In October 1951, I, among the first-year cadets of the Yeisk Naval Aviation School, arrived in the hero-city of Sevastopol for practical training on the ships of the Black Sea Fleet.
We were placed on two warships in the inner roadstead: the Krasny Kavkaz guards cruiser and the Columbus sailing ship (submarine base). I, among other "kursachi" got on the cruiser, where we were fed excellent buckwheat porridge with meat and tea.
Then the duty officer for the "bottom" (the interior of the ship) with a bandage on his sleeve and the big boatswain began to place us in the "cockpits". The boatswain's profund, lowest-register bass rumbled in the cramped quarters, and, giving us the necessary instructions, he quickly switched from the strictly statutory address "comrades cadets" to the patronizing "sons". We realized that the boatswain was disposed towards us, did not intend to mock us, and that he was not a "skin". In gratitude, we always willingly obeyed all his orders, moving along the ladders and decks only by running, "bullet".
While I was looking for a suitable place for the hanging bunk, a sailor came down the gangway into the cockpit. For some time he looked closely at me and silently "played with his cheekbones" (as I understood, this was his constant habit).
“Come on, I'll show you a good place to bunk,” he said in a dull voice.
He led me deeper into the cockpit and pointed to a huge fan grill in the ceiling.
- This is a good place, and it won't be hot at night …
- Will the noise of a working fan interfere? - I involuntarily asked the question, since I was pretty embarrassed by the neighborhood with such a huge unit.
- Do not be afraid. These fans are silent.
During my practice on the cruiser, I was more than once convinced of the justice of his words and slept sweetly, blown like a hairdryer by a cool air stream on stuffy nights, under the upper armored deck that did not cool down for a long time after a hot day. On the same fan, I hooked a washed striped vest and she, inflated by a warm stream, fluttered and swayed as if alive, resembling a human figure from a distance.
We finally got to know each other and talked on the forecastle (the bow of the ship, the traditional resting place for sailors and foremen), a place of endless conversations and stories called "baiting" in the fleet.
The name of my new friend was Vasily Shukshin (accent on the first syllable). We both didn't smoke. I pestered him with questions about the structure of the ship, and he began to make excursions after dinner, which gave me quite a lot. It is curious that at the same time he never once called me a "rookie", while for others this offensive and half-contemptuous word flew from their lips, and most often from the lips of the "rookies" themselves, which, undoubtedly, we, the cadet-pilots, were on the ship …
Thanks to Shukshin's benevolent tutelage, my acquaintance with the warship went quite successfully, I quickly mastered the basics of naval service, numerous terms and got used to a clear schedule. In those early days, there was no trace of hazing
I remember that Shukshin and I witnessed such an episode. The commander of the cruiser, Captain 1st Rank Maksyuta, walking along the deck along the waist (the middle part of the ship's superstructures), noticed that one of the sailors of the BCh-2 (artillery warhead) was in a very deplorable state of "lame" - ceremonial weekend boots issued to three years. The boots burst at the seams and crawled apart. Maksyuta gloomily listened to the sailor's explanations that those threads had apparently rotted and that after the very first dismissal they "crawled" …
The commander of the ship instructed the quartermaster service to issue new ones, but it turned out to be not easy: the quartermaster officer reported that for this it was necessary to attach a report and certify with a signature, because the boots had not served the prescribed time.
Maksyuta did not like this quartermaster's "logic", and he ordered the sailor to be given his officer's boots, which at that time were supplied to the fleet by the Czechoslovak firm "Batya".
After that, the sailor more than once demonstrated "at the request of the workers" his boots of excellent quality, for which they were nicknamed "admiral's" by the sailors, and they were the subject of jokes by the ship's wits, at which the owner himself good-naturedly laughed.
Shukshin dropped on this insignificant episode:
- Now the sailor will serve not for fear, but for conscience. Such attention is not betrayed by the fathers-commanders. For such a commander, the sailor will go into the fire and into the lead, and he will take those boots to his village, as a dear memory …
After a pause, Vasily added:
- By the way, Russian naval commanders and generals considered caring for our brother the first commandment. That is why they were called the fathers-commanders …
Every morning on the ships of the fleet, the deck was scrubbed. Shukshin and I did this too. It was called "small or large tidy". The big tidy was done on Saturday.
The deck of the ship was sprinkled with fine yellow sand. After that, together with wooden "baklashki" they rubbed the oak deck set like parquet. Such a "parquet", inlaid deck, laid on the armor, is quite practical, since it protects the metal from strong heating in the sun (on other ships there is a terrible heat in the rooms below the deck). But scrubbing it wasn't easy.
The big Saturday tidying up was sophisticated, and any cleanest hostess would have come to great amazement at the efforts and efforts that the Russian fleet uses on this day to day.
After the deck was made "like a pristine tear" from sanding, the sand was washed off by seawater from the cannons, the deck was rubbed with birch brooms, then "shovel" with special wooden shovels with a piece of rubber at the end. But that's not all. After the end of this operation, at the command of the boatswain, they proceeded to the final part of the tidying up: the deck was diligently "mopped", and then wiped dry with a rag from a huge ball of thread (waste of some textile factory).
The boatswain slowly checked the quality of the work, looked into every tarred seam and crack and, with a satisfied grunt and habitually straightening his wheat mustache, already moving away, gave the command "tank" (from the word "tank", in which the duty sailor from the four received food allowance), follow to the galley for food.
Working side by side, pretty tired, Shukshin and I unbend our backs and showed each other calluses on our hands. At the same time, Shukshin grinned:
- Today we have earned the naval grub honestly.
However, I must point out that sometimes the "big tidy" did not end there.
Here I must mention a certain strange ferocity that was on the cruiser as a political officer. His last name was Lyubchenko. Shukshin with him had eternal friction, ending, as a rule, not in favor of Vasily
The zampolit was by no means stupid, with regular, almost girlish features. He was transferred to the navy from some coastal unit and was distinguished by amazing sadistic inclinations. There was a grimace of contemptuous discontent on his face forever, and he seemed to find particular satisfaction in endless petty quibbles. The officers of the ship did not like him, and he, knowing this, kept his distance from them.
And somehow, after the above-described large tidying up on the quarterdeck (the aft part of the deck, where the wardroom was located), a political officer appeared: Seeing him, Vasya clenched his cheekbones and whispered: "Well, wait for trouble now."Going down to the wardroom, Lyubchenko, with a pictorial gesture, took a snow-white shawl from his tunic and held it across the deck. I examined him. He held it again and shouted loudly:
- Boatswain, call the cadets and redraw the deck!
Cursing, and already without the same agility, we went for sand, brooms, shovels and mops.
- I saw what kind of fruits are found on the "box" - you will not get bored, - said Shukshin with some special sadness. - Man - he is twofold: both the animal principle and the social one sit in him. What will prevail in his life is unknown …
Even then it was noticeable that Vasily was trying to analyze, to understand a lot in our "heroic life" …
Bear Masha
The galley on the ship was located on the upper deck, on the "waist". From time to time we were sent there in the outfit to peel potatoes. The "folk path" of Vasily Shukshin did not overgrow there either, due to all the same clashes with the political officer. He came to the galley, armed himself with a sharp knife, sat on an inverted zinc bucket, silently and diligently began to peel potatoes.
Two huge aluminum tanks had to be cleaned, it took more than an hour, and therefore "persecution" began by itself, salty sailor tales, anecdotes, but more often the poems of Yesenin and Pushkin were read. And time did not start flowing so boringly.
Once a "novik" from the naval crew was sent to the galley. The sailor was a quick-witted, creepy, talkative and terribly unpleasant in communication. He said that he "thundered" on the potatoes because he blew his nose on the deck, and it was the "bitch-boatswain" who saw it. The sailor wandered around for a long time, played for time, then stopped in front of Vasily and sang mockingly: “At the Odessa bazaar there is noise and rumors. Everything you need is on sale: junk and rubbish …"
Having made room, the sailor was given a place. He, reluctantly seated himself, began to examine the knife and muttered as if casually:
- Work, she loves fools …
At that moment, the bear Mashka stomped to the galley, thundering with a rumpled cistern. About a year ago, it was presented as a small funny lump by the artists of the Moscow Art Theater, who held patronage over the Black Sea Fleet, on their arrival. Standing on her hind legs, she noisily sniffed the sweetest smells from the galley, at the same time sniffing each of us separately, hoping to lure someone out of a piece of sugar or candy.
Everyone, without exception, loved Masha, the cook spoiled her with an extra portion of borscht or meat, everyone else treated her to sweets. She was light brown, strong, well-fed and unusually friendly. Someone taught her to wrestle, and she, amid the laughter of those present in the evening hours, with pleasure indulged in this occupation, to the great joy of the sailors. Usually she easily managed to knock the enemy on his shoulder blades, after which she would certainly "kiss" him - lick him with a big red tongue.
During her stay on the ship, Mashka was fairly "humanized", understood many words, adored affection, knew the ship's routine very well, knew the boatswain and officers "by sight" and obeyed them unquestioningly.
With the appearance of Masha, we noticeably perked up, jokes started pouring down, they patted her in a friendly way by the fur, thick scruff of the neck … But then the unexpected happened. When Mashka was sniffing for a rather long time at the lazy sailor, apparently getting to know him and remembering him, he, taking out a cigarette from his mouth, quickly glued it to the bear's nose. Masha stepped back, sat down on her hind legs, and covered herself with her front legs. Pain and bewilderment appeared in her eyes. Then she roared so terribly that the abusive sailor flew out of the galley with a bullet. Masha rushed to catch up with him. The boatswain saved the sailor from the angry bear. Seeing the pursuit, he threw a wet sailor's uniform over the bear's head. Masha stopped and suddenly before our eyes, releasing huge claws, in the blink of an eye turned the strongest robe into pitiful rags. "Here it is, the awakened bearish force," Shukshin said later. The sailor, in the greatest fear, ran headlong to the main caliber tower and, nimbly climbing over the metal brackets, disappeared.
For several days they brought him food there, since Masha, who had an unusually keen instinct, barely smelling the smell of the offender, rushed to him to inflict reprisals. In order to avoid trouble, the boatswain reported an incident with
Mashka to the ship commander, and he immediately wrote him off to the shore in the naval crew. Masha, having examined the ship, soon calmed down, realizing that the offender was no longer there, her former friendliness returned to her again.
Ship
The Krasny Kavkaz guards cruiser was an honored veteran of the Black Sea Fleet. His peer was the same type cruiser "Red Crimea", which filmmakers used for filming as the legendary "Varyag", attaching a fake pipe to it. The cruiser, slightly smoking, was located nearby, and Shukshin and I looked at it through a stereo tube.
In the depths of the Sevastopol Bay, another ship stood on its barrels - the battleship Novorossiysk (formerly Giulio Cesare - Julius Caesar), which we inherited after the division of the Italian fleet between the allies and the victors in World War II. It possessed the largest main caliber and was an impressive sight. Subsequently, it was blown up by the Italian underwater saboteurs of Prince Borghese (according to one of the latest versions).
Vasily advised me to visit the Novorossiysk.
I am writing about all this solely because, for some unknown reason, Shukshin never wrote a single story about our fleet, almost never mentioned in print about his service on the cruiser Krasny Kavkaz
This is perhaps one of the mysteries of his work. However, he was given a short century, and, probably, he simply did not have time …
We spent the "personal time" set according to the ship's schedule in the evening hours in long conversations and on walks around the ship. At the same time, Vasily instructed in passing:
- Remember the maritime rule - it is forbidden to become feet on everything that is painted with oil paint. (At this point, I was walking along the painted ball-paint casing, laid along the entire side of the rails, under them lay pipelines for seawater.)
--- The boatswain will see, if you get the outfit out of turn - scrub the latrine.
Many wounds remained on the ship from the war. Part of the stern was welded from the leader of the "Chervona Ukraina", on which Stalin loved to take a walk on vacation to his native Caucasus in the thirties (a German dive bomber managed to hit the pipe with a bomb). Along the sides and even on the foremast there were many holes from fragments of aerial bombs and shells, carefully welded and with inscriptions in red red lead like the following: "This fragment on September 27, 1941 killed the sergeant major of the 2nd article I. Petrov."
Every time the ship was overhauled and repainted, all the inscriptions on the holes were neatly renewed. And, I must say, reading them was shocking.
I asked if any of those who were aboard the cruiser during the war remained on the ship? Vasily answered in the affirmative:
- For example, our boatswain, who loves you pilots so much. - Shukshin grinned, glancing sideways at me. - He got it from the war. The cruiser was not sunk thanks to air support. And he had many opportunities to go to the bottom. The cruiser's stern was repulsed by an air bomb, and the aviators did not allow him to finish off. Aviation, in general, more than once saved our handsome man … However, if you want to know more about those events, ask the boatswain. He loves to tell.
Soon we visited the "kingdom of the boatswain", in his battalion in the bow of the ship. Everything there was filled with cans of red lead, scraps of anchor chains and many all kinds of things that he needed according to his position.
The boatswain had a weakness for booze, which betrayed him with a red complexion and a crimson nose. But he knew the measure, and he was forgiven. Indeed, he began to talk about the war willingly, rumbling in his bass:
“Both I and the ship are getting old. Now, at a speed of 16 knots, the hull begins to deform. And once there was a handsome man!.. It was built on money from the "monopoly trade in vodka". But it was completed in 1930. Therefore, the entire anti-mine caliber of the cruiser is made up of Italian "double-barreled guns" with their optics, but converted to central fire control.
When landing in Feodosia, the ship came close to the wall, under dagger fire. For some time we suppressed them with cannon fire and managed to land troops. Directly to the embankment of Feodosia. Everything around is being shot through. A flurry of fire from both sides. Perseverance and rage on both sides. II, believe me, it didn't look like a movie. Airborne combat is a terrible thing … Some went crazy during the battle.
After listening to the boatswain's stories, we wandered around the upper deck for some time, looked at the city lights, and although Vasily Shukshin was a great silent man, we were not bored …
Once he showed me his "cherished corner" on the ship, where no one bothered him and where he could calmly devote himself to reading or writing letters to Srostki. It was not easy to get to it: it was necessary to go down a narrow pipe, along iron brackets to the lowest deck
Then he confessed to me that he dreamed of going to the Institute of Cinematography at the screenwriting department and that he had already written several scripts from village life. The main difficulty for the screenwriter, he believed, was writing out human characters without lies, without embellishment, since each person is an "amazing space" "…
But soon the solitude of the future writer attracted the attention of the ubiquitous political officer, who for some reason decided that the sailor Shukshin was writing anonymous letters. And he took a terrible dislike to him. Nagging, reprimands in front of the formation, outfits out of turn poisoned life. Thanks to the efforts of the political officer, the promised leave for the mother was postponed indefinitely. Vasily's stomach began to ache (apparently due to stress), the doctors determined "acute gastritis", which soon turned into an ulcer. This illness caused the demobilization of radio operator Shukshin a year ahead of schedule, in 1953 (he was drafted in 1949).
Sea library
Soon the cruiser "Krasny Kavkaz" took off the barrels, cautiously and slowly entered the cramped Kilien Bay, slowly moored "at the wall." The city of Sevastopol became much closer, trolleybuses passed very close, but cadets were rarely released on dismissal. We were "overwhelmed", and every day of the week was scheduled by the minute. The naval business was not boring: we quickly mastered the flag signaling, alphabet, artillery weapons and naval units …
In the evening after supper they went to the forecastle, sat under the barrels of the guns and, looking at the silently flickering lights of the city, talked quietly. Quiet, but not always peaceful.
- On a village autumn fishing would go. Chubs should peck, well, perches and roach,”he began gradually, apparently, wondering when he was" shining "on vacation to his mother.
Vasily often used the words: "you, urban" or "we, village". Maybe even too often … I compared life in the countryside and life in the city. It turned out to be a sad, bleak picture.
From him I first learned that collective farmers are forbidden to keep horses, that collective farmers work "for sticks" in the register, and most importantly, the villager does not have a passport, in fact, is enslaved.
Further, it turned out that Shukshin graduated only from a seven-year school, and to enter the Institute of Cinematography, a certificate of maturity is required. The feeling of his unsuitability because of his "ignorance" greatly poisoned his life. It was evident that he often turned to this painful point of his, thereby aggravating his torment.
At that time I did not like Shukshin's "village theme" and therefore strove to "change the record." Once I dumbfounded him with a question:
- Have you read the novel by Jack London "Martin Eden"?
- No, why?
- Be sure to read and sign up for the Sevastopol Library. For most people, life is by no means the main entrance. Therefore, if you have set a goal, rely only on your strength, will and your own talent! (The phrase was too preachy, and Vasya shuddered.)
Further, at his request, I recounted in detail the content of the novel about the sailor Martin Eden, who became a famous writer. I deliberately omitted the sad end of the novel.
Shukshin listened to me without interrupting, played with nodules and looked at the reflections in the water. (To this day, I carry the confidence that Jack London's book played a big role in the life of Vasily Shukshin.) He asked me to make a list of recommended books, which I did by placing Cervantes, my beloved Stendhal, Paustovsky, Sholokhov there (emphasized especially), Bernard Shaw, Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor Dostoevsky (then he was officially considered in the brochures of the "Knowledge" society and the critic Ermilov "the most reactionary writer"). The long list was closed by the "Golden Calf" Ilf and Petrov.
Vasily carefully read the list and, reaching the name of Tolstoy, snorted: "You really don't make fools of us. We've read a few things." I was quick to say that I mentioned just in case, for fear of missing out.
Next Sunday we managed to go on leave together, go to the Marine Library and see the city. In those years, the Maritime Library was located next to the park on Lenin Street, near the place where the house of the writer Stanyukovich, the author of the famous "Sea Tales", stood (the house was destroyed during the war). We were met by a beautiful young librarian Evgenia Matveevna Schwartz.
She warmly and attentively listened to Shukshin, looked at the list of the literature I recommended, struck up a conversation, added something on the list, all the time calling us "young people". And so she did it nicely, kindly. Then she asked us to wait a little and went into the next room.
There were almost no people, and Vasily looked with eager interest in the covers of old editions in the bookcases. His deep-set eyes shone with an inner light. It was evident that he immediately felt comfortable here, as among good friends
We left the library with "Martin Eden" in our arms, Stendhal, and some other wonderful books … I involuntarily noticed how carefully and lovingly Shukshin holds the book: stroking it, leafing through it carefully. He read very carefully, thoughtfully and slowly. He willingly and animatedly began to discuss what he had read, his judgments were deep, original, weighed. He was especially animated if he learned something new, significant, correctly noticed and well, accurately described.
He saw the blunders of writers, falsity, inaccuracies as an experienced writer. He was never interested in HG Wells. Fantasies did not captivate him. Compared to Jules Verne, Wells, he believed, was somewhat inferior.
Sholokhov's skill was recognized by Shukshin as very high, and he probably did not imagine that he would ever meet him in Veshki …
Of the Western writers, more precisely of the French classics, he especially singled out Rabelais. He read "Gargantua and Pantagruel" several times, imbued with the sparkling folk humor of this work. Perhaps the reading of the immortal Frenchman Rabelais later helped Shukshin in writing a magnificent satirical tale "Until the Third Cocks", in my opinion, a thing that no modern writer has ever risen to. Without a doubt, he had been pondering this plot for more than one year.
“You don’t think,” he said to me once, “that after the revolution they are trying to push us Russians somewhere. And everyone wants to rule over us, from the local bureaucratic rascals to the very top. Something very important is suppressed in us, not that historical pride, or something else …
Workers of the trading network, or "hucksters", were for him bloodsuckers of villages and cities, creators of artificial shortages, people of the most vile breed - cruel and merciless. He admitted that he was often lost in front of their rudeness, solidarity with the police and local authorities, their invincibility, before their contempt for ordinary workers. In my opinion, Shukshin later in his stories very accurately portrayed their psychology, stereotype of behavior.
Once, by chance, I learned a fact that struck me - in the Botkin hospital at the blood transfusion station, not a single case of blood donation from sellers was recorded. How not to remember Vasily Makarovich!
After the library we went to the "Istorka" (Historical Boulevard). A brass band was playing there. Couples danced in an open area surrounded by green acacias. Vasily was indifferent to "dances", as he could not dance. For some time we knocked together at the entrance, watching how "two floors wipe the third" (a sharpness thrown by them as if by accident), after which we "set sail" and wandered on.
On the fourth bastion, where the Russian officer Leo Tolstoy fought in 1854, we looked for a long time at the old ship cannons taken from sailing ships, braided tours, thick old ropes that served as a kind of shields against choke bullets and cannonballs. Vasily was silent for a long time, then exhaled noisily:
- Yes, our story. Our grandfathers had a hard time here. And Sevastopol had to leave the same … Tsar, tea, oh, how painful it was to wrinkle this shame …
We wandered around Sevastopol for a long time. Traces of recent battles were visible everywhere: the walls of dilapidated houses, on "Istorka" there was a wrought iron fence with ragged "bites" from bullets, on Seaside Park by the sea under a decorative stone bridge there was an iron door with a half-erased German inscription.
But the restoration and construction of the city went on intensively. Russian big girls, wrapped up to their eyes in shawls faded from the sun, sawed huge blocks of Inkerman stone with hand saws, turning it into facing slabs. White lime dust was in the air everywhere. New houses of two or three floors seemed fabulously cozy, and the city itself gradually began to resemble Alexander Grin's Zurbagan …
Returning to the ship, we, according to the charter, saluted the naval flag at the stern and walked briskly across the deck. The bear Mashka met us. Vasily pushed his peakless cap to the back of his head, squatted down and treated her to toffee. Masha, looking with intelligent eyes, faithfully lay down at our feet.
It is curious that in such cases Shukshin could talk with the beast for a long time, and Masha listened to him! Yearning for his eyes, he quietly and confidentially told her that they would now both go to the forest. The ship, they say, is a product of a human mind, incomprehensible to her, not for her. And the bear listened to his voice, as if spellbound …
“The forest is not like human happiness,” he told her, “the forest is the same for everyone …
Vasily got up slowly, took the books from the deck.
- Well, be there! - And without looking back, he went to the ladder. He was impatient to be alone with the books before the shift began …
Last meeting
Vasily and I met almost every evening after seven. These visits did not go unnoticed, a Georgian cadet Vazha Sikharulidze once asked bluntly: "The sergeant major of the second class has come to you again. Why does he come to see you, fellow countryman, or what?"
- No. He "overwhelms me" … We agreed to meet …
Our relations could not be called particularly friendly. But Vasily was interested in me, apparently, for this reason. The nickname (which many of us had) I had "intellectual", although without any tinge of irony. At the evenings of amateur performances he played the violin, moreover, he did not smoke and did not use foul language. He knew literature quite well and knew by heart everything "Onegin" by Pushkin and "The Demon" by Lermontov. To Vasily's question, when I managed to learn these poems, he briefly explained that, standing daytime at night with a sword on his side at the bedside table, so as not to fall asleep, he was memorizing whole pages. The inevitable punishment awaited the one who fell asleep, the orderly: "a guardhouse" (a cadet's word), or simply - a guardhouse "full of iron." I had a good memory …
Much later I read Shukshin's article "Monologue on the Stairs". It was written in 1973, when he was already a mature master. In this article, he asks himself the question: "What is an intelligent person?"
"Let's start with the fact that this phenomenon - an intelligent person - is rare. This is a troubled conscience, mind, bitter discord with oneself because of the accursed question "what is truth?", Pride … And - compassion for the fate of the people. Inevitable, painful. If all this is in one person - he is an intellectual. But that's not all. The intellectual knows that intelligence is not an end in itself. Of course, it's not about the hat …"
Despite the cadet nickname, I did not meet Shukshin's capacious definition at that time, but we had something to talk about, especially because he once also wanted to become a pilot and even went to enroll in an aviation school. And also, perhaps because I loved mathematics. Shukshin once found me solving a problem for an equation with three unknowns from a problem book for those entering universities.
- And you are a talent, Kashtanka, - he said with undisguised interest, - you are like peeling seeds. For me, mathematics, especially trigonometry, is a dark forest on a moonless night …
Even then, as I recall, he decided to finish the ten-year period and acquired the necessary textbooks.
I'll try to answer one more easy question: "Why do I remember so much the foreman of the second article Vasily Shukshin, a silent Russian boy, focused on something?" Perhaps more because he was the first real sailor in my life who spoke very intelligibly and sensibly about the cruiser and naval science, for which I had great interest and respect.
- Comprehend, it will come in handy, - he said, smiling rather, after we climbed the spacious engine room of the cruiser, - you have to wear officer shoulder straps all your life …
But he was rarely in good spirits. It was felt that something was oppressing him. Only from the book "Articles and Memories about Vasily Shukshin" (Novosibirsk, 1989) I learned that his father was repressed by the OGPU in 1933 when he was very young and disappeared
Vasily, it turns out, was recorded under the name Popov (grandfather's surname) for a long time, and only then took his father's surname …
He rarely spoke about his native village Srostki in Altai. Only once, sitting on a forecastle in a black pea jacket buttoned to all the buttons, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his robe, closing his eyes, sang:
“There is a road along the Chuisky tract, a lot of drivers travel along it. There was one desperate driver there, His name was Kolka Snegirev …"
He paused, sighed heavily and said in a deaf voice:
- This Chuisky tract passes next to my village. And this Kolka Snegirev, who turned the steering wheel on the AMO truck, was evidently from our place …
Soon my maritime practice in the Black Sea ended and I went on vacation to the Urals in Perm, to my mother and brother Gleb.
Before leaving the ship, we said goodbye to Vasily Shukshin. We didn't have a chance to talk again …
For the first time I saw him on the screen in the movie "The Golden Echelon". In the credits, the rare name Shukshin flashed. And despite the fact that in the film he was Andrei Nizovtsev and sported in an excellently tailored officer's overcoat, he was well recognizable. However, I recognized the talent of the actor Shukshin after the film "Two Fyodors" (1959) and was heartily happy for him.
Then Vasily Shukshin began to publish in the magazines Smena, Siberian Lights, at Tvardovsky's in Novy Mir. The first collections of his stories were published.
They started talking about Shukshin as an actor, and after a while and as a writer, far from immediately. For the sake of truth, I will note that millions of Russian readers were the first to love and recognize him as a great writer. Professional critics looked down on him. Slightly praised, but more scolded for the "clumsy style", for strange "heroes-weirdos", for "everyday life" (while not revealing what this term means) and for much more …
In the film "By the Lake" (1968) there is an episode where Vasily Chernykh, whose role was played by Vasily Shukshin, is talking about literature in the library. He sharply reminded me of the sailor Shukshin from the cruiser Krasny Kavkaz, who was talking about books. His gesture: loving touch and palm stroking of the book. And at the same time, a bright, warm, very special smile that cannot be "played" …
It seemed that well-deserved fame and respect had come to him. The horizons of his work have expanded.
But, as the people say: "Glory comes from one city, but it carries more than one message." In the fall of 1974, after my transfer to Moscow (which was facilitated by Colonel-General of Aviation A. I. I read it already in the subway car and was shocked by the image of the unsightly truth, which we, Russians, most often try not to notice, but which so often "seizes" us in life. It was a story about rudeness and humiliation of human dignity. The reason for writing the "story" in "Literaturka" was a seemingly insignificant episode, which, under the pen of an outstanding writer, had grown to a tragic symbol. It is sad that a boor reigns over us and mocks us …
Realizing that he is powerless in the face of administrative rudeness, Shukshin writes: "I don't know what happened to me, but I suddenly felt that - that's it, the end. What is the" end ", what" the end ", I don't understand, I don't know now, but the presentiment of some very simple, blunt end was distinct."
From this publication, with a pain in my heart, I learned that Vasily was seriously ill and that as a mere mortal he was more vulnerable than ever, despite all his glory …
