Diary, old oak and the last illusion. Fragments of works

In order to create the most complete portrait of the hero, Leo Tolstoy in his work refers to different facets of personality. These can be barely noticeable movements of the face, a sparkle in the eyes, or a smile... However, when describing the internal state, not only emotions, but also their external manifestations play an important role. The writer finds other features that are able to show readers his "dialectics of the soul." In the article, we will focus on the image of an oak tree from the novel "War and Peace", which helps to reveal the state of mind of Andrei Bolkonsky.

L. N. Tolstoy. "War and Peace". Oak

Andrei meets this tree on his way to Rostov). The prince has a life rich in content, although short in time, behind him. He had already seen all the facets of both the world and the war, and he made a firm conviction that everything in this world was over for him. Seeing the tree, Bolkonsky again recalls the path he has traveled, but does not change his attitude towards himself. The charms of spring are not able to give a fresh breath of new life.

However, it is the oak in "War and Peace" that becomes the key aspect in the fate of the protagonist. Andrei does not understand why the coachman Peter can be so happy. The only one whom the prince finds as allies is an old oak, which is probably ten times older than birches. The tree further confirmed Bolkonsky in the opinion that he should live out his life "desiring nothing and not worrying."

Opposition to spring rebirth

The description of the oak in the novel War and Peace helps to understand why Andrey perceived it as the only ally among the beauty of the fabulous spring forest. It was a huge tree with broken branches and bark. Between the smiling birches, he stood with his asymmetrical branches, like a monster, and he alone did not want to submit to the spring charm. The old oak has also seen a lot in its lifetime. War and peace brought him disappointment and wounds, as evidenced by the damage to his bark.

Tolstoy deftly uses one technique in describing this picture. It shows the meeting of two kindred spirits, opposing the common fun. But all the same, they remain lonely: Andrei is in life, a tree is in the forest. Nothing will change from the fact that two kindred souls decided to close themselves from others and from the light. After all, life goes on, bringing new impressions and events that gradually overshadow any sadness.

Natasha Rostova

Natasha Rostova was able to revive Bolkonsky to life. He was struck by her sincere admiration for everything that is around. She so directly rejoices at an ordinary night that Andrei begins to think about the fact that things that are inconspicuous at first glance can inspire a person. When Bolkonsky returns from Otradnoye, he sees that summer has already come into its own in the yard, and he can’t find the tree with which until recently he was so lonely in the realm of awakening nature.

Crucial moment

The description of the oak in the novel "War and Peace" is very important, because this tree is shown precisely through the eyes of Prince Andrei. Tolstoy uses this image to reveal a hero who is not inclined to speak directly about his fears and anxieties. Bolkonsky only allows himself to be frank with Pierre. And when a friend is not around, it is the description of the oak in the novel "War and Peace" that gives us the opportunity to understand what is going on in Andrei's soul and what changes have occurred in him. The hero, like this very oak, came to life under the gentle sun and began to rejoice, like birch trees that met again on the way. summer days. With her admiration, Natasha Rostova gave impetus to a spark flaring up in the prince.

Bolkonsky strengthened his opinion when he saw the tree again. It seemed to be also enjoying life, and Andrei admired it. The description of the oak tree in War and Peace now depicted a transfigured giant, sprawled out in a tent of lush greenery, which was thrilled, swaying in the sun's rays. Wounds and sores were hidden by new foliage, and the prince thought that, probably, his spiritual wounds could heal. So, he can start life from a new leaf.

The healing power of nature

The oak from "War and Peace" seems to convey the steps of the character's revival. Seeing how young leaves break through the century-old bark, Bolkonsky understands that he can go forward and rely not on gloomy dark moments, but on bright memories. Prince Andrey realizes that it is precisely the admiration of life and renewal that allow you to move to new heights, and not hide your talents and youth behind a “bark with sores”. You need to live not only for yourself, but also for others, so that they also have the opportunity to consider in him the best that he has been hiding for so long.

Thus, the meeting of the protagonist with the oak was a turning point, showing that it is never too late to start life from a clean page. And those around him, perhaps, will help him in this. Indeed, during his awakening, Bolkonsky recalls Natasha, Pierre and this resurrected oak.

Finally

So, the image of the old tree in the narrative plays several key roles. He not only opens the door to the hero’s inner world for us, but is also a character himself, thanks to whom Prince Andrei Bolkonsky finds the path of rebirth to a wonderful new life. But the image of the oak at the same time allows the author to demonstrate to readers those qualities and traits of the hero that would not have been possible to show through the description of the appearance.

The description of this tree will make anyone think about the meaning of life, reevaluate some moments, remember that nothing lasts forever on earth. A fragment of the hero's meeting with the oak suggests that a person finds happiness only when he stops running from him, when he opens himself to meet love. This is the law of life.

Meanwhile, life, the real life of people with their essential interests of health, illness, work, recreation, with their own interests of thought, science, poetry, music, love, friendship, hatred, passions, went on, as always, independently and without political closeness or enmity with Napoleon Bonaparte, and beyond all possible transformations.

Prince Andrei lived without a break for two years in the countryside. All those enterprises on estates that Pierre started and did not bring to any result, constantly moving from one thing to another, all these enterprises, without showing them to anyone and without noticeable labor, were carried out by Prince Andrei.

He had in the highest degree that practical tenacity that Pierre lacked, which, without scope and effort on his part, gave movement to the cause.

One of his estates of three hundred souls of peasants was listed as free cultivators (this was one of the first examples in Russia), in others corvée was replaced by dues. In Bogucharovo, a learned grandmother was issued to his account to help women in childbirth, and the priest taught the children of peasants and yards to read and write for a salary.

One half of the time Prince Andrei spent in the Bald Mountains with his father and son, who was still with the nannies; the other half of the time in the Bogucharovo monastery, as his father called his village. Despite the indifference he showed to Pierre to all the external events of the world, he diligently followed them, received many books, and to his surprise noticed when fresh people from Petersburg, from the very whirlpool of life, came to him or to his father, that these people, in the knowledge of everything that happens in the external and domestic politics, far behind him, sitting without a break in the village.

In addition to classes on estates, in addition to general studies in reading a wide variety of books, Prince Andrei was at that time engaged in a critical analysis of our last two unfortunate campaigns and drawing up a project to change our military regulations and decrees.

In the spring of 1809, Prince Andrei went to the Ryazan estates of his son, whom he was the guardian of.

Warmed by the spring sun, he sat in the carriage, looking at the first grass, the first leaves of the birch, and the first puffs of white spring clouds scattered across the bright blue of the sky. He did not think about anything, but looked cheerfully and senselessly around.

We passed the ferry on which he spoke with Pierre a year ago. We passed a dirty village, threshing floors, greenery, a descent, with the remaining snow near the bridge, an ascent along washed-out clay, stubble strips and bushes greening in some places, and drove into a birch forest on both sides of the road. It was almost hot in the forest, the wind could not be heard. The birch tree, all covered with green sticky leaves, did not move, and from under the last year's leaves, lifting them, the first grass and purple flowers crawled out green. Scattered in some places along the birch forest, small firs with their coarse eternal greenery unpleasantly reminded of winter. The horses snorted as they rode into the woods and became more sweaty.

The footman Peter said something to the coachman, the coachman answered in the affirmative. But it was not enough for Peter to see the coachman's sympathy: he turned on the goats to the master.

Your Excellency, how easy! he said, smiling respectfully.

Easy, your highness.

"What he says?" thought Prince Andrew. “Yes, it’s true about spring,” he thought, looking around. And then everything is already green ... how soon! And birch, and bird cherry, and alder is already beginning ... And the oak is not noticeable. Yes, here it is, the oak.

There was an oak at the edge of the road. Probably ten times older than the birches that made up the forest, it was ten times thicker and twice as tall as each birch. It was a huge oak tree in two girths with broken branches, which can be seen for a long time, and with broken bark, overgrown with old sores. With their huge clumsy, asymmetrically splayed, clumsy hands and fingers, he stood between smiling birches like an old, angry and contemptuous freak. Only he alone did not want to submit to the charm of spring and did not want to see either spring or the sun.

"Spring, and love, and happiness!" - this oak seemed to be saying, - “and how you don’t get tired of the same stupid and senseless deceit. Everything is the same, and everything is a lie! There is no spring, no sun, no happiness. Look over there, crushed dead firs are sitting, always the same, and there I spread my broken, peeled fingers, wherever they grew - from the back, from the sides; as they grew up, so I stand, and I do not believe your hopes and deceptions.

Prince Andrei looked back at this oak tree several times as he rode through the forest, as if he was expecting something from him. There were flowers and grass under the oak, but he still, frowning, motionless, ugly and stubbornly, stood in the middle of them.

] for a new meeting with Emperor Napoleon, and in the highest Petersburg society they talked a lot about the greatness of this solemn meeting.

In 1809, the proximity of the two rulers of the world, as Napoleon and Alexander were called, reached the point that when Napoleon declared war on Austria that year, the Russian corps went abroad to assist its former enemy, Bonaparte, against its former ally, the Austrian emperor, to the point that in high society they talked about the possibility of a marriage between Napoleon and one of the sisters of Emperor Alexander. But, in addition to external political considerations, at that time the attention of Russian society with particular vivacity was drawn to the internal transformations that were being carried out at that time in all parts of the state administration.

Life, meanwhile, the real life of people with their essential interests of health, illness, work, recreation, with their own interests of thought, science, poetry, music, love, friendship, hatred, passions, went on, as always, independently and without political closeness or enmity. with Napoleon Bonaparte and beyond all possible transformations.

Prince Andrei lived without a break for two years in the countryside. All those enterprises on estates that Pierre started at home and did not bring to any result, constantly moving from one thing to another, all these enterprises, without expressing them to anyone and without noticeable labor, were carried out by Prince Andrei.

He had in the highest degree that practical tenacity that Pierre lacked, which, without scope and effort on his part, gave movement to the cause. One of his estates of three hundred souls of peasants was listed as free cultivators (this was one of the first examples in Russia), in others corvée was replaced by dues. In Bogucharovo, a learned grandmother was issued to his account to help women in childbirth, and the priest taught the children of peasants and yards to read and write for a salary.

One half of his time, Prince Andrei spent in the Bald Mountains with his father and son, who was still with the nannies; the other half of the time in the Bogucharovo monastery, as his father called his village. Despite the indifference he showed to Pierre to all the external events of the world, he diligently followed them, received many books and, to his surprise, noticed when fresh people from Petersburg, from the very whirlpool of life, came to him or to his father, that these people in knowledge of everything that happens in foreign and domestic policy, they are far behind him, who is sitting without a break in the countryside.

In addition to classes on estates, in addition to general studies in reading a wide variety of books, Prince Andrei was at that time engaged in a critical analysis of our last two unfortunate campaigns and drawing up a project to change our military regulations and decrees.

In the spring of 1809, Prince Andrei went to the Ryazan estates of his son, whom he was the guardian of.

Warmed by the spring sun, he sat in the carriage, looking at the first grass, the first leaves of the birch, and the first puffs of white spring clouds scattered across the bright blue of the sky. He did not think about anything, but looked cheerfully and senselessly around.

We passed the ferry on which he spoke with Pierre a year ago. We passed a dirty village, threshing floors, greenery, a descent with the remaining snow near the bridge, an ascent along washed-out clay, strips of stubble and shrubs that were green in some places, and drove into a birch forest on both sides of the road. It was almost hot in the forest, the wind could not be heard. The birch, all covered with green sticky leaves, did not move, and from under last year's leaves, lifting them, crawled out, turning green, the first grass and purple flowers. Scattered in some places along the birch forest, small firs with their coarse eternal greenery unpleasantly reminded of winter. The horses snorted as they rode into the woods and became more sweaty.

The footman Peter said something to the coachman, the coachman answered in the affirmative. But, apparently, the sympathy of the coachman was not enough for Peter: he turned on the goats to the master.

Your Excellency, how easy! he said, smiling respectfully.

Easy, your highness.

Mon cher, - used to say, entering at such a moment, Princess Mary. - Nikolushka cannot go for a walk today: it is very cold.

If it were warm, - at such moments Prince Andrei answered his sister especially dryly, - then he would go in one shirt, and since it's cold, you need to put on warm clothes, which are invented for this, that's what follows from the fact that it’s cold, and not just to stay at home when the child needs air,” he said with special logic, as if punishing someone for all this secret, illogical thing that was happening in him inner work. Princess Marya thought in these cases about how this mental work dries men.

We passed the ferry on which he spoke with Pierre a year ago. We passed a dirty village, threshing floors, greenery * , descending with the remaining snow near the bridge, climbing along washed-out clay, strips of stubble and bushes greening here and there, and drove into a birch forest on both sides of the road. It was almost hot in the forest, the wind could not be heard. The birch, all covered with green sticky leaves, did not move, and from under last year's leaves, lifting them, crawled out, turning green, the first grass and purple flowers. Scattered in some places along the birch forest, small firs with their coarse eternal greenery unpleasantly reminded of winter. The horses snorted as they rode into the woods and became more sweaty.

The footman Peter said something to the coachman, the coachman answered in the affirmative. But, apparently, the sympathy of the coachman was not enough for Peter: he turned on the goats to the master.

Your Excellency, how easy! he said, smiling respectfully.

Easy, your highness.

"Thu about He says? thought Prince Andrew. - Yes, about spring, right, - he thought, looking around. - And then, everything is already green ... how soon! And birch, and bird cherry, and alder is already beginning ... And the oak is imperceptible. Yes, here it is, the oak."

There was an oak at the edge of the road. Probably ten times older than the birches that made up the forest, it was ten times thicker and twice as tall as each birch. It was a huge, two-girth oak, with boughs broken off long ago, apparently, and with broken bark, overgrown with old sores. With his huge clumsy, asymmetrically spread out clumsy hands and fingers, he stood between smiling birches like an old, angry and contemptuous freak. Only he alone did not want to submit to the charm of spring and did not want to see either spring or the sun.

“Spring, and love, and happiness!” this oak seemed to say. “And how will you not get tired of all the same stupid, senseless deception. happiness. Look, the crushed dead firs are sitting, always the same, and there I spread my broken, peeled fingers, wherever they grew - from the back, from the sides. As they grew - I stand, and I do not believe your hopes and deceptions " .

Prince Andrei looked back at this oak tree several times as he rode through the forest, as if he was expecting something from him. There were flowers and grass under the oak, but he still, frowning, motionless, ugly and stubbornly, stood in the middle of them.

“Yes, he is right, this oak tree is a thousand times right,” thought Prince Andrei, “let others, young people, again succumb to this deception, and we know life, our life is over!” A whole new series of hopeless, but sadly pleasant thoughts arose in the soul of Prince Andrei in connection with this oak tree. During this journey, it was as if he thought over his whole life again and came to the same old, reassuring and hopeless conclusion that he did not need to start anything, that he should live out his life without doing evil, without worrying and desiring nothing. .

II

On guardian affairs of the Ryazan estate, Prince Andrei had to see the district marshal. The leader was Count Ilya Andreyevich Rostov, and Prince Andrei went to him in mid-May.

It was already a hot spring. The forest was already all dressed up, there was dust and it was so hot that, passing by the water, I wanted to swim.

Prince Andrei, gloomy and preoccupied with thoughts about what and what he needs to ask the leader about business, drove up along the alley of the garden to the Rostovs' Otradnensky house. To the right, from behind the trees, he heard a woman's cheerful cry and saw a crowd of girls running across his carriage. Ahead of the others, closer, a black-haired, very thin, strangely thin, black-eyed girl in a yellow cotton dress, tied with a white handkerchief, from under which strands of combed hair were knocked out, ran up to the carriage. The girl was shouting something, but, recognizing the stranger, without looking at him, she ran back with a laugh.

Prince Andrei suddenly felt sick for some reason. The day was so good, the sun so bright, everything around was so cheerful; but this thin and pretty girl did not know and did not want to know about his existence and was pleased and happy with some separate one of her own - stupid, it is true - but cheerful and happy life. "What is she so happy about? What is she thinking about? Not about the military regulations, not about the organization of the Ryazan dues. What is she thinking about? And what makes her happy?" Prince Andrei involuntarily asked himself with curiosity.

Count Ilya Andreevich in 1809 lived in Otradnoye just as before, that is, taking over almost the entire province, with hunts, theaters, dinners and musicians. He, like any new guest, was glad to Prince Andrei and almost forcibly left him to spend the night.

In the course of a boring day, during which Prince Andrei was occupied by the senior hosts and the most honored of the guests, with whom, on the occasion of the approaching name day, the house of the old count was full, Bolkonsky, looking several times at Natasha, who was laughing at something, having fun among the other, young half of society, he kept asking himself: "What is she thinking about? What is she so happy about?"

In the evening, left alone in a new place, he could not sleep for a long time. He read, then put out the candle and lit it again. It was hot in the room with the shutters closed from the inside. He was annoyed at this stupid old man (as he called Rostov), ​​who detained him, assuring him that necessary papers in the city, not delivered yet, vexed with himself for having stayed.

Prince Andrei got up and went to the window to open it. As soon as he opened the shutters, the moonlight, as if he had been waiting for it at the window for a long time, burst into the room. He opened the window. The night was fresh and still-light. Right in front of the window was a row of trimmed trees, black on one side and silvery on the other. Under the trees there was some kind of juicy, wet, curly vegetation with silvery leaves and stems here and there. Farther behind the black trees was a roof of some sort glistening with dew, to the right a large curly tree, with a bright white trunk and boughs, and above it an almost full moon in a bright, almost starless spring sky. Prince Andrei leaned against the window, and his eyes rested on this sky.

Prince Andrei's room was on the middle floor; they also lived in the rooms above it and did not sleep. He heard a woman speak from above.

Just one more time, - said a female voice from above, which Prince Andrei now recognized.

So when are you going to sleep? answered another voice.

I won't, I can't sleep, what should I do! Well, the last time...

Ah, what a delight! Well, now sleep, and the end.

You sleep, but I can't, answered the first voice, approaching the window. She must have leaned out of the window completely, because the rustle of her dress and even her breathing could be heard. Everything was quiet and petrified, like the moon and its light and shadows. Prince Andrei was also afraid to move, so as not to betray his involuntary presence.

III

The next day, having said goodbye to only one count, without waiting for the ladies to leave, Prince Andrei went home.

It was already the beginning of June, when Prince Andrei, returning home, drove again into that birch grove in which this old, gnarled oak struck him so strangely and memorable. The bells rang even more muffled in the forest than a month ago; everything was full, shady and dense; and young firs, scattered throughout the forest, did not violate the general beauty and, imitating general character, gently green with fluffy young shoots.

The whole day was hot, a thunderstorm was gathering somewhere, but only a small cloud splashed on the dust of the road and on the succulent leaves. The left side of the forest was dark, in shadow; the right one, wet, glossy, shone in the sun, slightly swaying in the wind. Everything was in bloom; the nightingales chirped and rolled now close, now far away.

Dear Diary!
Writes to you ... it is not clear who.

This is how all my letters to you should begin.

I admit, yesterday, of course, I had enough of a surplus - I wrote to you ... the devil knows what! Forgive me. This is what I've been reading. Heavy reading*. Leaves no way out, so to speak. But I have already started reading. And once I started, I had to read it to the end, there was no way out.
And then, already after, much later than my letter to you, I also ... had seen enough. showed documentary about ... Hitler. So it happened. Why did you look? Also, there was no way out.
Why wasn't there? And now I'll tell you. Because yesterday I was in bed all day: my back hurt (that's why I managed to finish reading). The pain was unbearable. So, about Hitler - that's it. So terrible that it distracted from this bodily pain: they say, it can be worse.
It hurts even now. Any movement, even micromovement, causes pain: to sneeze, to cough. About getting up and going to the toilet (!) - generally keep quiet. Do girls like me go to the bathroom? This is to the question of whether to lower me to the ground or still (yet) not lower me. And to the fact that I have “the body is not the least”. And in order to completely dispel your illusions, I’ll add: it’s still not quite the back that hurts, but ... what is it called? small of the back? sacrum? coccyx? pelvis? (and in a very whisper: ass?... and even quieter: w...huh?) Everything is equally terrible - not girlish, not at all ... sounds like heavenly music.
And I drink from this pain - far from nectar, not ambrosia, but some dissonant, obscene Spidiphen. This is the same as Ibuprofen (well, this is too much! ...), only it works faster.

- Mom, do you make your own "fish"? - this is a son, he is 21 years old, by the way. (Odnoklassniki! We draw conclusions! .. and not “Make your bets, gentlemen!”) “Fish” is an exercise for the back.
- Yes, what kind of “fish” do I need right now, Sergun? Is that ... "old roach" - I'm joking like that.

Why am I writing all this to you? Why am I doing this? Why do I want to break your illusions, dispel, let them go around the world? Indeed, I have read it! Yes, because the main character of my reading does not have them left. You see, I'm still very impressionable. And he ... from the series “so don’t (d) stay with anyone!” ** Well, you remember, he probably kills (not really, but figuratively speaking) Larisa Guzeeva (speaking surname). Or rather, he kills just the Dowry, while she has not yet managed to become Guzeeva. But he loves - thin. And in fact, no one. And he wants to see his mother.
This is where I realized something. Or so: here I also have understood something. And not only about w...y. And not only about the opposite sex (that would be somehow very ... petty, petty), but about life in general. First, he/I understood everything about life, and then transferred/transferred this understanding to... Yes, you don’t even need to transfer anything. It's just that everything - about everything - became clear - by itself.

Now about why you keep me in the sky. Why don't you want to bring it down to earth? To tell you? Because I know. Because I am your Final Illusion. All the rest, apparently, have already fallen and crashed. But I stayed. The latter, at least for now. And so, maybe the penultimate one. Maybe there will be another “last” later. It's boring without them. Boredom is deadly. He himself said: “Without excitement, the brain understands that death has come.” That's how "normal" you were before me. And this is how “normal” you will be after... until one more “last” one is found, if I still succeed. Break up.

Do you want me to say more? Will I add more? You say, “I didn’t know well” at school. And now that “information has been added”, that Skype Internet, trawl-wali ... So, this is no longer me. Or - then it wasn't me. Yes, you didn't know me well, you didn't know me at all. And... you don't know anymore. That me is no more. And never will be. Late. And this one is a completely different me. True true. It is possible only “according to eyewitness accounts”, “according to fragmentary information” to restore. And eyewitnesses - every single one! - they forgot, “they don’t remember”, they lie ... Lord ... what a pity for the poor girl.

What kind of a bastard am I?

Why am I doing this with the stubbornness of a maniac-(self-)murderer: why do I cut the branch on which I sit? Probably just because it is a bough, and not the sky at all: sitting, living on it is extremely inconvenient. It’s narrow somehow, it hurts ... I have a lower back, have you forgotten? I can't sit at all. Unless you just hang when you don’t have the strength to sit and hold on ... Or when you were hung up on it, on this bitch ... against your will ... Pleasant, so to speak, is not enough. It's more pleasant to lie in bed and watch ... yes, even about Hitler. You are lying on your own. We have already defeated Hitler.

And (and this is the most interesting!) I’m sitting on it (on a heavenly bitch, on a heavenly bitch, on a cloth sky, on a sky bitch - that’s how much interesting options!) only in your imagination. In fact, I am on the ground. I walk on the earth - “in big boots, in a sheepskin coat” *** - on mother earth. Right along the plowed ... no, along the dug up (I wonder why? I know, but I won’t say) garden, there further - behind the fence (fence ... long gone, never was) - across the field, here it is, as if it had already been plowed over (for winter), and it was difficult to walk through large, wet clods ... through the fog ... and easily - through the meadow: through the ringing, brown, man-sized, dry weeds ... to the forest, along the narrow , slippery path, along balding (liquid yellowish tresses all around) bumps (and it’s already cold ...) within easy reach of the forest ... (and the air, what air! ..) Directly in-o-he is there, to that oak...

There he is. Here is this bough, which has long been broken off, all already gray, gray-gray, gray-haired ... And I come up, shkandybay, rattling my boots (great), and stroke the rough, pitted bark ... I slide, clinging, hardened, almost masculine ... but better still - a male (my lyrical hero is a man, a simple village man, you are dealing with him now) with a hand (certainly with earth that has eaten into the skin, in knotty fingers and broken nails, with earth) I touch ... I find ... I find out, as if blindly, this very bough ... I pull, as if checking ... (And what am I checking? pure water ritual - I know that it is stronger than my arm.) And I stand ... In an unbuttoned ... padded jacket (so truer), in a cheap, old, torn sweater on my stomach greasy on my chest (you don’t understand what color) ... hands in pockets already... swollen knees, clay-smeared trousers... half a turn to the oak... it hung over me with a thinned, old, kind crown... back to the forest... and I look... first under my feet, then around... and - with a squint - into the distance... and through the fog I see: and the field, and the path, and the garden... and my house... and my village... And the sky - not yet blue, but no longer gray - light, whitish-golden ... And cold air so fresh, so... young and so tenderly clings to the weather-beaten face, long unshaven cheeks... washes... and does not touch, does not stir the hair that was once thick... what is left of them... .yellowish braids all around. And again up - on the branches ... as if surprised, blinking (already without squinting), sighing about something ...

Morning. Nobody. The day is breaking... And you are standing alone... At the edge of the forest... all over the world... One on one... with the oak... with the world... with yourself.
Somewhere a cow is mooing... And something tinkles towards this mooing... It turns out - not one. Life, it turns out, continues ... What-no, but life.

But is it ... Something he did not turn out very simple.

Just ... Andrey Bolkonsky some !! - “The old oak stood all transformed ...” Or what was it like there? After all, he stood there several times, in the novel ... ****

You know, you ruined a person's morning - and it's already easier. Much. Truth.

I'll go now ... How! - "I'll go!" - at first I will try on for a long, long time: how to turn, which side; then how, holding on to the nightstand (and my hand slips off), get up ... And only then will I get up (unfortunately, of course) and go, limp (because - and give in the leg), shuffle ... to the toilet (!). Well, and only after him, the toilet (I’ll repeat this word on purpose!), Have breakfast. Anything. With one hand holding on to the lower back-coccyx-sacrum, with the other I will open the refrigerator, take it out and throw it (it’s a long way for me to go to the table now) on the table this is the “whatever” - my signature, national dish. Literally: the more I get on the table, the more I will have breakfast. And I don’t want anything anymore, but I just want to go back to bed as soon as possible. Because it hurts, hurts, hurts... unbearably.
But before breakfast - to my husband: to put on warm socks for me. And pull it, check: “Am I in the world ...?” Haven't you been waiting for me all your life? Will you love me all your life? For this, HERE FOR THIS?! did you fight? Yes, you look, look ... And you don’t even need to check it: he will look, and he will put it on, and he will be all his life. And in general - he is already in the kitchen - preparing breakfast for me.

So ... something like this ... You are my school ... Diary. Because you, too, are not real, but the way I see you, the way I invented it myself. Otherwise, after all, this most “normal” thing will come to me too ...
Boredom is mortal, in a word.

I'm sorry if I'm not quoting you (and the classics) verbatim. And who will check this accuracy? Let them then be ... reminiscences. Here.

Listen! Why did he even check? BUT?! He is simple! Simple - rural - man! What could he check? If only...
Damn it!! Worry now for him, worry...

______________
Illustration: Vicente Romero Redondo (Spain)

Notes:

* Heavy reading is A. M. Terekhov’s “Stone Bridge”. And you yourself try!

** “So don’t get to anyone!” A.N. Ostrovsky. Drama "Dowry".

** L.A. Guzeeva. Her first major film role was Larisa Ogudalova in Eldar Ryazanov's film Cruel Romance.

*** N. A. Nekrasov. "A man with a fingernail."

**** L.N. Tolstoy. "War and Peace". Volume Two Part Three, in Chapter I we read (in case anyone has forgotten):

There was an oak at the edge of the road. Probably ten times older than the birches that made up the forest, it was ten times thicker, and twice as tall as each birch. It was a huge, two-girth oak, with boughs broken off, apparently long ago, and with broken bark, overgrown with old sores. With his huge clumsy, asymmetrically spread out clumsy hands and fingers, he stood between the smiling birches like an old, angry and contemptuous freak. Only he alone did not want to submit to the charm of spring and did not want to see either spring or the sun.

“Spring, and love, and happiness! - as if said this oak. - And how do you not get tired of the same stupid senseless deceit! Everything is the same, and everything is a lie! There is no spring, no sun, no happiness. Look, the crushed dead firs are sitting, always the same, and there I spread my broken, peeled fingers, wherever they grew - from the back, from the sides. As they grew up, I stand and do not believe your hopes and deceptions.

Prince Andrei looked back at this oak tree several times as he rode through the forest, as if he was expecting something from him. There were flowers and grass under the oak, but he still, frowning, motionless, ugly and stubbornly, stood in the middle of them.

“Yes, he is right, this oak tree is a thousand times right,” thought Prince Andrei, “let others, young people, again succumb to this deception, and we know life, our life is over!” A whole new series of hopeless, but sadly pleasant thoughts arose in the soul of Prince Andrei in connection with this oak tree. During this journey, it was as if he thought over his whole life again and came to the same old, reassuring and hopeless conclusion that he did not need to start anything, that he should live his life without doing evil, without worrying and desiring nothing. .

“Yes, here, in this forest, there was this oak, with which we agreed,” thought Prince Andrei. - Where is he? ' thought Prince Andrei again, looking at left side road and, without knowing it, without recognizing him, admired the oak he was looking for. The old oak tree, all transformed, stretched out in a tent of juicy, dark greenery, was thrilled, slightly swaying in the rays of the evening sun. No clumsy fingers, no sores, no old grief and mistrust - nothing was visible. Juicy, young leaves broke through the hundred-year-old hard bark without knots, so that it was impossible to believe that it was the old man who produced them. “Yes, this is the same oak tree,” thought Prince Andrei, and an unreasonable spring feeling of joy and renewal suddenly came over him. All the best moments of his life were suddenly remembered to him at the same time. And Austerlitz with a high sky, and the dead, reproachful face of his wife, and Pierre on the ferry, and the girl, excited by the beauty of the night, and this night, and the moon - and he suddenly remembered all this.

“No, life is not over even for thirty-one years,” Prince Andrei suddenly decided without change. - Not only do I know everything that is in me, it is necessary that everyone knows this: both Pierre and this girl who wanted to fly into the sky, it is necessary that everyone knows me, so that my life goes not for me alone. life, so that they do not live like this girl, regardless of my life, so that it is reflected in everyone and so that they all live with me together!