, representative of the Special Department Sytin has come to your disposal! He brought with him a unit of nineteen people.

Zaichikov silently looked up and made a short, weak movement with his white fingers lying on his overcoat.

“Go lower,” Serpilin told the captain. - Calling.

Then the commissioner, like Serpilin, got down on one knee, and Zaichikov, lowering his bitten lip, whispered to him something that he did not immediately hear. Realizing from his eyes that he had not heard, Zaichikov repeated with effort what he had said.

“Brigade commander Serpilin has received the division,” he whispered, “report to him.”

“Allow me to report,” said the commissioner, without getting up from his knees, but now addressing both Zaichikov and Serpilin simultaneously, “they took out the division’s banner with them.”

One of Zaychikov’s cheeks trembled weakly. He wanted to smile, but he couldn't.

- Where is it? – he moved his lips. No whisper was heard, but the eyes asked: “Show me!” – and everyone understood it.

“Sergeant Major Kovalchuk suffered it himself,” said the commissioner. - Kovalchuk, take out the banner.

But Kovalchuk, without even waiting, unfastened his belt and, dropping it to the ground and lifting up his tunic, unwound the banner wrapped around his body. Having unwound it, he grabbed it by the edges and stretched it so that the division commander could see the entire banner - crumpled, soaked in soldier sweat, but saved, with the well-known words embroidered in gold on red silk: “176th Red Banner Rifle Division of the Workers 'and Peasants' Red Army "

Looking at the banner, Zaichikov began to cry. He cried as an exhausted and dying person can cry - quietly, without moving a single muscle of his face; tear after tear slowly rolled from both his eyes, and the tall Kovalchuk, holding the banner in his huge, strong hands and looking over this banner into the face of the division commander lying on the ground and crying, also began to cry, as a healthy, powerful man, shocked by what had happened, could cry, – his throat convulsively constricted from the rising tears, and his shoulders and large hands, holding the banner, shook from sobs. Zaichikov closed his eyes, his body trembled, and Serpilin frightenedly grabbed his hand. No, he didn’t die, a weak pulse continued to beat in his wrist - he just lost consciousness for the umpteenth time that morning.

“Raise the stretcher and go,” Serpilin quietly said to the soldiers, who, turning to Zaychikov, silently looked at him.

The soldiers grabbed the handles of the stretcher and, smoothly lifting them, carried them.

“Take the banner back to yourself,” Serpilin turned to Kovalchuk, who continued to stand with the banner in his hands, “once you took it out, carry it further.”

Kovalchuk carefully folded the banner, wrapped it around his body, lowered his tunic, picked up the belt from the ground and girded himself.

“Comrade junior lieutenant, line up with the soldiers at the back of the column,” Serpilin said to the lieutenant, who had also been crying a minute before, but was now standing nearby in embarrassment.

When the tail of the column passed by, Serpilin held the commissioner’s hand and, leaving an interval of ten steps between himself and the last soldiers walking in the column, walked next to the commissioner.

– Now report what you know and what you saw.

The commissioner began to talk about the last night battle. When the chief of staff of the division, Yushkevich, and the commander of the 527th regiment, Ershov, decided to break through to the east at night, the battle was difficult; They broke through in two groups with the intention of uniting later, but they did not unite. Yushkevich died in front of the commissioner, having run into German machine gunners, but the commissioner did not know whether Ershov, who commanded another group, was alive, and where he went out, if alive. By morning, he himself made his way and went out into the forest with twelve people, then met six more, led by a junior lieutenant. That was all he knew.

“Well done, commissioner,” said Serpilin. - The division banner was taken out. Who cared, you?

“Well done,” repeated Serpilin. – I made the division commander happy before his death!

- Will he die? – asked the commissioner.

- Don’t you see? – Serpilin asked, in turn. “That’s why I took the command from him.” Increase your pace, let's go catch up with the head of the column. Can you increase your step or lack strength?

“I can,” the commissioner smiled. - I am young.

- What year?

- Since the sixteenth.

“Twenty-five years,” Serpilin whistled. – Your brother’s titles will be taken away quickly!

At noon, as soon as the column had time to settle down for the first big halt, another meeting took place that pleased Serpilin. The same big-eyed Khoryshev, walking in the lead patrol, noticed a group of people located in the dense bushes. Six were sleeping side by side, and two - a fighter with a German machine gun and a female military doctor sitting in the bushes with a revolver on her knees - were guarding the sleeping people, but they were not guarding well. Khoryshev got into trouble - he crawled out of the bushes right in front of them and shouted: “Hands up!” – and almost received a burst from a machine gun for this. It turned out that these people were also from their division, from the rear units. One of those sleeping was a technical quartermaster, the head of a food warehouse; he brought out the entire group, consisting of him, six storekeepers and sled drivers, and a female doctor who had accidentally spent the night in a neighboring hut.

When they were all brought to Serpilin, the quartermaster technician, a middle-aged, bald man who had already been mobilized during the war, told how three nights ago German tanks with troops on their armor burst into the village where they were standing. He and his people got out with their backs into the vegetable gardens; Not everyone had rifles, but the Germans did not want to surrender. He, a Siberian himself, a former Red partisan, undertook to lead people through the forests to his own.

“So I brought them out,” he said, “though not all of them - I lost eleven people: they ran into a German patrol.” However, four Germans were killed and their weapons were taken. “She shot one German with a revolver,” the technician-quartermaster nodded at the doctor.

The doctor was young and so tiny that she seemed like just a girl. Serpilin and Sintsov, who stood next to him, and everyone around, looked at her with surprise and tenderness. Their surprise and tenderness intensified even more when she, chewing a crust of bread, began to talk about herself in response to questions.

She spoke about everything that happened to her as a chain of things, each of which she absolutely needed to do. She told how she graduated from the dental institute, and then they began to take Komsomol members into the army, and she, of course, went; and then it turned out that during the war no one treated her teeth, and then she became a nurse from a dentist, because it was impossible not to do anything! When a doctor was killed in a bombing, she became a doctor because it was necessary to replace him; and she herself went to the rear for medicines, because it was necessary to get them for the regiment. When the Germans burst into the village where she spent the night, she, of course, left there along with everyone else, because she couldn’t stay with the Germans. And then, when they met a German patrol and a firefight began, one soldier in front was wounded, he was groaning heavily, and she crawled to bandage him, and suddenly a big German jumped out right in front of her, and she pulled out a revolver and killed him. The revolver was so heavy that she had to shoot while holding it with both hands.

She told all this quickly, in a childish patter, then, having finished the hump, sat down on a stump and began rummaging through the sanitary bag. First she pulled out several individual bags, and then a small black patent leather handbag. From his height, Sintsov saw that in her handbag were a powder compact and lipstick black with dust. Stuffing her powder compact and lipstick deeper so that no one would see them, she pulled out a mirror and, taking off her cap, began combing her baby hair, soft as fluff.

- This is a woman! - said Serpilin, when the little doctor, combing her hair and looking at the men surrounding her, somehow walked away imperceptibly and disappeared into the forest. - This is a woman! - he repeated, clapping Shmakov on the shoulder, who had caught up with the column and sat down with him at the rest stop. - I understand it! With such a thing, it’s shameful to be a coward! “He smiled widely, flashing his steel teeth, leaned back, closed his eyes and fell asleep at that very second.

Sintsov, driving his back along the trunk of a pine tree, squatted down, looked at Serpilin and yawned sweetly.

-Are you married? – Shmakov asked him.

Sintsov nodded and, driving away the sleep, tried to imagine how everything would have turned out if Masha then, in Moscow, had insisted on her desire to go to war with him and they had succeeded... So they would have gotten out of the train with her in Borisov... And what next? Yes, it was hard to imagine... And yet, deep down in his soul, he knew that on that bitter day of their farewell, she was right, not he.

The power of anger that he felt towards the Germans after everything he had experienced erased many of the boundaries that had previously existed in his mind; for him there were no longer any thoughts about the future without the thought that the fascists must be destroyed. And why, in fact, couldn’t Masha feel the same as him? Why did he want to take away from her that right that he won’t let anyone take away from himself, that right that you try to take away from this little doctor!

– Do you have children or not? - Shmakov interrupted his thoughts.

Sintsov, all the time, all this month, persistently convincing himself with every memory that everything was in order, that his daughter had been in Moscow for a long time, briefly explained what had happened to his family. In fact, the more forcefully he convinced himself that everything was fine, the weaker he believed in it.

Shmakov looked at his face and realized that it was better not to ask this question.

- Okay, go to sleep, the rest is short, and you won’t have time to catch your first sleep!

“What a dream now!” - Sintsov thought angrily, but after sitting for a minute with his eyes open, he pecked his nose in his knees, shuddered, opened his eyes again, wanted to say something to Shmakov, and instead, dropping his head on his chest, fell into a dead sleep.

Shmakov looked at him with envy and, taking off his glasses, began to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger: his eyes hurt from insomnia, it seemed that daylight was pricking them even through his closed eyelids, and sleep did not come and did not come.

Over the past three days, Shmakov saw so many dead peers of his murdered son that his father’s grief, driven by force of will into the very depths of his soul, came out of these depths and grew into a feeling that no longer applied only to his son, but also to those others who died before his eyes, and even to those whose death he did not see, but only knew about it. This feeling grew and grew and finally became so great that it turned from grief to anger. And this anger was now strangling Shmakov. He sat and thought about the fascists, who everywhere, on all the roads of war, were now trampling to death thousands and thousands of the same age of October as his son - one after another, life after life. Now he hated these Germans as much as he had once hated the whites. He did not know a greater measure of hatred, and, probably, it did not exist in nature.

Just yesterday he needed an effort above himself to give the order to shoot the German pilot. But today, after the heartbreaking scenes of the crossing, when the fascists, like butchers, used machine guns to chop the water around the heads of drowning, wounded, but still not finished people, something turned over in his soul, which until this last minute still did not want to completely turn over, and he made a rash vow to himself not to spare these murderers anywhere, under any circumstances, neither in the war, nor after the war - never!

Probably, now, when he was thinking about this, an expression so unusual appeared on his usually calm face of a naturally kind, middle-aged, intelligent man that he suddenly heard Serpilin’s voice:

- Sergey Nikolaevich! What happened to you? What happened?

Serpilin lay on the grass and, with his eyes wide open, looked at him.

- Absolutely nothing. – Shmakov put on his glasses, and his face took on its usual expression.

- And if nothing, then tell me what time it is: isn’t it time? “I’m too lazy to move my limbs in vain,” Serpilin chuckled.

Shmakov looked at his watch and said that there were seven minutes left until the end of the halt.

“Then I’m still sleeping.” – Serpilin closed his eyes.

After an hour's rest, which Serpilin, despite the fatigue of the people, did not allow to drag on for a minute, we moved on, gradually turning to the southeast.

Before the evening halt, the detachment was joined by another three dozen people wandering through the forest. No one else from their division was caught. All thirty people met after the first halt were from the neighboring division, stationed to the south along the left bank of the Dnieper. All these were people from different regiments, battalions and rear units, and although among them there were three lieutenants and one senior political instructor, no one had any idea where the division headquarters was, or even in what direction it was departing. However, based on fragmentary and often contradictory stories, it was still possible to imagine the overall picture of the disaster.

Judging by the names of the places from which the encirclement came, by the time of the German breakthrough the division was stretched out in a chain for almost thirty kilometers along the front. In addition, she did not have time or was unable to strengthen herself properly. The Germans bombed it for twenty hours straight, and then, having dropped several landing forces into the rear of the division and disrupted control and communications, at the same time, under the cover of aviation, they began crossing the Dnieper in three places at once. Parts of the division were crushed, in some places they fled, in others they fought fiercely, but this could no longer change the general course of things.

People from this division walked in small groups, twos and threes. Some were with weapons, others without weapons. Serpilin, after talking with them, put them all in line, mixing them with his own fighters. He put the unarmed in formation without weapons, saying that they would have to get it themselves in battle, it was not stored for them.

Serpilin talked to people coolly, but not offensively. Only to the senior political instructor, who justified himself by the fact that although he was walking without a weapon, but in full uniform and with a party card in his pocket, Serpilin bitterly objected that a communist at the front should keep weapons along with his party card.

“We are not going to Golgotha, dear comrade,” said Serpilin, “but we are fighting.” If it’s easier for you to be put up against the wall by the fascists than to tear down the commissar’s stars with your own hands, that means you have a conscience. But this alone is not enough for us. We don’t want to stand up to the wall, but to put the fascists against the wall. But you can’t do this without a weapon. That's it! Go into the ranks, and I expect that you will be the first to acquire weapons in battle.

When the embarrassed senior political instructor walked away a few steps, Serpilin called out to him and, unhooking one of the two lemon grenades hanging from his belt, held it out in his palm.

- First, take it!

Sintsov, who, as an adjutant, wrote down names, ranks and unit numbers in a notebook, silently rejoiced at the reserve of patience and calm with which Serpilin spoke with people.

It is impossible to penetrate into the soul of a person, but during these days Sintsov more than once thought that Serpilin himself did not experience the fear of death. It probably wasn't like that, but it looked like it.

At the same time, Serpilin did not pretend that he did not understand how people were afraid, how they could run, get confused, and throw down their weapons. On the contrary, he made them feel that he understood this, but at the same time persistently instilled in them the idea that the fear they experienced and the defeat they experienced were all in the past. That it was like that, but it won’t be like that anymore, that they lost their weapons, but can acquire them again. This is probably why people did not leave Serpilin depressed, even when he spoke coolly to them. He rightly did not absolve them of blame, but he did not place all the blame solely on their shoulders. People felt it and wanted to prove that he was right.

Before the evening halt, another meeting took place, unlike all the others. A sergeant came from a side patrol moving through the thicket of the forest, bringing with him two armed men. One of them was a short Red Army soldier, wearing a shabby leather jacket over a tunic and with a rifle on his shoulder. The other is a tall, handsome man of about forty, with an aquiline nose and noble gray hair visible from under his cap, giving significance to his youthful, clean, wrinkle-free face; he was wearing good riding breeches and chrome boots, a brand new PPSh with a round disc was hanging on his shoulder, but the cap on his head was dirty and greasy, and just as dirty and greasy was the Red Army tunic that sat awkwardly on him, which did not meet at the neck and was short in the sleeves .

“Comrade brigade commander,” the sergeant said, approaching Serpilin along with these two people, looking sideways at them and holding his rifle at the ready, “permit me to report?” He brought the detainees. He detained them and brought them under escort because they did not explain themselves, and also because of their appearance. They didn’t disarm because they refused, and we didn’t want to open fire in the forest unnecessarily.

“Deputy chief of the operational department of the army headquarters, Colonel Baranov,” the man with the machine gun said abruptly, throwing his hand to his cap and stretching out in front of Serpilin and Shmakov, who was standing next to him.

“We apologize,” the sergeant who brought the detainees said, having heard this and, in turn, putting his hand to his cap.

- Why are you apologizing? – Serpilin turned to him. “They did the right thing in detaining me, and they did the right thing in bringing me to me.” Continue to do so in the future. You can go. “I’ll ask for your documents,” releasing the sergeant, he turned to the detainee, without calling him by rank.

His lips trembled and he smiled in confusion. It seemed to Sintsov that this man probably knew Serpilin, but only now recognized him and was amazed by the meeting.

And so it was. The man who called himself Colonel Baranov and actually bore this name and rank and held the position that he named when he was brought to Serpilin was so far from the idea that in front of him here in the forest, in military uniform, surrounded by other commanders , it may turn out to be Serpilin, who in the first minute only noted to himself that the tall brigade commander with a German machine gun on his shoulder reminded him very much of someone.

- Serpilin! - he exclaimed, spreading his arms, and it was difficult to understand whether this was a gesture of extreme amazement, or whether he wanted to hug Serpilin.

“Yes, I am brigade commander Serpilin,” Serpilin said in an unexpectedly dry, tinny voice, “the commander of the division entrusted to me, but I don’t see who you are yet.” Your documents!

- Serpilin, I’m Baranov, are you crazy?

“For the third time I ask you to present your documents,” Serpilin said in the same tinny voice.

“I don’t have documents,” Baranov said after a long pause.

- How come there are no documents?

- It happened that I accidentally lost... I left it in that tunic when I exchanged it for this... Red Army one. – Baranov moved his fingers along his greasy, too-tight tunic.

– Did you leave the documents in that tunic? Do you also have the colonel’s insignia on that tunic?

“Yes,” Baranov sighed.

– Why should I believe you that you are the deputy chief of the army’s operational department, Colonel Baranov?

- But you know me, we served together at the academy! – Baranov muttered completely lost.

“Let’s assume that this is so,” Serpilin said without softening at all, with the same tinny harshness unusual for Sintsov, “but if you had not met me, who could confirm your identity, rank and position?”

“Here he is,” Baranov pointed to the Red Army soldier in a leather jacket standing next to him. - This is my driver.

– Do you have documents, comrade soldier? – Without looking at Baranov, Serpilin turned to the Red Army soldier.

“Yes...” the Red Army soldier paused for a second, not immediately deciding how to address Serpilin, “yes, comrade general!” “He opened his leather jacket, took out a Red Army book wrapped in a rag from the pocket of his tunic and handed it to him.

“Yes,” Serpilin read aloud. - “Red Army soldier Petr Ilyich Zolotarev, military unit 2214.” Clear. - And he gave the Red Army soldier the book. – Tell me, Comrade Zolotarev, can you confirm the identity, rank and position of this man with whom you were detained? - And he, still not turning to Baranov, pointed his finger at him.

– That’s right, Comrade General, this is really Colonel Baranov, I’m his driver.

- So you certify that this is your commander?

- That's right, Comrade General.

- Stop mocking, Serpilin! – Baranov shouted nervously.

But Serpilin didn’t even bat an eyelid in his direction.

“It’s good that at least you can verify the identity of your commander, otherwise, at any moment, you could shoot him.” There are no documents, no insignia, a tunic from someone else’s shoulder, boots and breeches from command staff... - Serpilin’s voice became harsher and harsher with each phrase. – Under what circumstances did you end up here? – he asked after a pause.

“Now I’ll tell you everything...” Baranov began.

But Serpilin, this time half turning around, interrupted him:

- I'm not asking you yet. Speak... - he turned again to the Red Army soldier.

The Red Army soldier, at first hesitating, and then more and more confidently, trying not to forget anything, began to tell how three days ago, having arrived from the army, they spent the night at the division headquarters, how in the morning the colonel went to headquarters, and bombing immediately began all around, how soon one arrived From the rear, the driver said that German troops had landed there, and when he heard this, he took the car out just in case. And an hour later the colonel came running, praised him that the car was already ready, jumped into it and ordered him to quickly drive back to Chausy. When they got onto the highway, there was already heavy shooting and smoke ahead, they turned onto a dirt road, drove along it, but again heard shooting and saw German tanks at the intersection. Then they turned onto a remote forest road, drove straight off it into the forest, and the colonel ordered the car to stop.

While telling all this, the Red Army soldier sometimes glanced sideways at his colonel, as if seeking confirmation from him, and he stood silently, his head bowed low. The hardest part was beginning for him, and he understood it.

“I ordered to stop the car,” Serpilin repeated the last words of the Red Army soldier, “and what next?”

“Then Comrade Colonel ordered me to take out my old tunic and cap from under the seat, I had just recently received new uniforms, and left the old tunic and cap with me - just in case they were lying under the car. Comrade Colonel took off his tunic and cap and put on my cap and tunic, said that now I would have to leave the encirclement on foot, and ordered me to pour gasoline on the car and set it on fire. But only I,” the driver hesitated, “but only I, Comrade General, did not know that Comrade Colonel had forgotten the documents there, in his tunic, I, of course, would have reminded him if I had known, otherwise I set everything on fire along with the car .

He felt guilty.

- You hear? – Serpilin turned to Baranov. – Your fighter regrets that he did not remind you about your documents. – There was mockery in his voice. – I wonder what would happen if he reminded you of them? - He turned to the driver again: - What happened next?

“Thank you, Comrade Zolotarev,” said Serpilin. – Put him on the list, Sintsov. Catch up with the column and get into formation. You will receive satisfaction at the rest stop.

The driver started to move, then stopped and looked questioningly at his colonel, but he still stood with his eyes lowered to the ground.

- Go! - Serpilin said commandingly. - You are free.

The driver left. There was a heavy silence.

“Why did you need to ask him in front of me?” They could have asked me without compromising myself in front of the Red Army soldier.

“And I asked him because I trust the story of a soldier with a Red Army book more than the story of a disguised colonel without insignia and documents,” said Serpilin. – Now, at least, the picture is clear to me. We came to the division to monitor the implementation of the orders of the army commander. So or not?

“Yes,” Baranov said, looking stubbornly at the ground.

- But instead they ran away at the first danger! They abandoned everything and ran away. So or not?

- Not really.

- Not really? But as?

But Baranov was silent. No matter how much he felt insulted, there was nothing to object to.

“I compromised him in front of the Red Army soldier!” Do you hear, Shmakov? – Serpilin turned to Shmakov. - Like laughter! He chickened out, took off his command tunic in front of the Red Army soldier, threw away his documents, and it turns out I compromised him. It was not I who compromised you in front of the Red Army soldier, but you, with your shameful behavior, compromised the command staff of the army in front of the Red Army soldier. If my memory serves me correctly, you were a party member. Did they burn the party card too?

Probably, now, when he was thinking about this, an expression so unusual appeared on his usually calm face of a naturally kind, middle-aged, intelligent man that he suddenly heard Serpilin’s voice:

– Sergey Nikolaevich! What happened to you? What happened?

Serpilin lay on the grass and, with his eyes wide open, looked at him.

– Absolutely nothing. – Shmakov put on his glasses, and his face took on its usual expression.

– And if nothing, then tell me what time it is: isn’t it time? “I’m too lazy to move my limbs in vain,” Serpilin chuckled.

Shmakov looked at his watch and said that there were seven minutes left until the end of the halt.

– Then I'm still sleeping. – Serpilin closed his eyes.

After an hour's rest, which Serpilin, despite the fatigue of the people, did not allow to drag on for a minute, we moved on, gradually turning to the southeast.

– “We are not going to Golgotha, dear comrade,” said Serpilin, “but we are fighting.” If it’s easier for you to be put up against the wall by the fascists than to tear down the commissar’s stars with your own hands, that means you have a conscience. But this alone is not enough for us. We don’t want to stand up to the wall, but to put the fascists against the wall. But you can’t do this without a weapon. That's it! Go into the ranks, and I expect that you will be the first to acquire weapons in battle.

When the embarrassed senior political instructor walked away a few steps, Serpilin called out to him and, unhooking one of the two lemon grenades hanging from his belt, held it out in his palm.

– First, take it!

Sintsov, who, as an adjutant, wrote down names, ranks and unit numbers in a notebook, silently rejoiced at the reserve of patience and calm with which Serpilin spoke with people.

– Comrade brigade commander,” the sergeant said, approaching Serpilin along with these two people, looking askance at them and holding his rifle at the ready, “permit me to report?” He brought the detainees. He detained them and brought them under escort because they did not explain themselves, and also because of their appearance. They didn’t disarm because they refused, and we didn’t want to open fire in the forest unnecessarily.

– Deputy Chief of the Operations Department of the Army Headquarters, Colonel Baranov,” the man with the machine gun said abruptly, throwing his hand to his cap and stretching out in front of Serpilin and Shmakov, who was standing next to him.

– “We apologize,” the sergeant who brought the detainees said, having heard this and, in turn, putting his hand to his cap.

– Why are you apologizing? – Serpilin turned to him. “They did the right thing in detaining me, and they did the right thing in bringing me to me.” Continue to do so in the future. You can go. “I’ll ask for your documents,” releasing the sergeant, he turned to the detainee, without calling him by rank.

His lips trembled and he smiled in confusion. It seemed to Sintsov that this man probably knew Serpilin, but only now recognized him and was amazed by the meeting.

– Serpilin! - he exclaimed, spreading his arms, and it was difficult to understand whether this was a gesture of extreme amazement, or whether he wanted to hug Serpilin.

– Yes, I am brigade commander Serpilin,” Serpilin said in an unexpectedly dry, tinny voice, “the commander of the division entrusted to me, but I still don’t see who you are.” Your documents!

– Serpilin, I'm Baranov, are you crazy?

– For the third time I ask you to present your documents,” Serpilin said in the same tinny voice.

– “I don’t have documents,” Baranov said after a long pause.

– How come there are no documents?

– It so happened, I accidentally lost it... I left it in that tunic when I exchanged it for this... Red Army one. – Baranov moved his fingers along his greasy, too-tight tunic.

– Did you leave the documents in that tunic? Do you also have the colonel’s insignia on that tunic?

– Yes,” Baranov sighed.

– Why should I believe you that you are the deputy chief of the army’s operational department, Colonel Baranov?

– But you know me, we served together at the academy! – Baranov muttered completely lost.

– Let’s assume that this is so,” Serpilin said without softening at all, still with the same tinny harshness unusual for Sintsov, “but if you had not met me, who could confirm your identity, rank and position?

– Here he is,” Baranov pointed to the Red Army soldier in a leather jacket standing next to him. - This is my driver.

– Do you have documents, comrade soldier? – Without looking at Baranov, Serpilin turned to the Red Army soldier.

– Yes... - the Red Army soldier paused for a second, not immediately deciding how to address Serpilin, - yes, Comrade General! “He opened his leather jacket, took out a Red Army book wrapped in a rag from the pocket of his tunic and handed it to him.

– “Yes,” Serpilin read aloud. - “Red Army soldier Petr Ilyich Zolotarev, military unit 2214.” Clear. - And he gave the Red Army soldier the book. – Tell me, Comrade Zolotarev, can you confirm the identity, rank and position of this man with whom you were detained? - And he, still not turning to Baranov, pointed his finger at him.

– That's right, Comrade General, this is really Colonel Baranov, I am his driver.

– So you certify that this is your commander?

– That's right, Comrade General.

– Stop mocking me, Serpilin! – Baranov shouted nervously.

But Serpilin didn’t even bat an eyelid in his direction.

– It’s good that at least you can verify the identity of your commander, otherwise, at any moment, you could shoot him. There are no documents, no insignia, a tunic from someone else’s shoulder, boots and breeches from command staff... - Serpilin’s voice became harsher and harsher with each phrase. – Under what circumstances did you end up here? – he asked after a pause.

– Now I’ll tell you everything...” Baranov began.

But Serpilin, this time half turning around, interrupted him:

– Until I ask you. Speak... - he turned to the Red Army soldier again.

– He ordered to stop the car,” Serpilin repeated the last words of the Red Army soldier, “and what next?”

– Then Comrade Colonel ordered me to take out my old tunic and cap from under the seat; I had just recently received new uniforms, but I kept the old tunic and cap with me - just in case they were lying under the car. Comrade Colonel took off his tunic and cap and put on my cap and tunic, said that now I would have to leave the encirclement on foot, and ordered me to pour gasoline on the car and set it on fire. But only I,” the driver hesitated, “but only I, Comrade General, did not know that Comrade Colonel had forgotten the documents there, in his tunic, I, of course, would have reminded him if I had known, otherwise I set everything on fire along with the car .

He felt guilty.

– You hear? – Serpilin turned to Baranov. – Your fighter regrets that he did not remind you about your documents. – There was mockery in his voice. – I wonder what would happen if he reminded you of them? - He turned to the driver again: - What happened next?

– “Thank you, Comrade Zolotarev,” said Serpilin. – Put him on the list, Sintsov. Catch up with the column and get into formation. You will receive satisfaction at the rest stop.

The driver started to move, then stopped and looked questioningly at his colonel, but he still stood with his eyes lowered to the ground.

– Go! - Serpilin said commandingly. - You are free.