Tell children about beet tops. A wise tale of beets

The language of Platonov is called "awkward", "primitive", "self-made". This writer had an original style of writing. His works are replete with grammatical, lexical errors but this is what makes the dialogues alive, real. The article deals with the story "Dry bread", which reflects the life of rural residents.

Platonov's heroes - simple people usually uneducated. They cannot imagine their life without hard physical labor.

The key motive in the work of Andrei Platonov is the theme of death and its overcoming. The writer expressed a deep philosophical thought in the story "Dry bread". However, here the theme of death is revealed through the prism of children's perception.

Rogachevka

The writer often visited this village in the Voronezh region. It is here that the events of Platonov's story "Dry bread" take place, a summary of which is presented below.

Rogachevka is located 30 km from Voronezh. In 1924, a power plant was built in the village, in which Andrei Platonov was directly involved, who at that time held the position of a provincial meliorator.

Heroes of the story

Main character books "Dry bread" - Mitya Klimov. The author does not name his age, but at the end of the work he says: "His mother promised to send him to school in the fall." That is, the boy is seven years old. Platonov's story "Dry bread" takes place in the summer.

The boy lives in the village with his mother. His father died during the war. Grandpa Mitya does not remember at all. However, he remembers the deaf, sad voice and the warmth that emanated from this person. In the work "Dry Bread" Platonov surprisingly managed to convey inner world child.

Other heroes of the work are Mitina's mother, teacher Elena Petrovna. There are only three characters in Platonov's story.

Death theme

The boy is just beginning to get to know this world. And each subject arouses interest in him. And he often thinks about death. What she is, Mitya does not know, because he has never seen her.

He asks his mother: "Is Grandpa sleeping in the ground?" She answers in the affirmative. The boy now thinks that his grandfather is asleep because he is tired. He is trying in every possible way to help his mother in order to save her strength. After all, if she gets tired, she too will fall asleep, disappear ...

Drought

In the story "Dry bread" Platonov depicted a village life. Mitya's mother works in the field. Platonov, in his characteristic bright, lively style, paints a picture of village life: "A hot wind blows from morning to evening, it blows fire from the sun and carries it along the earth."

"Dry bread" is a work that is written in a very poetic language, however, like other stories and stories by Andrei Platonov. In addition, there are optimistic notes in "Dry Bread". The boy sees how hard it is for his mother and tries to help her. She explains to him in simple, country language how dangerous a drought is. If there is no rain, there will be no bread.

The tragic events of the post-war years inspired Platonov to create his work "Dry Bread".

In 1946, famine began in the country. Its occurrence was influenced by several factors, including drought. The harvest has dropped dramatically. The newspapers later wrote that the lack of rain was to blame. Modern researchers argue that the cause of the famine was not so much in the drought as in the policy of the authorities. But of course, nothing is said about this in the work "Dry bread". Events are shown through the eyes of a child. And there is no talk of hunger in the story - only about the scorching hot sun and hard peasant labor, which in such conditions becomes completely unbearable.

Mother

The heroine of the story "Dry Bread" is a classic image of a Russian village woman. She works hard, not feeling sorry for herself. Labor is the basis of her life. The main task of this woman is to raise a son.

Mitya's mother appears to be big and strong. Nevertheless, he often asks: "Aren't you going to die?" (that is, you get tired and die). And she replies: "No, I'm healthy, not old, I still have to raise you."

Get big

Mitya wants to work, but his mother does not allow. He says that he is still small and cannot work on an equal basis with her. Then the boy decides to become big by all means. How to do it? You need to eat a lot of bread. This is what Mitya thinks and begins to swallow the pulp of bread with water. He eats almost all the rug, and the next day he suffers from stomach pain.

The boy goes to the arable land to his mother, and on the way looks around. But none of the passers-by notices a change in him. He remained a little boy who is still too early to work. "Your time will come and plow!" - says his mother.

The boy got angry - he doesn't want to be small. He was angry with everyone who is bigger and stronger than him. Even my mother. But she smiled, and everything around suddenly became kind: the gray earth, and the hot wind, and the blade of grass.

Old barn

Experiences little boy, the hero of the work "Dry Bread", Platonov conveys by describing various objects and Mitya's attitude to them.

He has no one but his mother. Mitya does not go to school yet. His social circle is very narrow. He hardly remembers his deceased relatives. But in their yard there is old barn, and there are many interesting items in it. For Mitya, these items serve as a kind of connection with his father and grandfather.

In the shed, which the author calls the "old man shed," there is an ax that belonged to Mitya's grandfather. There is a wooden tackle, a spinning wheel. The barn also contains old tools that his father used. One day the boy finds an oak hoe and realizes that with the help of this object he will finally be able to help his mother.

Field

Why did Platonov call his work "Dry bread"? Every day the boy comes to the field where his mother works. Here he sees a picture that brings melancholy to any villager. The author describes the dry grain field so colorfully that the reader, who has never been to the village, is also imbued with the experiences of the hero of the story.

"Rye is dying, small blades of grass occasionally stand alive" - such is the picture that Mitya sees every day. The mother explains to the boy that he too cannot live without moisture. Mitya understands that the field will fall asleep without rain. Just as his father and grandfather fell asleep. He takes a wooden hoe and begins to loosen the ground. Mitya believes that if he does this every day, then the dew that collects in the morning will penetrate deep into the ground.

The teacher

Mitya works for a long time, selflessly. He sees nothing but slumbering blades of grass. And suddenly he hears someone's voice. This is a teacher who knows every village boy. She was in the war, she lost her hand there.

Elena Petrovna never felt sorry for herself. She smiled affably at everyone, despite the fact that she was a cripple. Approaching the boy, the teacher asked what he was doing. Mitya replied: "I help the bread to survive."

Elena Petrovna was touched by this hardworking, serious boy beyond his years. The next day, she was to go on an excursion with her students. She also invited Mitya. But the boy refused. "Bread is dying, we have no time" - that was his answer.

Elena Petrovna began to help Mitya, although she had only one hand and it was very hard for her to work. The next day she came to the field with her students. They didn't go on a tour. They took narrow hoes on the collective farm, and Elena Petrovna showed them how to work in order for dry bread to grow. Mitya felt that the blades of grass were coming to life that day.

This is the content of Platonov's story "Dry bread". the main idea the work is as follows: only love, understanding, caring for each other can save you from trouble. The main character the story, despite its young age, shows a responsibility that not every adult is capable of. His serious outlook on life amazes the teacher. And he himself serves as an example for other children.

It is worth saying that the drought in 1946 was so severe that no collective work could save the country from hunger. In addition, a lot of grain was exported that year. The work of A.P. Platonov is not devoid of romanticism and belief in communist ideals.

The writer's worldview was formed in his youth, but later he lost faith in Soviet ideology. His fate was tragic. It is worth citing some facts from the biography of this wonderful writer.

About the author of the story "Dry bread"

A.P. Platonov was born into a simple working-class family. His father was a steam locomotive driver. The family had ten children. The future writer, as a senior, actively helped his parents. WITH early years was accustomed to work. He worked as a day laborer, driver's assistant, foundry worker.

In years Civil war Platonov served as a front-line correspondent, at the same time was engaged in literary work. He wrote his most significant works in the late twenties.

In 1931, Platonov published the work "For the future", which caused an angry reaction from critics. From that moment in the life of the writer began serious problems, which subsided for a while only during the years of the Great Patriotic War... Andrei Platonov wrote truthful works that could not win the approval of the Soviet censors.

The story "Dry bread" by the classic of Russian and world literature, prose writer Andrei Platonovich Platonov tells about a seven-year-old child Mitya Klimov, who lives in a village, loves his mother and wants to grow up as soon as possible in order to help her on arable land. Out of a childishly sweet desire to become an adult, he even began to eat more.

The summer season turned out to be dry, which affected rye crops. Seeing the drooping rye ears, the boy remembered the stories of his mother working in the fallow field: the now deceased grandfather and father of Mitya allegedly fell asleep, starved to death from the troublesome work in the field. He decided that the crops would also "fall asleep" and would soon perish. Having found a piece of wood that looked like a hoe in a dilapidated woodshed, the boy began to diligently loosen the hot soil near the ears, because his mother had repeatedly told him that the roots of drooping plants would get drunk with dew in the morning and “wake up”. During this lesson, a local teacher saw Mitya, who later invited him to a trip to the forest with the schoolchildren, which he refused, saying in an adult way that he intends to work, not play. The rye crops burnt by the strongest heat upset and burdened him. Then Elena Petrovna decided to help, despite the fact that after the front she had only one whole hand left. She later returned with young assistants, and things soon got better! "Mom plows, and I'm helping the bread grow," thought Mitya. "The teacher has only one hand, otherwise she would also work."

This work teaches readers to be disinterested and to relate to the people around them with genuine responsiveness; as well as many other stories by Platonov, "Dry Bread" fosters a respectful attitude to work and teaches respect for the work of other people, demonstrating how joint work for a good purpose unites people.

Picture or drawing Dry bread

Other retellings and reviews for the reader's diary

Summary of the Tale of the Sea King and Vasilisa the Wise
In a distant kingdom, the king lived and lived with his wife. However, the couple was childless. Once the sovereign went to travel on various matters, and after a while it was time for him to return. And at this time he suddenly had a son,
Summary of the fairy tale Morozko
In one village lived a lonely old man, who himself raised his daughter, since his wife died long ago. Over time, the old man decided to marry. New wife turned out to be very strict with the old girl, constantly scolded and reproached her.
Summary of Griboyedov Woe from Wit
The play begins with Famusov's house. Where the young seventeen-year-old daughter Sophia is secretly in love with the secretary of father Alexei Molchalin. At night, lovers secretly see everyone in the girl's room. The maid Lisa guards their door so that their father does not find them
Summary Zero class Koval
Once, a new teacher Marya Semyonovna came to the village school. But, the children did not accept her and treated her with apprehension. It seemed strange and unusual to them that Marya Semyonovna
Summary Nobody writes to the Colonel Marquez
In the early October morning, the colonel brought the remains of coffee to his wife, who had been suffering from an attack of suffocation all night. Despite his poor health, he refused the drink and hid that it was the last one.

Annotation

Before you is the first collection of works by Andrei Platonov, which includes all the works of the classics of Russian literature of the 20th century known to date.

This volume includes stories about children and for children, including unfinished ones, as well as Russian and Bashkir folk tales in the retelling of the writer.

Unfortunately, some of the works are missing in the file.

http://ruslit.traumlibrary.net

Andrey Platonovich Platonov

Stories and fairy tales

The passage of time

July thunderstorm

great person

Entire life

Iron old woman

From a good heart

Grandmother's hut

Flower on earth

Octopus

Multicolored butterfly

Dry bread

Two crumbs

Unknown flower

Unfinished

Black footed girl

First day in the world

Gift of life

In 2000

<Из записных книжек>

Bashkir folk tales

The tale of the kurai

The wise old man and the stupid king

Who is stronger?

Stepdaughter

Grateful hare

Hunter Yuldybai

The greedy rich man and Zinnat-agai

Lazy girl

Young hunter

Chicken and Hawk

Orphan fox

Fox carpenter

Two badgers

Why geese became colorful

Mischievous cat

Russian folk tales

Ivan-Miracle

Handleless

Wonderful boy

Magic ring

Ivan the Bestalny and Elena the Wise

Smart granddaughter

Finist - clear falcon

The soldier and the queen

Andrey Platonovich Platonov

Collected Works

Volume 7. Dry bread

Stories and fairy tales

Earring

[no text]

The passage of time

On the outskirts of Tiflis, not very long ago, twenty years ago, stood small house, built of clay and rock rubble - flagstone, inside the house there was one room with an earthen floor, there she sat behind wooden table a young, sad woman and sewed a white cloth. On the table, day and night, a kerosene lamp was always burning, because on a bench against the wall lay a helpless, blind old woman, the mother of a seamstress. The old woman gazed with dim, unconscious eyes at the light of the fire and felt it, she liked it, like a consolation, like a dawning voice from a dark world. The daughter loved her mother and spent money on kerosene by increasing her labor and saving food. No one came to visit her, and she did not have such acquaintances who would love and entertain her, and from time to time she had to smile only to herself - no one knows why: maybe because her heart does not endure continuous sorrow and is sometimes capable of straightening itself out and stretch by itself. Feminine and human charm was still stored in her, but fatigue and piteous need, like old age, had already clouded her face, and it became invisible or uninteresting for all people.

Two days later, on the third day, the seamstress brought work to the city and took material; then she - on the way - rested, saw nature and passers-by, various other people's things, high mountains and imagined in her soul someone else's life, unlike her own, in order to be happy in her mind.

In the courtyard and in the vicinity of the house, her daughter, an eleven-year-old girl Tamara, ran and studied. The girl always lived alone, like an orphan, because her mother had no time to play with her; the mother barely had time to work to feed her daughter and the old woman, she was in a hurry to sew so quickly that she forgot to feel her love for her daughter, bread seemed to her more important than motherhood.

In the evening Tamara returned to the room. Her mother laid on the floor under the bench, on which the blind grandmother lay, and her daughter fell asleep. All night long a lamp shone in her face, all night a light was on in one window in Tiflis, and the young woman sewed with pale hands on white, preparing a dress and adornment for all sleeping and rich people. All around the dwellings were the Caucasus Mountains, as if they had stopped for the night. In the daytime, during the sun, they seemed to recede; they could see how light and time were passing away.

The next morning Tamara ate a flour cake with black tea, then soaked another cake in a saucer and fed the blind old woman. The old woman, having eaten, again gazed with dead eyes at the burning lamp and warmed her face against its weak light; she was sleeping and dying again. Her daughter sat all day alone by the lamp and sewed - sometimes until midnight, sometimes until morning.

Tamara hid about her childish affairs, but she did not have fun there, at the age of eleven she already lived with the mind of all the poor - with the imagination. She saw the toy in her friend's hands and, without getting close to her, secretly thought that this toy was hers and she was already holding it in her hands and was enjoying the joy. If an adult Russian girl rode a bicycle, Tamara believed that that bicycle was also hers, and she, hiding in a back street, touched the air with her hands where her bicycle was. She appropriated for herself everything that she liked in the world, that could love her curious, stingy heart, which could not live empty and must constantly be occupied with property. Once Tamara saw an old, abandoned picture in a strange yard, in that picture a small mountain was painted with paints - the mountain stood in the middle of the distant evening, covered with a pitiful forest, with some kind of hut on the edge of the forest, and a night fire had already been lit in that hut. Tamara began to dream that she would soon live in that hut, that this would be her home, and that the whole mountain with the forest was her kingdom and country where she would feel good.

Once the blind old woman closed her eyes and asked her daughter to put out the lamp and not burn kerosene anymore. It was a summer afternoon outside. The seamstress put out the lamp and went up to her mother.

Turn me around, ”the old woman asked.

The daughter put her mother facing the wall, and the old woman died.

The seamstress put out the lamp and sat down to sew again, but noticed that without the lamp she had lost the habit of seeing: her eyes were watering and tormented. Then she lit the lamp again, the light of the sun in small window she no longer needed.

Six months later, the seamstress bought a second lamp - the light of one lamp was not enough for her, but her eyes were losing their feeling more and more, she was blind and now worked only on occasional orders. Stores refused her because she confused the pattern on the sewing and did not see correct size.

Tamara now ate once a day, and not a flour cake, but a corn cake: what she lacked, she finished eating in the grass, on which small crumpets grew under the leaves.

At night, Tamara tied her mother's eyes with a handkerchief so that they would not flow with tears, and she herself began to sew, but did not know how and spoiled the material.

Tamara, - her mother told her while blindfolded, - we have nothing to eat tomorrow. Pour kerosene from the lamp and go sell it.

Don't, ”Tamara said. - Give me a better marriage. My husband will feed me, I'll eat, and I'll bring you the rest. Then we'll be alive again.

But her mother did not want to give Tamara in marriage; she still sewed, going out to work in the sun, because there was nothing to buy kerosene for the lamp. Pus was now coming out of her eyes, and she wiped it off with white material. Tamara then washed away the green spots on the precious sweaters, but the traces of the spots still remained, and the customers stopped giving work to the blind seamstress altogether.

Tamara at this time forgot to imagine something for the happiness and peace of her heart, she lived unhappy and angry, busy collecting edible donuts in the grass. They had to collect several thousand pieces in order to give the mother and eat a little herself, otherwise there would be death.

Soon Tamara's mother groped a stick in the yard and went to the neighbors. She told them that she wanted to give Tamara in marriage: if they had a groom in mind.

In the evening, an old man came to Tamara, he talked to the seamstress, and then tried the girl's torso with his hands and agreed to marry her. He promised to come the next day and bring the bride a long dress, and then there will be a wedding.

Tamara slept through the night, and in the morning she ran into the basement where the fox lived and her hole was. Tamara drove the fox out, but she herself climbed into her hole and did not leave it all day; She had not grown for a long time from weakness and was thin, so she all fit in the hole, leaving only her legs outside. The mother and the old groom went, looking for her everywhere, until the old man noticed that a stray fox was walking around the yard and did not know where to go. Then he told the seamstress why this meek fox was walking about without a place. Tamara's mother understood and taught the old man where to look for Tamara, and soon the old man pulled the girl out by the legs fox hole... It seemed to Tamara that the old man had no chin; This made her cry, because she wanted to love her husband for something in her imagination and already considered him her favorite thing in advance, like someone else's bicycle, a doll and a mountain with a hut in the picture.

In the evening, the seamstress began to dress Tamara in a long dress brought by the old man, hiding and wrapping her body from everyone forever, for the sake of her husband, and told her to cry.

But Tamara did not know why she was crying. She thought that tomorrow morning her husband would start feeding her, and fell asleep, imagining and inventing what love meant.

After the wedding, Tamara was left alone in her husband's wealthy house. The old man undressed his wife and put her to sleep on a large bed. Then he began to touch her and say sweet little words. Tamara silently looked at the old man, surprised that he was a fool.

Are you playing me? Do you think I'm yours? - asked Tamara.

I'm playing, - said the old man, - why ...

Platonov Andrey

Dry bread

Andrey Planonov

DRY BREAD

There lived a seven-year-old boy Mitya Klimov in the village of Rogachevka. He did not have a father, his father died in the war from illness, now he has only one mother left. Mitya Klimov also had a grandfather, but he died of old age before the war, and Mitya did not remember his face; he remembered only the kind warmth in his grandfather's chest, which warmed and delighted Mitya, he remembered the sad, deaf voice calling him. And now that warmth is gone and that voice is silent. "Where did grandfather go?" thought Mitya. He did not understand death, because he had not seen it anywhere. He thought that the logs in their hut and the stone at the threshold were also alive, like people, like horses and cows, only they were asleep.

Where is grandfather? - Mitya asked his mother. - He sleeps in the ground?

He sleeps, - said the mother

Is he upset? - asked Mitya.

I got tired, - answered the mother. - He plowed the land all his life, and in the winter he did carpentry, in the winter he made sledges for cooperation and wove sandals; all his life he had no time to sleep.

Mom, wake him up! - asked Mitya.

It is forbidden. He's going to get angry.

Is dad sleeping too?

And dad is asleep.

Is it night for them?

They have night, son.

Mom, will you never die? - asked Mitya and looked with fear into his mother's face.

No, why should I, son, I will never get tired. I am healthy, I am not old ... I will raise you for a long time, otherwise you are small with me.

And Mitya was afraid that his mother would die out, get tired of working and fall asleep too, like his grandfather and father fell asleep.

Mother now walked the field for the plow all day. Two oxen dragged the plow, and the mother held the plow handles and shouted at the oxen to walk and not stop and doze. The mother was big, strong; under her hands, the plow share turned the earth. Mitya followed the plow and also shouted at the oxen so as not to be bored without his mother.

The summer was dry that year. A hot wind blew in the fields from morning to evening, and tongues of black flame flew in this wind, as if the wind blew fire from the sun and carried it along the earth. At noon the whole sky was covered with haze; fiery heat scorched the earth and turned it into dead dust, and the wind lifted that dust up high, and it covered the sun. It was then possible to look at the sun with your eyes, as at the moon floating in a fog.

Mitya's mother plowed a fallow field. Mitya followed his mother and from time to time brought water from the well to the arable land so that his mother would not suffer from thirst. He brought half a bucket each time; the mother poured the water into a bucket that stood on the arable land, and when a full bucket was filled, she watered the oxen so that they would not be overwhelmed and plowed. Mitya saw how hard it was for his mother, how she rested against the plow in front of her when the oxen weakened. And Mitya wanted to become big and strong as soon as possible, in order to plow the land instead of his mother, and let his mother rest in the hut.

Thinking so, Mitya went home. Mother baked bread at night and left it on the bench, covering it with a clean towel from flies. Mitya cut off half of the rugs and began to eat. He didn’t want to eat, but he needed to: he wanted to grow up as soon as possible, rather to gain strength and plow the land. Mitya thought that he would rather grow from bread, only he had to eat a lot of it. And he ate pulp and bread crust; at first he ate to hunt, and then he began to choke with satiety; the bread from his mouth wanted to come out, and he stuffed it with his fingers and chewed patiently. Soon his mouth got tired of chewing, the jaws in his cheeks ached from work, and Mitya wanted to sleep. But he didn't need to sleep. He needs to eat a lot and grow big. He drank a mug of water, ate another cabbage stump, and began to eat bread again. Having finished half of the kovrigi, Mitya drank water again and began to eat baked potatoes from the pot, dipping them in salt. He ate only one potato, and took the second in his hand, dipped it in salt and fell asleep.

In the evening, mother came back from plowing. She sees her son sleeping on the bench, laid his head on the rug fresh bread and snores like a big man. Mother undressed Mitya, examined him - did anyone bite him, she looked - his stomach was like a drum.

All night Mitya snored, kicked and muttered in his sleep.

And the next morning he woke up, lived all day without eating, he did not want anything, he only drank water.

In the morning Mitya walked around the village, then went to his mother's arable land and kept looking at people he met and passers-by to see if they noticed that he had grown up. No one looked at Mitya with surprise and said nothing to him. Then he looked at his shadow to see if it had become longer. His shadow seemed to have become larger than yesterday, but a little, just a little.

Mom, - said Mitya, - let me plow, I have to go!

His mother answered him:

Wait! Your time will come and plow! And now your time has not come, you are young, you are still weak, you still need to grow and feed, and I will feed you!

Mitya was angry at his mother and at all people that he was smaller than them.

I don’t want to feed, I want to feed you!

The mother smiled at him, and from her, from the mother, everything suddenly became kind around: sniffing, sweaty oxen, gray earth, a blade of grass trembling in the hot wind, and an unfamiliar old man wandering along the border. Mitya looked around, and it seemed to him that kind, loving eyes were looking at him from everywhere, and his heart shuddered with joy.

Mama! - exclaimed Mitya. - What should I do? I love you.

And what can you do! - said the mother. - Live, here's your job. Think of your grandfather, think of your father, and think of me.

Do you think about me too?

I also think about you - you are the only one with me, - my mother answered. - Oh, goblin! What have become? she said to the oxen. - Come on, go ahead! If we have not eaten, shall we live?

In the parental yard where Mitya Klimov lived, there was an old barn. The shed was covered with planks, and the planks became old from time to time, on them it had long been growing green moss... And the barn itself went half way into the ground on one side and looked like an old man bent over. In a dark corner of that barn lay old, old things. There and the father put what he needed, and there the grandfather kept, that he alone was dear and no one needed it anymore. Mitya loved to go to that dark corner of the old man's shed and touch unnecessary things there. He took an ax, all jagged, rusty and unusable, looked at it and thought: "His grandfather was holding it in his hands and I am holding it." He saw there a wooden tackle that looked like a snag, and did not know what it was. Mother then told Mitya: it was a plow, grandfather used it to plow the land. Mitya also found there a wheel from a house spinning wheel ... There was also a kochedyk lying there: grandfather needed it when he weaved sandals for himself and his children. There was still a lot of good, and Mitya touched with his hands forgotten objects that were now sleeping in the gloom of the shed; the boy thought about them, he thought about how they lived long ago in ancient times; then Mitya was not yet in the world, and everyone was bored that he was not there.

Today Mitya found a solid oak stick in the shed: at one end of it there was a root bent downwards and sharp, and the other end was smooth. Mitya did not know what it was. Maybe grandfather loosened the earth, like with a hoe, with this sharp oak root or something else he worked. Mother said he always worked and was not afraid of anything. Mitya took this grandfather's oak hoe and carried it to the hut. Maybe she'll be good for him: grandfather worked with her and he will.

A collective farm field approached the very straight line of the Klimov yard. Rye was sown in rows in the field. Every day Mitya went to his mother through this grain field and saw how the rye was stained by the heat and died: small blades of rye only occasionally stood alive, and many had already drooped dead to the ground, whence they emerged into the light. Mitya tried to raise the withered grains of bread so that they could live again, but they could not live and bowed like sleepy to the caked, hot earth.

Mom, - he said, - rye grows thin from the heat?

She's dying, son. There was no rain, and now it is not, and the bread is not iron, it is alive.

And there is dew! - said Mitya. - She comes in the morning.

Why the dew! - answered the mother. - The dew dries up soon; the earth is all caked on top, the dew does not penetrate deep into it.

Mom, what about without bread?

I don’t know how to be ... There must be help then, we live in the state.

And it is better to let the grain grow on the collective farm, let the dew pass into the ground.

It would be better that way, but bread is not born without rain.

He won't grow up big, he sleeps small! - said Mitya; he missed those who were asleep.

He went home alone, while his mother remained in the arable land. At home, Mitya took grandfather's wooden hoe, stroked it with his hand - grandfather must have stroked it too, - put the hoe on his shoulder and went to the collective farm winter field, which was behind the spinner.

There he began to loosen the caked earth with a hoe between the rows of asleep rye blades. Mitya understood that the bread would breathe more freely when the earth became loose. And he also wanted the night and morning dew to pass from above between the lumps of earth to the very depths, to each root of a rye spikelet. Then the dew will moisten the soil there, the roots will begin to feed from the earth, and the grain of bread will wake up and live.

Mitya accidentally struck with a hoe near the stalk of bread itself, and that stalk broke and drooped.

It is forbidden! Mitya cried to himself. -- What are you doing!

He straightened the stalk, set it in the ground, and now began to hoe the ground only in the middle of the aisle so as not to injure the grain roots. Then he put down the hoe and began to dig with his hands and loosen the soil at the very roots of the bread. The roots were dry, weak, his mother said about them that they were cowardly, and Mitya carefully felt with his fingers and loosened the soil around each rye root, so as not to hurt him and so that the dew would give him drink.

Platonov Andrey

Dry bread

Andrey Planonov

DRY BREAD

Where is grandfather? - Mitya asked his mother. - He sleeps in the ground?

He sleeps, - said the mother

Is he upset? - asked Mitya.

Mom, wake him up! - asked Mitya.

It is forbidden. He's going to get angry.

Is dad sleeping too?

And dad is asleep.

Is it night for them?

They have night, son.

Mom, will you never die? - asked Mitya and looked with fear into his mother's face.

No, why should I, son, I will never get tired. I am healthy, I am not old ... I will raise you for a long time, otherwise you are small with me.

And Mitya was afraid that his mother would die out, get tired of working and fall asleep too, like his grandfather and father fell asleep.

In the evening, mother came back from plowing. She sees her son sleeping on the bench, laying his head on a mat of fresh bread and snoring like a big man. Mother undressed Mitya, examined him - did anyone bite him, she looked - his stomach was like a drum.

All night Mitya snored, kicked and muttered in his sleep.

And the next morning he woke up, lived all day without eating, he did not want anything, he only drank water.

Mom, - said Mitya, - let me plow, I have to go!

His mother answered him:

Wait! Your time will come and plow! And now your time has not come, you are young, you are still weak, you still need to grow and feed, and I will feed you!

Mitya was angry at his mother and at all people that he was smaller than them.

I don’t want to feed, I want to feed you!

Mama! - exclaimed Mitya. - What should I do? I love you.

And what can you do! - said the mother. - Live, here's your job. Think of your grandfather, think of your father, and think of me.

Do you think about me too?

I also think about you - you are the only one with me, - my mother answered. - Oh, goblin! What have become? she said to the oxen. - Come on, go ahead! If we have not eaten, shall we live?

In the parental yard where Mitya Klimov lived, there was an old barn. The shed was covered with planks, and the planks were old with age, green moss had grown on them for a long time. And the barn itself went half way into the ground on one side and looked like an old man bent over. In a dark corner of that barn lay old, old things. There and the father put what he needed, and there the grandfather kept, that he alone was dear and no one needed it anymore. Mitya loved to go to that dark corner of the old man's shed and touch unnecessary things there. He took an ax, all jagged, rusty and unusable, looked at it and thought: "His grandfather was holding it in his hands and I am holding it." He saw there a wooden tackle that looked like a snag, and did not know what it was. Mother then told Mitya: it was a plow, grandfather used it to plow the land. Mitya also found there a wheel from a house spinning wheel ... There was also a kochedyk lying there: grandfather needed it when he weaved sandals for himself and his children. There was still a lot of good, and Mitya touched with his hands forgotten objects that were now sleeping in the gloom of the shed; the boy thought about them, he thought about how they lived long ago in ancient times; then Mitya was not yet in the world, and everyone was bored that he was not there.

Mom, - he said, - rye grows thin from the heat?

She's dying, son. There was no rain, and now it is not, and the bread is not iron, it is alive.

And there is dew! - said Mitya. - She comes in the morning.

Why the dew! - answered the mother. - The dew dries up soon; the earth is all caked on top, the dew does not penetrate deep into it.

Mom, what about without bread?

I don’t know how to be ... There must be help then, we live in the state.

And it is better to let the grain grow on the collective farm, let the dew pass into the ground.

It would be better that way, but bread is not born without rain.

He won't grow up big, he sleeps small! - said Mitya; he missed those who were asleep.