The fate of a person read briefly. "Tale M

Mikhail Alexandrovich Sholokhov

Man's destiny

MAN'S FATE

Evgenia Grigorievna Levitskaya,

member of the CPSU since 1903

The first post-war spring on the Upper Don was unusually friendly and assertive. At the end of March, warm winds blew from the Azov region, and within two days the sands of the left bank of the Don were completely exposed, snow-filled ravines and gullies in the steppe swelled up, breaking the ice, steppe rivers leaped madly, and the roads became almost completely impassable.

During this bad time of no roads, I had to go to the village of Bukanovskaya. And the distance is small - only about sixty kilometers - but overcoming them was not so easy. My friend and I left before sunrise. A pair of well-fed horses, pulling the lines to a string, could barely drag the heavy chaise. The wheels sank to the very hub into the damp sand mixed with snow and ice, and an hour later, on the horses’ sides and whips, under the thin belts of the harnesses, white fluffy flakes of soap appeared, and in the fresh morning air there was a sharp and intoxicating smell of horse sweat and warmed tar generously oiled horse harness.

Where it was especially difficult for the horses, we got off the chaise and walked. The soaked snow squelched under the boots, it was hard to walk, but along the sides of the road there was still crystal ice glistening in the sun, and it was even more difficult to get through there. Only about six hours later we covered a distance of thirty kilometers and arrived at the crossing over the Elanka River.

A small river, drying up in places in summer, opposite the Mokhovsky farm in a swampy floodplain overgrown with alders, overflowed for a whole kilometer. It was necessary to cross on a fragile punt that could carry no more than three people. We released the horses. On the other side, in the collective farm barn, an old, well-worn “Jeep” was waiting for us, left there in the winter. Together with the driver, we boarded the dilapidated boat, not without fear. The comrade remained on the shore with his things. They had barely set sail when water began to gush out in fountains from the rotten bottom in different places. Using improvised means, they caulked the unreliable vessel and scooped water out of it until they reached it. An hour later we were on the other side of Elanka. The driver drove the car from the farm, approached the boat and said, taking the oar:

If this damned trough doesn’t fall apart on the water, we’ll arrive in two hours, don’t wait earlier.

The farm was located far to the side, and near the pier there was such silence as only happens in deserted places in the dead of autumn and at the very beginning of spring. The water smelled of dampness, the tart bitterness of rotting alder, and from the distant Khoper steppes, drowned in a lilac haze of fog, a light breeze carried the eternally youthful, barely perceptible aroma of land recently freed from under the snow.

Not far away, on the coastal sand, lay a fallen fence. I sat down on it, wanted to light a cigarette, but putting my hand into the right pocket of the cotton quilt, to my great chagrin, I discovered that the pack of Belomor was completely soaked. During the crossing, a wave lashed over the side of a low-lying boat and washed me waist-deep. muddy water. Then I had no time to think about cigarettes, I had to abandon the oar and quickly bail out the water so that the boat would not sink, and now, bitterly annoyed at my mistake, I carefully took the soggy pack out of my pocket, squatted down and began to lay it out one by one on the fence damp, browned cigarettes.

It was noon. The sun was shining hotly, like in May. I hoped that the cigarettes would dry out soon. The sun was shining so hotly that I already regretted wearing military cotton trousers and a quilted jacket for the journey. It was the first truly warm day after winter. It was good to sit on the fence like this, alone, completely submitting to silence and loneliness, and, taking off the old soldier’s earflaps from his head, drying his hair, wet after heavy rowing, in the breeze, mindlessly watching the white busty clouds floating in the faded blue.

Soon I saw a man come out onto the road from behind the outer courtyards of the farm. He led by the hand little boy, judging by his height, he is no more than five or six years old. They walked wearily towards the crossing, but when they caught up with the car, they turned towards me. A tall, stooped man, coming close, said in a muffled basso:

Hello, brother!

Hello. - I shook the large, callous hand extended to me.

The man leaned towards the boy and said:

Say hello to your uncle, son. Apparently, he is the same driver as your dad. Only you and I drove a truck, and he drives this little car.

Looking straight into my eyes with eyes as bright as the sky, smiling slightly, the boy boldly extended his pink, cold little hand to me. I shook her lightly and asked:

Why is it, old man, that your hand is so cold? It's warm outside, but you're freezing?

With touching childish trust, the baby pressed himself against my knees and raised his whitish eyebrows in surprise.

What kind of old man am I, uncle? I’m not a boy at all, and I don’t freeze at all, but my hands are cold - because I was rolling snowballs.

Taking the skinny duffel bag off his back and wearily sitting down next to me, my father said:

I'm in trouble with this passenger. It was through him that I got involved. As soon as you take a wide step, he starts to trot, so please adapt to such an infantryman. Where I need to step once, I step three times, and we walk with him separately, like a horse and a turtle. But here he needs an eye and an eye. You turn away a little, and he’s already wandering across the puddle or breaking off an ice cream and sucking it instead of candy. No, it’s not a man’s business to travel with such passengers, and at a leisurely pace at that. “He was silent for a while, then asked: “What are you, brother, waiting for your superiors?”

It was inconvenient for me to dissuade him that I was not a driver, and I answered:

We have to wait.

Will they come from the other side?

Don't know if the boat will arrive soon?

In two hours.

In order. Well, while we rest, I have nowhere to rush. And I walk past, I look: my brother, the driver, is sunbathing. Let me, I think, I’ll come in and have a smoke together. One is sick of smoking and dying. And you live richly and smoke cigarettes. Damaged them, then? Well, brother, soaked tobacco, like a treated horse, is no good. Let's smoke my strong drink instead.

He took out a worn raspberry silk pouch rolled into a tube from the pocket of his protective summer pants, unfolded it, and I managed to read the inscription embroidered on the corner: “To a dear fighter from a 6th grade student at Lebedyansk Secondary School.”

We lit a strong cigarette and were silent for a long time. I wanted to ask where he was going with the child, what need was driving him into such muddiness, but he beat me to it with a question:

What, you spent the entire war behind the wheel?

Almost all of it.

At the front?

Well, there I had to, brother, take a sip of bitterness up the nostrils and up.

He put the big ones on his knees dark hands, hunched over. I looked at him from the side, and I felt something uneasy... Have you ever seen eyes, as if sprinkled with ashes, filled with such an inescapable mortal melancholy that it is difficult to look into them? These were the eyes of my random interlocutor.

Having broken out a dry, twisted twig from the fence, he silently moved it along the sand for a minute, drawing some intricate figures, and then spoke:

Sometimes you don’t sleep at night, you look into the darkness with empty eyes and think: “Why, life, did you cripple me like that? Why did you distort it like that?” I don’t have an answer, either in the dark or in the clear sun... No, and I can’t wait! - And suddenly he came to his senses: gently pushing his little son, he said: - Go, dear, play near the water, there is always some kind of prey for the children near the big water. Just be careful not to get your feet wet!

While we were still smoking in silence, I, furtively examining my father and son, noted with surprise one circumstance that was strange in my opinion. The boy was dressed simply, but well: and in the way he sat on him, lined with a light, well-worn long-skirted jacket, and the fact that the tiny boots were sewn with the intention of putting them on a woolen sock, and the very skillful seam on the once torn sleeve of the jacket - everything betrayed feminine care, skillful motherly hands. But the father looked different: the padded jacket, burnt in several places, was carelessly and roughly darned, the patch on his worn-out protective trousers was not sewn on properly, but rather sewn on with wide, masculine stitches; he was wearing almost new soldier's boots, but his thick woolen socks were moth-eaten, they had not been touched by a woman's hand... Even then I thought: “Either he is a widower, or he lives at odds with his wife.”

But then he, following his little son with his eyes, coughed dully, spoke again, and I became all ears.

At first my life was ordinary. Sak I'm a native Voronezh province, born in one thousand nine hundred. During the civil war he was in the Red Army, in the Kikvidze division. In the hungry year of twenty-two, he went to Kuban to fight the kulaks, and that’s why he survived. And the father, mother and sister died of hunger at home. One left. Rodney - even if you roll a ball - nowhere, no one, not a single soul. Well, a year later he returned from Kuban, sold his little house, and went to Voronezh. At first he worked in a carpentry artel, then he went to a factory and learned to be a mechanic. Soon he got married. The wife was brought up in an orphanage. Orphan. I got a good girl! Quiet, cheerful, obsequious and smart, no match for me. Since childhood, she learned how much a pound is worth, maybe this affected her character. Looking from the outside, she wasn’t all that distinguished, but I wasn’t looking at her from the side, but point-blank. And for me there was no one more beautiful and desirable than her, there was not in the world and there never will be!

Andrey Sokolov

Spring. Upper Don. The narrator and a friend rode on a chaise drawn by two horses to the village of Bukanovskaya. It was difficult to travel - the snow began to melt, the mud was impassable. And here near the Mokhovsky farm there is the Elanka River. Small in the summer, now it has spilled over a whole kilometer. Together with a driver who came from nowhere, the narrator swims across the river on some dilapidated boat. The driver drove a Willis car parked in the barn to the river, got into the boat and went back. He promised to return in 2 hours.

The narrator sat down on a fallen fence and wanted to smoke - but the cigarettes got wet during the crossing. He would have been bored for two hours in silence, alone, without food, water, booze or smoking - when a man with a child came up to him and said hello. Man (that was main character For further narration, Andrei Sokolov) mistook the narrator for a driver - because of a car standing next to him and came up to talk to a colleague: he himself was a driver, only in a truck. The narrator did not upset his interlocutor by revealing his true profession (which remained unknown to the reader) and lied about what the authorities were waiting for.

Sokolov replied that he was in no hurry, but wanted to take a smoke break. Smoking alone is boring. Seeing the cigarettes laid out to dry, he treated the narrator to his own tobacco.

They lit a cigarette and started talking. The narrator was embarrassed because of the petty deception, so he listened more, and Sokolov spoke.
Pre-war life of Sokolov

At first my life was ordinary. I myself am a native of the Voronezh province, born in 1900. During the civil war he was in the Red Army, in the Kikvidze division. In the hungry year of twenty-two, he went to Kuban to fight the kulaks, and that’s why he survived. And the father, mother and sister died of hunger at home. One left. Rodney - even if you roll a ball - nowhere, no one, not a single soul. Well, a year later he returned from Kuban, sold his little house, and went to Voronezh. At first he worked in a carpentry artel, then he went to a factory and learned to be a mechanic. Soon he got married. The wife was brought up in an orphanage. Orphan. I got a good girl! Quiet, cheerful, obsequious and smart, no match for me. Since childhood, she learned how much a pound is worth, maybe this affected her character. Looking from the outside, she wasn’t all that distinguished, but I wasn’t looking at her from the side, but point-blank. And for me there was nothing more beautiful and desirable than her, there was not in the world and there never will be!

You come home from work tired, and sometimes angry as hell. No, she will not be rude to you in response to a rude word. Affectionate, quiet, doesn’t know where to sit you, struggles to prepare a sweet piece for you even with little income. You look at her and move away with your heart, and after a little you hug her and say: “Sorry, dear Irinka, I was rude to you. You see, my work isn’t going well these days.” And again we have peace, and I have peace of mind.

Then he talked again about his wife, how she loved him and did not reproach him even when he had to drink too much with his comrades. But soon they had children - a son, and then two daughters. Then the drinking was over - unless I allowed myself a glass of beer on the day off.

In 1929 he became interested in cars. He became a truck driver. Lived well and made good. And then there is war.
War and Captivity

The whole family accompanied him to the front. The children kept themselves under control, but the wife was very upset - they say, this is the last time we’ll see each other, Andryusha... In general, it’s already sickening, and now my wife is burying me alive. In upset feelings he went to the front.

During the war he was also a driver. Lightly wounded twice.

In May 1942 he found himself near Lozovenki. The Germans were going on the offensive, and he volunteered to go to the front line to carry ammunition to our artillery battery. It didn’t deliver the ammunition - the shell fell very close, and the blast wave overturned the car. Sokolov lost consciousness. When I woke up, I realized that I was behind enemy lines: the battle was thundering somewhere behind, and tanks were walking past. Pretended to be dead. When he decided that everyone had passed, he raised his head and saw six fascists with machine guns walking straight towards him. There was nowhere to hide, so I decided to die with dignity - I stood up, although I could barely stand on my feet, and looked at them. One of the soldiers wanted to shoot him, but the other held him back. They took off Sokolov's boots and sent him on foot to the west.

After some time, a column of prisoners from the same division as himself caught up with the barely walking Sokolov. I walked on with them.

We spent the night in the church. Three noteworthy events happened overnight:

a) A certain person, who introduced himself as a military doctor, set Sokolov’s arm, which was dislocated during a fall from a truck.

b) Sokolov saved from death a platoon commander he did not know, whom his colleague Kryzhnev was going to hand over to the Nazis as a communist. Sokolov strangled the traitor.

c) The Nazis shot a believer who was bothering them with requests to be let out of the church to go to the toilet.

The next morning they began to ask who was the commander, the commissar, the communist. There were no traitors, so the communists, commissars and commanders remained alive. They shot a Jew (perhaps it was a military doctor - at least that’s how the case is presented in the film) and three Russians who looked like Jews. They drove the prisoners further west.

All the way to Poznan, Sokolov thought about escape. Finally, an opportunity presented itself: the prisoners were sent to dig graves, the guards were distracted - he pulled to the east. On the fourth day, the Nazis and their shepherd dogs caught up with him, and Sokolov’s dogs almost killed him. He was kept in a punishment cell for a month, then sent to Germany.

“They sent me everywhere during my two years of captivity! During this time he traveled through half of Germany: he was in Saxony, worked at a silicate plant, and rolled out coal at a mine in the Ruhr region, and in Bavaria earthworks I got my hump, and I stayed in Thuringia, and damn, I had to walk everywhere on German soil.”
On the brink of death

In camp B-14 near Dresden, Sokolov and others worked in a stone quarry. He managed to return one day after work to say, in the barracks, among other prisoners:

They need four cubic meters of production, but for the grave of each of us, one cubic meter through the eyes is enough

Someone reported these words to the authorities and the commandant of the camp, Müller, summoned him to his office. Muller knew Russian perfectly, so he communicated with Sokolov without an interpreter.

“I will do you a great honor, now I will personally shoot you for these words. It’s inconvenient here, let’s go into the yard and sign there.” “Your will,” I tell him. He stood there, thought, and then threw the pistol on the table and poured a full glass of schnapps, took a piece of bread, put a slice of bacon on it and gave it all to me and said: “Before you die, Russian Ivan, drink to the victory of German weapons.”

I put the glass on the table, put down the snack and said: “Thank you for the treat, but I don’t drink.” He smiles: “Would you like to drink to our victory? In that case, drink to your death.” What did I have to lose? “I will drink to my death and deliverance from torment,” I tell him. With that, I took the glass and poured it into myself in two gulps, but didn’t touch the appetizer, politely wiped my lips with my palm and said: “Thank you for the treat. I’m ready, Herr Commandant, come and sign me.”

But he looks attentively and says: “At least have a bite before you die.” I answer him: “I don’t have a snack after the first glass.” He pours a second one and gives it to me. I drank the second one and again I don’t touch the snack, I’m trying to be brave, I think: “At least I’ll get drunk before I go into the yard and give up my life.” The commandant raised his white eyebrows high and asked: “Why aren’t you having a snack, Russian Ivan? Do not be shy!" And I told him: “Sorry, Herr Commandant, I’m not used to having a snack even after the second glass.” He puffed out his cheeks, snorted, and then burst into laughter and through his laughter said something quickly in German: apparently, he was translating my words to his friends. They also laughed, moved their chairs, turned their faces towards me and already, I noticed, they were looking at me differently, seemingly softer.

The commandant pours me a third glass, and his hands are shaking with laughter. I drank this glass, took a small bite of bread, and put the rest on the table. I wanted to show them, the damned one, that although I was perishing from hunger, I was not going to choke on their handouts, that I had my own, Russian dignity and pride, and that they did not turn me into a beast, no matter how hard they tried.

After this, the commandant became serious in appearance, straightened two iron crosses on his chest, came out from the table unarmed and said: “That's what, Sokolov, you are a real Russian soldier. You are a brave soldier. I am also a soldier and respect worthy opponents. I won't shoot you. In addition, today our valiant troops reached the Volga and completely captured Stalingrad. This is a great joy for us, and therefore I generously give you life. Go to your block, and this is for your courage,” and from the table he hands me a small loaf of bread and a piece of lard.

Kharchi divided Sokolov with his comrades - everyone equally.
Release from captivity

In 1944, Sokolov was assigned as a driver. He drove a German major engineer. He treated him well, sometimes sharing food.

On the morning of June twenty-ninth, my major orders him to be taken out of town, in the direction of Trosnitsa. There he supervised the construction of fortifications. We left.

On the way, Sokolov stunned the major, took the pistol and drove the car straight to where the earth was humming, where the battle was going on.

The machine gunners jumped out of the dugout, and I deliberately slowed down so that they could see that the major was coming. But they started shouting, waving their arms, saying you can’t go there, but I didn’t seem to understand, I threw on the gas and went at full eighty. Until they came to their senses and began firing machine guns at the car, and I was already in no man’s land between the craters, weaving like a hare.

Here the Germans are hitting me from behind, and here their outlines are firing towards me from machine guns. The windshield was pierced in four places, the radiator was pierced by bullets... But now there was a forest above the lake, our people were running towards the car, and I jumped into this forest, opened the door, fell to the ground and kissed it, and I couldn’t breathe...

They sent Sokolov to the hospital for treatment and food. In the hospital I immediately wrote a letter to my wife. Two weeks later I received a response from neighbor Ivan Timofeevich. In June 1942, a bomb hit his house, his wife and both daughters were killed.

The story “The Fate of Man” was the last significant prose work. IN last years life, the venerable writer seemed to have lost his artistic talent...

The story begins with how, in the midst of spring, the narrator was riding with a friend in a chaise. Their path lay in the village of Bukanovskaya. Since spring was in full swing, it was difficult to travel, the snow was melting abundantly, and the mud was impassable.

They managed to cross the river, although the boat could barely stand it. From nowhere, the driver found a captured Willys car in the barn and drove it to the river. Then he swam back in the boat and said that he would return in about two hours. While waiting for the driver, the narrator sat down and wanted to smoke. It was then discovered that the crossing had not been in vain and that all the cigarettes were wet.

After some time, a middle-aged man approached. He held the child's hand. We greeted each other and quietly started talking. Andrei Sokolov (that was the name of the person who came up) became the main narrator further. He decided that in front of him was also a driver, like himself.

Since both were in no hurry, they lit a cigarette. It was obvious that Sokolov needed to speak out to someone. And before completely stranger this can be much easier to do - because you see him for the first, and perhaps the last time. Sokolov called his pre-war life the most ordinary, although it had enough of everything.

He was born in 1900 in the Voronezh province. The whole family lived there before. When famine broke out in 1922, Andrei went to Kuban - it was calm, satisfying, and he could wait out the time. Sokolov's parents and younger sister died of starvation. So he was left alone. When he returned, he sold the house and went to look for work in Voronezh. First he got a job as a carpenter, worked in an artel, then moved to a factory and there he learned to be a mechanic.

Met beautiful girl named Irina, married her. She was brought up in an orphanage and was an orphan. Irina was not distinguished by her external beauty, but by character she was a modest and meek woman, hard-working and cheerful. They had children: first a son, and then two daughters. Sokolov switched to work as a driver. And then it struck. Andrei's whole family was escorted to the front. The children tried to control themselves. Irina was unrecognizable - she was hysterical on her husband’s chest and kept repeating that they would never see each other again. Therefore, Sokolov was left with heavy forebodings of impending disaster.

At the front, he also became a driver and was wounded twice, but not seriously. In 1942, Andrei was carrying ammunition to the front line, to the artillerymen. He was covered by a blast wave from an enemy shell and was shell-shocked. The car overturned. When Sokolov came to his senses, he realized that the front was somewhere behind, and he himself was behind enemy lines. Playing dead didn't work. He was captured by German machine gunners. At first they wanted to shoot him on the spot, but then they changed their minds and drove him to other prisoners. They were kept in the church. There, a certain military doctor set Sokolov’s wounded arm.

Sokolov saved from death a platoon commander unfamiliar to him, whom his colleague was about to hand over to the Germans. Sokolov with my own hands strangled the traitor. The Nazis shot dead a believer who did not want to defecate in the church and begged to be released outside of it. In the morning the Germans shot several people and drove the entire column further. While digging the graves, Sokolov escaped. They caught him on the fourth day. Almost got killed by dogs. He was kept in a punishment cell for a month, then sent to Germany. He worked with other prisoners in a camp near Dresden, in a stone quarry.

One day, camp commandant Müller summoned Sokolov to his place with the intention of shooting him personally. Müller offers Sokolov a drink before he dies. Sokolov drinks three glasses of vodka, and only after the third has a snack. The amazed Muller said that he respected worthy opponents, gave Sokolov a loaf of bread and a piece of lard, and then sent him back to the barracks. In 1944, Sokolov was again appointed as a driver - to drive a major engineer. Once on the road, Sokolov stunned a German, took the weapon and drove the car towards his own. In the hospital, Sokolov learns about the death of his wife and daughters. The fate of the son remained unknown

Sokolov continues to fight. Finds his son. They exchange letters. However, the meeting did not take place: right on Victory Day, Anatoly was shot by a German sniper. After demobilization, Sokolov found himself at a crossroads. I didn’t want to return to Voronezh - there was no one to go to. I went to Uryupinsk to visit a friend. I managed to get a job in an automobile company. One day, leaving a tea shop, I saw a homeless boy and felt sorry for him. The boy's name was Vanya. They became fast friends. After some time, Sokolov decided to tell Vanya that he was his father. The boy immediately believed it and was very happy. Sokolov adopted the child. Sokolov could not sit in one place for long - the longing for his dead family still did not go away. Then the boat arrived, and the narrator said goodbye to his casual acquaintance. I began to think about the story I heard.

1. Andrey Sokolov

Spring time. Upper Don. The narrator, in the company of his friend, goes to the village of Bukanovskaya in a cart drawn by two horses. Driving is almost impossible: the melting snow is in the way, turning the road into a continuous muddy mess. The Elanka River flows near the Mokhovsky farm, and has now overflowed for almost a kilometer.

In summer it is shallow, which means it does not create unnecessary problems. Together with a driver who suddenly appears, the narrator manages to cross the river with the help of some decrepit boat. The driver delivers a Willys car to the river, which was previously in the barn; gets back into the boat and sails back, promising to return within two hours.

The narrator sits on a lopsided fence and tries to smoke, but in vain: the cigarettes got wet as a result of crossing the river. He is saved from two hours of solitude by a man with a child who breaks the silence with his greeting. He, who is the main character of the following narrative, Andrei Sokolov, initially mistakes the narrator for the driver of a car standing nearby and tries to start a conversation with a colleague: he was the driver truck in past.

The narrator, not wanting to upset his comrade, kept silent about the true nature of his activity. He just said that he was waiting for his superiors.

Having lit a cigarette, the heroes start a conversation. The narrator, embarrassed by his deception, mostly listens, while Sokolov speaks.

2. Sokolov’s pre-war life

The initial stage of the hero's life is very ordinary. He was born in the Voronezh province in 1900. During civil war was on the side of the Red Army, was in the Kikvidze division. In 1922 he finds himself in Kuban, participates in the process of dispossession, thanks to which the hero manages to survive. Parents and younger sister died at home from hunger. Sokolov was completely orphaned: there were no relatives anywhere. A year later, he leaves Kuban: he sells the hut and goes to Voronezh. At first, he works in a carpentry artel, later gets a job at a factory, and becomes a mechanic. He will get married soon. His wife was an orphan, a pupil of an orphanage. Since childhood, she has experienced many of life’s hardships, which is reflected in her character. From the outside she was more than ordinary, but for Sokolov there was no woman more beautiful and desirable than his wife.

She even accepted fierce anger: she will endure a rude word, she herself does not dare say anything in response. Kind, indulgent, does not sit still, desperately trying to please her husband. Watching her actions, the hero usually comes to his senses and finds harmony with himself. And again silence and peace reign in the house.

What follows is the continuation of Sokolov’s story about his wife: a description of the inviolability of her feelings, her tolerance towards any unpleasant act of her husband. She forgave him even the extra glass he had with his comrades. With the advent of children, a son and two daughters, such friendly gatherings began to happen much less frequently; Sokolov could only afford a glass of beer, and then only on a day off.

In 1929, he developed a new passion - cars. Got a position as a truck driver. Life went on as usual, quietly and measuredly. But suddenly a war broke out.

3. War and captivity

The whole family accompanied the hero to the front. The children managed to control themselves, while the wife, due to her age, could give a realistic assessment of the situation: she was experiencing serious emotional shock. The hero is stunned: according to his wife, it was clear that he was being buried alive. He, depressed and upset, goes to the front.

At the front he was also a driver. He was slightly wounded twice.

May 1942: Sokolov finds himself near Lozovenki. There is a German offensive, the hero volunteers to deliver ammunition to his artillery battery. The ammunition was not delivered to its destination: the vehicle was overturned by the blast wave from a shell that fell nearby. The hero finds himself unconscious. When he woke up, he realized that he was behind enemy lines: the battle was taking place somewhere behind him, tanks were walking past. Sokolov pretends to be dead. Deciding that there was no one nearby, he raised his head and saw that six armed Nazis were heading towards him. Having decided to meet his death with dignity, Sokolov stood up and turned his gaze to those walking. He stood, overcoming the aching pain in his legs. One of the soldiers nearly shot him, but was stopped by another. Sokolov's boots were taken off and he was sent on foot to the west.

Soon the barely walking hero was overtaken by a column of prisoners from his division. Then they moved together.

At night we stopped at a church. Three important events occurred overnight:

A certain person who introduced himself as a military doctor managed to set Sokolov’s arm, which had been dislocated in the process of falling from a truck.

Sokolov managed to save a platoon commander, previously unknown to him, from death: as a communist, his colleague Kryzhnev wanted to hand him over to the enemies. Sokolov strangled the informer.

The Nazis shot dead a believer who was bothering them with his requests to be let out of the church to go to the toilet.

The next morning, everyone was interrogated to find out who the commander, commissar, and communist were. There were no traitors, so the communists, commissars and commanders managed to survive. A Jew (possibly a military doctor) and three Russians who looked like Jews were shot. The prisoners set off again - to the west.

All the way to Poznan, Sokolov nurtured the idea of ​​escaping. Finally, an opportune moment arose: the prisoners were forced to dig graves, the guards were distracted - he fled to the east. Four days later, the Nazis and dogs caught up with him; the shepherd dogs almost killed Sokolov. He was in a punishment cell for a whole month, then he was sent to Germany.

Where did Sokolov go during his two years of captivity? During this time, he had to travel around half of Germany: in Saxony he worked at a silicate plant, in the Ruhr region he rolled coal in a mine, in Bavaria he worked earthworks, was even in Thuringia.

4. On the brink of death

In camp B-14 near Dresden, Sokolov worked with his compatriots in a stone quarry. The devil dared him to say upon returning from work: “They need four cubic meters of production, but for the grave of each of us, one cubic meter through the eyes is enough.” His words were reported to his superiors: Sokolov was summoned by the camp commandant Müller. Since Müller had an excellent command of the Russian language, he could conduct a conversation with Sokolov without an interpreter.

Müller made it clear to the hero that any signs of protest here are immediately punished: he will be shot. Sokolov only replied: “Your will.” After thinking, Müller threw the pistol on the table, filled a glass with schnapps, took a slice of bread with lard and offered it all to the hero: “Before you die, Russian Ivan, drink to the victory of German weapons.”

Sokolov refused the offer: “Thank you for the treat, but I don’t drink.” Smiling, the German said: “Would you like to drink to our victory? In that case, drink to your destruction.” There was nothing to lose. The hero hastened to drink to his speedy death and deliverance from all suffering. I didn’t touch the snacks. Thanking him for the treat, he invited the commandant to quickly complete his plan.

To which Müller replied: “At least have a bite before you die.” Sokolov explained that he does not snack after the first glass. The German offered him a second one. Sokolov again did not touch the snack after drinking the second glass. The reason for refusing the snack was that even after the second glass he would not put anything edible in his mouth. Laughing, the German began to translate what was said to his friends. They also laughed and began to turn one by one in the direction of Sokolov. The situation became less tense.

The commandant filled the third glass with his hands shaking with laughter. The glass was drunk by Sokolov with less fervor than the previous two. This time the hero took a small bite of bread and put the rest back on the table, thereby showing that, despite the indescribable feeling of hunger, he would not choke on their handout: nothing would break true Russian dignity and pride.

The German's mood changed: he became serious and focused. Adjusting two iron crosses on his chest, he said: “Sokolov, you are a real Russian soldier. You are a brave soldier. I won’t shoot you.” Added that today German troops reached the Volga and captured Stalingrad. To celebrate, the German sends Sokolov to his block, providing him with a small loaf of bread and a piece of lard for his courage.

Sokolov shared the food with his comrades.

5. Release from captivity

In 1944, Sokolov was appointed driver for a German major engineer. Both behaved with dignity, the German shared food from time to time.

On the morning of June 29, Sokolov took the major out of town, in the direction of Trosnitsa. The German's duties included supervising the construction of fortifications.

On the way to their destination, Sokolov manages to stun the major, take his weapon and drive the car in the direction where the battle was taking place.

Driving past the machine gunners, Sokolov deliberately slowed down so that they would understand that a major was coming. They began to shout that entry into this territory was prohibited. Sokolov, pressing the pedal, went forward at full eighty. At that moment, while the machine gunners came to their senses and began to respond with shots, Sokolov was already in neutral territory, weaving from side to side in order to avoid the shots.

The Germans were shooting behind us, and their own people were shooting in front. The windshield was hit four times, the radiator was completely pierced by bullets. But then the forest above the lake opened before our eyes, where Sokolov directed his car. Compatriots ran towards the car. The hero opened the door, barely breathing and pressed his lips to the ground. There was nothing to breathe.

Sokolov was sent for rehabilitation to a military hospital. There, without hesitation, he wrote a letter to his wife. Two weeks later the answer came, but not from his wife. The letter was from a neighbor, Ivan Timofeevich. In June 1942, Andrei's house was destroyed by a bomb: his wife and both daughters died on the spot. The son, having learned about the death of his relatives, voluntarily went to the front.

Upon discharge from the hospital, the hero receives a month's leave. A week later he ends up in Voronezh. I saw a crater on the site of my house. I immediately left for the station. Returned to the division.

6. Son Anatoly

Three months later it happened good news: Anatoly showed up. A letter came from him. One could have guessed that the son was writing from a different front. Anatoly managed to find out his father’s address from his neighbor, Ivan Timofeevich. As it turned out, the son first ended up in an artillery school, where his brilliant abilities in mathematics came in handy. A year later, Anatoly graduates from college with excellent success and goes to the front, from where, as we already know, his letter comes. There, as a captain, he commands a battery of “forty-fives” and has six orders and medals.

7. After the war

Sokolov was demobilized. There was no desire to return to Voronezh. Remembering that he had been invited to Uryupinsk, he went there to see his friend, who had been demobilized in the winter due to injury.

His friend had no children; he and his wife lived in their own house on the outskirts of the city. Despite the consequences of a severe injury, he worked as a driver in an auto company, where Andrei Sokolov later got a job. He stayed with friends who gave him a warm welcome.

Near the teahouse Sokolov met Vanya, a homeless child. His mother died in an air raid, his father at the front. One day, on the way to the elevator, Sokolov called a boy with him, saying that he was his father. The boy was very happy with this unexpected statement. Sokolov adopted Vanya. A friend's wife helped look after the baby.

An accident occurred in November. Andrei was driving along a dirty, slippery road; in one farm, a car skidded and a cow got under the wheels. Women in the village began to scream, people came running to the cry, among whom was a traffic inspector. He confiscated Andrei’s driver’s book, no matter how much he begged for mercy. The cow quickly came to her senses, got up and walked away. In winter, the hero had to work as a carpenter. A little later, at the invitation of a colleague, he left for the Kashar district, where he began working with a friend. After six months of carpentry work, Sokolov was promised a new book.

According to the hero, even if the story with the cow had not happened, he would still have left Uryupinsk. Melancholy did not allow me to stay in one place for a long time. Perhaps, when his son grows up and goes to school, Sokolov will calm down and settle down in one place.

But then the boat came to the shore, and it was time for the narrator to say goodbye to his unusual acquaintance. He began to reflect on the story he had heard.

He thought about two orphaned people, two particles who found themselves in unknown lands because of the damned war. What lay ahead for them? I would like to hope that this real Russian man, a man with iron willpower, will be able to raise one who, having matured, will be able to endure any trials, overcome any obstacles in his life. life path, if his Fatherland calls him to this.

The narrator looked after them with languid sadness. Perhaps the parting would have gone well if Vanyushka, having walked only a few steps, had not turned to face the narrator, moving his small palm in farewell. And then the author’s heart sank mercilessly: he hastened to turn away. It’s not only in their sleep that older men, who have turned gray during the war, cry. They cry in reality. The most important thing in such a situation is to be able to turn away at the right moment. After all, the most important thing is not to hurt the baby’s heart, so that he doesn’t notice how a bitter and stingy man’s tear runs down his cheek...

(Literary investigation)

Participating in the investigation:
Presenter - librarian
Independent historian
Witnesses - literary heroes

Leading: 1956 31th of December the story was published in Pravda "The Fate of Man" . This story began a new stage in the development of our military literature. And here Sholokhov’s fearlessness and Sholokhov’s ability to show the era in all its complexity and in all its drama through the fate of one person played a role.

The main plot motif of the story is the fate of a simple Russian soldier Andrei Sokolov. His life, the same age as the century, is correlated with the biography of the country, with the most important events stories. In May 1942 he was captured. In two years he traveled “half of Germany” and escaped from captivity. During the war, he lost his entire family. After the war, having accidentally met an orphan boy, Andrei adopted him.

After “The Fate of Man,” omissions about the tragic events of the war, about the bitterness of captivity experienced by many Soviet people, became impossible. Soldiers and officers who were very loyal to their homeland and found themselves in a hopeless situation at the front were also captured, but they were often treated as traitors. Sholokhov's story, as it were, pulled back the veil from much that was hidden by the fear of offending the heroic portrait of Victory.

Let's go back to the years of the Great Patriotic War, to its most tragic period - 1942-1943. A word from an independent historian.

Historian: August 16, 1941 Stalin signed the order № 270 , which said:
“Commanders and political workers who surrender to the enemy during battle are considered malicious deserters, whose families are subject to arrest, as families of those who violated the oath and betrayed their Motherland.”

The order required the destruction of prisoners by all “by means both ground and air, and the families of the Red Army soldiers who surrendered were deprived of state benefits and assistance”

In 1941 alone, according to German data, 3 million 800 thousand Soviet military personnel were captured. By the spring of 1942, 1 million 100 thousand people remained alive.

In total, out of approximately 6.3 million prisoners of war, about 4 million died during the war.

Leading: The Great is over Patriotic War, the victorious salvos died down, and the peaceful life of the Soviet people began. What was the future fate of people like Andrei Sokolov, who were captured or survived the occupation? How did our society treat such people?

Testifies in his book "My adult childhood".

(The girl testifies on behalf of L.M. Gurchenko).

Witness: Not only Kharkov residents, but also residents of other cities began to return to Kharkov from evacuation. Everyone had to be provided with living space. Those who remained in the occupation were looked at askance. They were primarily moved from apartments and rooms on the floors to basements. We waited our turn.

In the classroom, the new arrivals declared a boycott of those who remained under the Germans. I didn’t understand anything: if I had been through so much, seen so many terrible things, on the contrary, they should understand me, feel sorry for me... I began to be afraid of people who looked at me with contempt and started following me: “shepherd dog.” Oh, if only they knew what a real German Shepherd is. If they had seen how a shepherd dog leads people straight into the gas chamber... these people would not have said that... When films and newsreels appeared on the screen, which showed the horrors of executions and massacres of Germans in the occupied territories, gradually this “disease” began to become a thing of the past .

Leading: ... 10 years have passed since the victorious 1945, Sholokhov’s war did not let go. He was working on a novel "They fought for their homeland" and a story "The Fate of Man."

According to literary critic V. Osipov, this story could not have been created at any other time. It began to be written when its author finally saw the light and realized: Stalin is not an icon for the people, Stalinism is Stalinism. As soon as the story came out, there was praise from almost every newspaper or magazine. Remarque and Hemingway responded - they sent telegrams. And to this day, not a single anthology of Soviet short stories can do without him.

Leading: You have read this story. Please share your impressions, what touched you about him, what left you indifferent?

(Answers from the guys)

Leading: There are two polar opinions about M.A.’s story. Sholokhov “The Fate of Man”: Alexandra Solzhenitsyn and a writer from Almaty Veniamina Larina. Let's listen to them.

(The young man testifies on behalf of A.I. Solzhenitsyn)

Solzhenitsyn A.I.: “The Fate of Man” is a very weak story, where the war pages are pale and unconvincing.

Firstly: the most non-criminal case of captivity was chosen - without memory, in order to make this undeniable, to circumvent the entire severity of the problem. (And if you gave up in memory, as was the case with the majority - what and how then?)

Secondly: the main problem is presented not in the fact that our homeland abandoned us, renounced us, cursed us (not a word about this from Sholokhov), and this is precisely what creates hopelessness, but in the fact that traitors were declared among us there...

Thirdly: a fantastic detective escape from captivity was created with a bunch of exaggerations so that the obligatory, unwavering procedure for those who came from captivity did not arise: “SMERSH-testing-filtration camp.”

Leading: SMERSH - what kind of organization is this? A word from an independent historian.

Historian: From the encyclopedia “The Great Patriotic War”:
“By the Decree of the State Defense Committee of April 14, 1943, the Main Directorate of Counterintelligence “SMERSH” - “Death to Spies” was formed. The intelligence services of Nazi Germany tried to launch widespread subversive activities against the USSR. They created over 130 reconnaissance and sabotage agencies and about 60 special reconnaissance and sabotage schools on the Soviet-German front. In force Soviet Army sabotage units and terrorists were attacked. SMERSH agencies conducted an active search for enemy agents in areas of combat operations, in the locations of military installations, and ensured timely receipt of information about the dispatch of enemy spies and saboteurs. After the war, in May 1946, SMERSH bodies were transformed into special departments and subordinated to the USSR Ministry of State Security.”

Leading: And now the opinion of Veniamin Larin.

(Young man on behalf of V. Larin)

Larin V .: Sholokhov’s story is praised only for one theme of a soldier’s feat. But literary critics with such an interpretation kill - safely for themselves - the true meaning of the story. Sholokhov’s truth is broader and does not end with victory in the battle with the fascist captivity machine. They pretend that the big story has no continuation: like a big state, big power belongs to little man, albeit with a great spirit. Sholokhov rips a revelation out of his heart: look, readers, how the authorities treat people - slogans, slogans, and what the hell care about people! Captivity cut a man to pieces. But there, in captivity, even mutilated, he remained faithful to his country, and returned? Nobody needs! Orphan! And with the boy there are two orphans... Grains of Sand... And not only under a military hurricane. But Sholokhov is great - he was not tempted by a cheap turn of the topic: he did not invest his hero with either pitiful pleas for sympathy or curses addressed to Stalin. I saw in my Sokolov the eternal essence of the Russian person - patience and perseverance.

Leading: Let's turn to the works of writers who write about captivity, and with their help we will recreate the atmosphere of the difficult war years.

(The hero of the story “The Road to the Father’s House” by Konstantin Vorobyov testifies)

Partisan's story: I was taken prisoner near Volokolamsk in '41, and although sixteen years have passed since then, and I remained alive, and divorced my family, and all that stuff, I don’t know how to tell about how I spent the winter in captivity: I don’t have Russian words for this. No!

The two of us escaped from the camp, and over time a whole detachment of us, former prisoners, was assembled. Klimov... restored our military ranks to all of us. You see, you were, say, a sergeant before captivity, and you still remain one. You were a soldier - be one to the end!

It used to happen...you destroy an enemy truck with bombs, and the soul in you immediately seems to straighten out, and something rejoices there - now I’m not fighting for myself alone, as in the camp! Let’s defeat this bastard, we’ll definitely finish it, and that’s how you get to this place before victory, that is, just stop!

And then, after the war, a questionnaire will be required immediately. And there will be one small question - were you in captivity? In place, this question is just for a one-word answer “yes” or “no.”

And to the one who hands you this questionnaire, it doesn’t matter at all what you did during the war, but what matters is where you were! Oh, in captivity? So... Well, you know what it means. In life and in truth, this situation should have been quite the opposite, but here you go!...

Let me say briefly: exactly three months later we joined a large partisan detachment.

I will tell you another time about how we acted until the arrival of our army. Yes, I don’t think it matters. The important thing is that we not only turned out to be alive, but also entered into the human system, that we again turned into fighters, and we remained Russian people in the camps.

Leading: Let's listen to the confession of the partisan and Andrei Sokolov.

Partisan: You were, say, a sergeant before your capture - and remain one. You were a soldier - be one to the end.

Andrey Sokolov : That’s why you’re a man, that’s why you’re a soldier, to endure everything, to endure everything, if need calls for it.

For both, war is hard work that must be done conscientiously, giving one’s all.

Leading: Major Pugachev testifies from the story V. Shalamov “The Last Battle of Major Pugachev”

Reader: Major Pugachev remembered the German camp from which he escaped in 1944. The front was approaching the city. He worked as a truck driver inside a huge cleaning camp. He remembered how he sped up the truck and knocked down the single-strand barbed wire, tearing out hastily placed poles. Shots of sentries, screams, mad driving around the city in different directions, an abandoned car, a road at night to the front line and a meeting - interrogation in a special department. Charged with espionage, sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. Vlasov's emissaries arrived, but he did not believe them until he himself reached the Red Army units. Everything that the Vlasovites said was true. He wasn't needed. The authorities were afraid of him.

Leading: Having listened to the testimony of Major Pugachev, you involuntarily note: his story is straightforward - confirmation of Larin’s correctness:
“He was there, in captivity, even mangled, he remained faithful to his country, and returned?.. No one needs him! Orphan!"

Sergeant Alexey Romanov, a former school history teacher from Stalingrad, the real hero of the story, testifies Sergei Smirnov “The Path to the Motherland” from book "Heroes of the Great War".

(The reader testifies on behalf of A. Romanov)

Alexey Romanov: In the spring of 1942, I ended up in the international camp Feddel, on the outskirts of Hamburg. There, in the port of Hamburg, we were prisoners and worked unloading ships. The thought of escaping did not leave me for a minute. My friend Melnikov and I decided to run away, thought out an escape plan, frankly speaking, a fantastic plan. Escape from the camp, enter the port, hide on a Swedish ship and sail with it to one of the ports of Sweden. From there you can get to England with a British ship, and then with some caravan of allied ships come to Murmansk or Arkhangelsk. And then again pick up a machine gun or a machine gun and, at the front, pay off the Nazis for everything that they had to endure in captivity over the years.

On December 25, 1943, we escaped. We were just lucky. Miraculously, we managed to move to the other side of the Elbe, to the port where the Swedish ship was docked. We climbed into the hold with coke, and in this iron coffin, without water, without food, we sailed to our homeland, and for this we were ready to do anything, even death. I woke up a few days later in a Swedish prison hospital: it turned out that we had been discovered by workers unloading coke. The doctor was called. Melnikov was already dead, but I survived. I began to try to be sent home and ended up with Alexandra Mikhailovna Kollontai. She helped me return home in 1944.

Leading: Before we continue our conversation, a word from the historian. What do the numbers tell us about future fate former prisoners of war

Historian: From book "The Great Patriotic War. Figures and facts". Those who returned from captivity after the war (1 million 836 thousand people) were sent: more than 1 million people - for further service in units of the Red Army, 600 thousand - to work in industry as part of work battalions, and 339 thousand ( including some civilians) as having compromised themselves in captivity - to NKVD camps.

Leading: War is a continent of cruelty. It is sometimes impossible to protect hearts from the madness of hatred, bitterness, and fear in captivity and blockade. Man is literally brought to the gates of the Last Judgment. Sometimes it is more difficult to endure, to live life in war, surrounded, than to endure death.

What is common in the destinies of our witnesses, what makes their souls related? Are the reproaches addressed to Sholokhov fair?

(We listen to the guys’ answers)

Perseverance, tenacity in the struggle for life, the spirit of courage, camaraderie - these qualities come from the tradition of Suvorov’s soldier, they were sung by Lermontov in “Borodino”, Gogol in the story “Taras Bulba”, they were admired by Leo Tolstoy. Andrei Sokolov has all this, the partisan from Vorobyov’s story, Major Pugachev, Alexei Romanov.

Remaining human in war is not just about surviving and “killing him” (i.e. the enemy). This is to keep your heart for good. Sokolov went to the front as a man, and remained so after the war.

Reader: The story on the theme of the tragic fate of prisoners is the first in Soviet literature. Written in 1955! So why is Sholokhov deprived of the literary and moral right to begin the topic this way and not otherwise?

Solzhenitsyn reproaches Sholokhov for writing not about those who “surrendered” into captivity, but about those who were “trapped” or “captured.” But he did not take into account that Sholokhov could not do otherwise:

Brought up on Cossack traditions. It was no coincidence that he defended Kornilov’s honor before Stalin by the example of escaping from captivity. And in fact, since ancient times of battle, people first of all give sympathy not to those who “surrendered”, but to those who were “captured” due to irresistible hopelessness: wounded, encircled, unarmed, due to the treason of the commander or the betrayal of the rulers;

He took upon himself the political courage to give up his authority in order to protect from political stigma those who were honest in the performance of military duty and male honor.

Maybe Soviet reality is embellished? Sholokhov’s last lines about the unfortunate Sokolov and Vanyushka began like this: “With heavy sadness I looked after them...”.

Maybe Sokolov’s behavior in captivity has been embellished? There are no such reproaches.

Leading: Now it is easy to analyze the words and actions of the author. Or maybe it’s worth thinking about: was it easy for him to live his own life? How easy was it for an artist who couldn’t, didn’t have time to say everything he wanted, and, of course, could have said? Subjectively he could (he had enough talent, courage, and material!), but objectively he could not (the time, the era, were such that it was not published, and therefore not written...) How often, how much has our Russia lost at all times: uncreated sculptures, unwritten paintings and books, who knows, maybe the most talented...Great Russian artists were born at the wrong time - either early or late - undesirable to the rulers.

IN "Conversation with Father" MM. Sholokhov conveys the words of Mikhail Alexandrovich in response to criticism from a reader, a former prisoner of war who survived Stalin’s camps:
“What do you think, I don’t know what happened during captivity or after it? What, I don’t know the extremes of human baseness, cruelty, and meanness? Or do you think that, knowing this, I am being mean to myself?... How much skill is needed to tell people the truth..."

Could Mikhail Alexandrovich have kept silent about many things in his story? - I could! Time has taught him to remain silent and not say anything: an intelligent reader will understand everything, guess everything.

Many years have passed since, by the will of the writer, more and more new readers meet the heroes of this story. They think. They are sad. They're crying. And they are surprised at how generous the human heart is, how inexhaustible the kindness is in it, the ineradicable need to protect and protect, even when, it would seem, there is nothing to think about.

Literature:

1. Biryukov F. G. Sholokhov: to help teachers and high school students. and applicants / F. G. Biryukov. - 2nd ed. - M.: Moscow University Publishing House, 2000. - 111 p. - (Rereading the classics).

2. Zhukov, Ivan Ivanovich. The hand of fate: Truth and lies about M. Sholokhov and A. Fadeev. - M.: Gaz.-magazine. about-nie "Resurrection", 1994. - 254, p., l. ill. : ill.

3. Osipov, Valentin Osipovich. The secret life of Mikhail Sholokhov...: a documentary chronicle without legends / V.O. Osipov. - M.: LIBEREYA, 1995. - 415 p., l. port p.

4. Petelin, Viktor Vasilievich. Life of Sholokhov: Russian tragedy. genius / Victor Petelin. - M.: Tsentrpoligraf, 2002. - 893, p., l. ill. : portrait ; 21 cm. - (Immortal names).

5. Russian literature of the 20th century: a manual for high school students, applicants and students / L. A. Iezuitova, S. A. Iezuitov [etc.]; ed. T. N. Nagaitseva. - St. Petersburg. : Neva, 1998. - 416 p.

6. Chalmaev V. A. Remain human in war: Front-line pages of Russian prose of the 60-90s: to help teachers, high school students and applicants / V. A. Chalmaev. - 2nd ed. - M.: Moscow University Publishing House, 2000. - 123 p. - (Rereading the classics).

7. Sholokhova S. M. Execution plan: On the history of an unwritten story / S. M. Sholokhovva // Peasant. - 1995. - No. 8. - February.

"The Fate of Man": how it happened