Moscow State University of Printing. Introductory constructions (introductory words, phrases, sentences) Boy with a silver throat

Task 17

Punctuation marks for address and introductory words

The appeal can be expressed mono-wordly or ambiguous.

2. An address can be expressed by a noun in the indirect case if it denotes a characteristic of the object or person to whom the speech is addressed.

For example: Hey, in Hat, are you extreme?

3. Personal pronouns You And You, as a rule, do not act as addresses: they perform the function of the subject if they have predicate verbs.

For example: If you, reader If you love autumn, then you know that in autumn the water in the rivers becomes bright from the cold Blue colour(Paust.)– an appeal is reader , and the pronoun You combines with verb love .

Pronouns you you can accept the call function in the following cases:

a) in designs with separate definition or attributive clause:

You, third from the edge, with a mop on your forehead, I don’t know you. I love you!(Vozn.);

You, whose wide greatcoats resembled sails, whose spurs and voices rang merrily, and whose eyes, like diamonds, left a mark on the heart - the charming dandies of yesteryear (Col.);

b) when used independently, usually with interjections hey, well, eh and etc.:

– Eh, you! And don’t you hate sitting next to Chebukhaika? - he throws on the go (Cool.);

Tsits, you!She is no longer your servant (M.G.); “He has a headache,” Bayev sympathized with his heart.

– Ehh... you. Residents! (Shuksh.);

c) as part of other appeals: Dear friend, you are mine , don’t be ashamed...(Fad.); My darling (Shuksh.).

Attention: The address is not grammatically related to the sentence and is not a member of the sentence.

Punctuation marks for addresses

1. Appeals are usually highlighted (or separated) by commas, and in case of special emotional stress - by an exclamation point after the appeal.

For example:

Congratulations, comrades, with safe arrival (Paust.)

- Do not go, Volodya, - said Rodion (Ch.).

Goodbye, it's time my joy! I'll jump off now conductor(Past.). Be quiet, wind. Don't bark water glass(Es.). See the light, sighted comrade, near the lake in the water drainage (Vozn.).

2. Multiple requests are separated by commas or exclamation marks.

For example:

« My dear, my darling, my torment, my longing "- she read (Ch.);

Goodbye, my happiness , my short-lived happiness ! (Cupr.);

Proletarian! Poor brother... When you receive this letter, I will already be leaving (Ch.).

Addresses connected by a conjunction AND, are not separated by commas.

For example:

Weep tavern violins and harps (Vozn).

3. If after the appeal there is a definition or application, then it is separated; such a definition is perceived as a second appeal.

For example:

Grandpa, dear, where have you been? (Spread);

Miller, my dear, stand up. There are lights on the shore! (Paust.).

4. The parts of the dissected appeal are highlighted separately, each on its own.

For example:Hear me, good, hear me, beautiful, my evening dawn, unquenchable love! (Isa.);

Oh my neglected ones, thank you and kiss you, hands of the Motherland, timidity, friendship, family(Past.).

5. If the call ends interrogative sentence, then a question mark is placed after it.

For example:

Do you hear? Dmitry Petrovich? I will come to you in Moscow (Ch.);

When will Kara-Ada finally happen? captain? (Paust.);

What's wrong with you, blue sweater? (Vozn.);

Did you pray at night? birch? Have you prayed at night? overturned lakes Senezh, Svityaz and Naroch? Have you prayed at night? Cathedrals of the Intercession and Dormition? (Vozn.).

6. Particles Oh, Ah, Ah etc., standing before the appeals, are not separated from them.

For example:

Oh my darling my gentle, beautiful garden! (Ch.).

– Prosh, and Prosh! – called Prokhor Abramovich (Plat.).

Ah Nadya, Nadenka, we would be happy... (Ok.).

Oh whirlwind, feel all the depths and hollows (Past.).

O grapes of retribution! I soared in one gulp to the West - I am the ashes of an uninvited guest! (Vozn.).

Oh youth, phoenix, fool, the diploma is all in flames! (Vozn.).

O beloved deceptions of the heart, delusions of infancy! On the day when the meadows turn green, there is no way for me to get rid of you (Sick.).

7. If there is an interjection before the address (unlike a particle, it is accentuated), then it is separated by a comma or an exclamation mark.

For example:

– Oh, dear Nadya, - Sasha began his usual afternoon conversation (Ch.);

– Hey, three octagons for thread, go get a bolt!

An interjection (as a call for attention) can itself act as an appeal.

For example:

Hey, beware! You'll create a closure! (Vozn.).

– Hey, be careful there! - shouted Stepakha (Cool.).

Where? What are you doing? Hey! (Shuksh.).

8. After an address, which is a separate vocative sentence (Sentence-address, i.e. one-part sentence, in which the main and only member is the name of the person - the addressee of the speech), an ellipsis or an exclamation mark is placed - single or in combination with an ellipsis.

For example:

– Miller! – whispered Shatsky (Paust.);

–Sing!.. – Lyalka is at the window again (Shuksh.);

– Mother... And mother! - he called his old woman (Shuksh.);

– Brothers... - he said quietly, and his voice broke (Paust.).

Introductory structures(introductory words, phrases, sentences)

II. Difficult cases definitions of introductory words.

mainly:

1 thanks to my friends.

III. Note

2. . Are not introductory words for example, in particular, mainly, let's say, let's say and so on. stand at the beginning of a clarifying or connecting revolution, then they are highlighted along with the revolution, i.e. after them no sign is placed. Compare:

He, For example, enjoys reading science fiction.

The work may be presented soon, For example Tomorrow.

3 . Union A(less often BUT) is not separated by a comma from the subsequent introductory word if it forms one whole with it: and therefore, and by the way, and therefore, and secondly, and secondly, but therefore etc.

For example:

Misfortune hasn't changed him at all. but on the contrary, he became even stronger and more energetic.

Nikita's life was not permanent holiday, but, on the contrary, was never-ending service.

4. After other conjunctions, a comma before the introductory word is placed.

I regret that documents relating to Zherebtsov’s life have been lost, and what has survived to our time is very fragmentary and meager.

Fortunately, just before his death, Zherebtsov, already retired, met the writer Evseenko. This writer conscientiously supplied numerous stories and novellas for the magazines “Niva” and “Rodina”. These unwise things were designed for a reader with a lot of free time, mainly a summer resident, and did not in any way shine with talent.

Evseenko was not devoid of the gift of depiction, but, like many of his contemporaries (the case dates back to the 90s of the last century), he was infected with a passion for capturing moods. He described the mood of nature, people, animals, his own and even the mood of entire cities and dacha areas near Moscow.

In one of these areas he met Zherebtsov, immediately with an experienced eye determined that the decrepit and good-natured sailor must inevitably keep within himself a certain literary plot, and set about fishing out this plot. Having not found out the plot, Evseenko nevertheless wrote the story, but did not have time to print it, since he developed a severe stage of consumption and was sent to Yalta, where he soon died. The manuscript of his story, which interests me only to the extent of the information it contains about last days Zherebtsov, the first explorer of the Kara-Bugaz Bay, I cite here, making the necessary abbreviations. The story is called "Fatal Mistake".

“If you, reader, have been to art exhibitions, then you should remember the pictures depicting provincial courtyards overgrown with mallow. A dilapidated but warm house with many outbuildings and porches, linden trees under the windows (jackdaws nest in them), grass growing thickly among the chips , a black puppy tied on a rope, and a fence with broken boards. Behind the fence is the mirror surface of a picturesque river and the lush gold of an autumn forest. A warm sunny day in September.

Country trains passing near the old house add even more charm to the landscape, covering the yellowness of the forests with clouds of locomotive steam.

If you, reader, love autumn, then you know that in autumn the water in rivers turns a bright blue color from the cold. On this day, the water was especially blue, and yellow willow leaves floated along it, smelling of sweet dampness.

Wet birch leaves stick to your boots, to the footboards of the carriages, to the large plank boards where Moscow merchants praise their goods to the provincials looking out from the carriages.

It is about these shields, especially about one that called on everyone to smoke Katyk cartridges, that I want to talk to you, reader.

Rogue! - the old man shouted angrily and waved his stick threateningly. A rascal, but a smart fellow!

Who are you talking about?

About Katyk, dear sir, about the manufacturer Katyk,” the old man answered kindly: apparently, he was not averse to entering into a conversation.

I asked why Katyk is a scoundrel and a swindler.

This story is very long. Come on, come to my place - I live nearby - and have some tea. By the way, I’ll tell you about Katyk.

The old man led me to the courtyard mentioned above and led me into a room that sparkled with cleanliness. On the shelves were stuffed tall birds with pink plumage. On the walls hung many nautical maps, covered with red pencils, and watercolors depicting the deserted shores of a green and stormy sea. Old books lay in strict order on the table. I looked at the titles - they were works on the hydrography of various seas and travels around Central Asia and the Caspian Sea. While the girl, the owner’s daughter, was putting the samovar on for us, the old man uncorked a box of yellow Feodosia tobacco and rolled a thick cigarette.

That’s it, my friend,” he said, enveloped in smoke, “let me first of all introduce myself.” My name is Ignatiy Aleksandrovich Zherebtsov. I am a retired sailor, hydrographer, mapmaker of the Caspian Sea. If you please, I am already in my eighties. You were interested in Katyk. So, I can report that Katyk very unsuccessfully corrects the mistake I made in my young years, when I had just finished sailing the Caspian Sea. My mistake was that the Kara-Bugazsky Bay located on this sea - I don’t know whether you have heard of it or not - I was the first to examine and recognize it as completely useless for the state, as not possessing any natural resources. But, by the way, I discovered that the bottom of the bay consists of salt, as it later turned out to be Glauber’s salt. Kara-Bugaz is an extraordinary place for its dry air, its pungent and thick water, its deep desert and, finally, its vastness. It is surrounded by sands. After swimming in its waters I became ill with suffocation. Only here, in the north, did the illness leave me, otherwise, my friend, I was suffocating every night and literally dying.

Out of my stupidity, I wanted to propose to the government to block the narrow entrance to the bay with a dam in order to cut it off from the sea.

Why, you ask? And then, that I was convinced of the deep harmfulness of its waters, poisoning countless schools of Caspian fish. In addition, I interpreted the mysterious shallowing of the sea in those years by saying that the bay was insatiably absorbing Caspian water. I forgot to tell you that the water flows into the bay in a strong stream. I calculated that if the bay is blocked, the sea level will begin to rise every year by almost an inch. I intended to make locks in the dam and in this way maintain the level in the sea that is necessary for navigation. But the late Grigory Silych Karelin, thanks to him, talked me out of this crazy project.

I asked why the old man called this project, although extraordinary, crazy.

You see, my friend, I have already said that the bottom of the bay consists of Glauber's salt. Scientists suggest that every year millions of pounds of this salt settle in the waters of the bay. The greatest, one might say, deposit of this salt in the whole world, exceptional wealth - and suddenly all this would be destroyed in a single blow.

My second mistake was due to the fault of these northern places. I myself am from Kaluga, and spent fifteen years on the Caspian Sea. There - if you have been, you should know - dullness, dust, winds, deserts and no grass, no trees, no clean flowing water.

I should have, as soon as a suspicion arose in me of the greatest riches of the Kara-Bugaz, took up this matter, stirred up the learned men, but I gave up on everything and thought only about how I could quickly return to my place, to the Zhizdra forests. I didn’t need Kara-Bugaz with its salt. I wouldn’t trade my Kaluga copses for a dozen Kara-Bugaz. I wanted, you know, as I used to do in infancy, to breathe the mushroom air and listen to the sound of the rain on the leaves.

It is clear that our weaknesses are stronger than the dictates of our minds. I gave up fame, committed, one might say, a crime against the human race, went to my home near Zhizdra - and was happy. Meanwhile, the rumor that Lieutenant Zherebtsov had found a bottom of unusual salt in the bay reached scientists. The Turkmen were sent to the bay. They brought bottled water. They analyzed it, and it was discovered that it was the purest Glauber’s salt, without which neither glassmaking nor many other industries would be unthinkable.

It was then that the rascal Katyk surfaced. He didn’t have enough shell casings and racing horses, so he decided to mine salt in the bay, since in winter the waves throw it ashore right in the mountains. Established for this purpose Joint-Stock Company, tricked everyone; does not export salt, but Kara-Bugaz received almost complete ownership from the government. That’s why I say that this Katyk of yours is quite a scoundrel.”

Further in his story, Evseenko describes in detail Zherebtsov’s funny conversations with the owner’s daughter and his friendship with the surrounding boys. For them, Zherebtsov was an indisputable authority in matters of fishing and pigeon training. He called the boys “bubbles” and “bugs.”

On holidays, the son of his deceased school friend came to him from Moscow (we gave a letter to this friend at the beginning of the first chapter) - a boy with a silver pipe in his throat. Together they made bird traps and fishing rods or did chemical experiments.

Sometimes Zherebtsov left the boy with him to spend the night. Then the conversations in his room did not stop until late in the evening. Zherebtsov talked about his voyages, and, it must be said, he had never had such an attentive interlocutor. The boy listened and could not fall asleep for a long time, looking at the stars outside the windows. But then they slept soundly, like children. Even the hoarse cries of the roosters, greeting the new gray day, could not drive away their sweet sleep.

One morning like this, Zherebtsov did not wake up.

They buried him in a deserted cemetery on the edge of the forest. The owner of the dacha - the owner of a shoemaker's establishment from Maryina Roshcha, a boy with a silver throat, several pigeon-keeping boys and Evseenko came to the funeral.

A week later, the grave was covered with wet red pine needles. Long rainy nights and short cold days began, and everyone forgot about Zherebtsov except the boy with the silver throat. Occasionally he came from Moscow to the grave. He will come, stand for a few minutes and leave along a long clearing to the station, where columns of lush locomotive steam rise to the sky.

All attempts made now to find Zherebtsov’s grave have been in vain.

Appeal- this is a word or phrase that names a person (less often, an object) to whom speech is addressed.

1. The appeal can be expressed in one word or in more than one word.

One word appeal can be expressed by a noun or any part of speech in the function of a noun in the nominative case, non-single-word address may include words dependent on this noun or an interjection about:

For example:

Dear granddaughter, why do you rarely call me?

Waiting for a flight from Sochi, go to the arrivals area.

Again I am yours, oh young friends! (title of A. S. Pushkin’s elegy).

2. An address can be expressed by a noun in the indirect case if it denotes a characteristic of the object or person to whom the speech is addressed.

For example: Hey, in a hat, are you the last one?

Appeals can be expressed in special, descriptive phrases, which are distinguished as ordinary appeals-names: – Hey, on a scow!– Reg (Green) said; - Hey, who is stronger there, come here, to the gate(P. Kapitsa).

3. Personal pronouns you and you, as a rule, do not act as addresses: they perform the function of the subject if they have predicate verbs.

For example: If you, reader, love autumn, then you know that in the fall the water in the rivers acquires a bright blue color from the cold.(Paust.) – the appeal is reader, and the pronoun You combines with verb you love.

Pronouns You , You can accept the call function in the following cases:

A) in constructions with a separate definition or attributive clause: You, the third from the edge, with a mop on your forehead, I don’t know you. I love you!(Vozn.); You, whose wide greatcoats resembled sails, whose spurs and voices rang merrily, and whose eyes, like diamonds, left a mark on the heart, are the charming dandies of yesteryear.(Color);

b) when used independently, usually with interjections hey, well, eh and etc.: Eh, you women, women! Your heads are crazy(Cool.); - Oh, you! And don’t you hate sitting next to Chebukhaika? - he says as he walks(Cool .); Tsits, you! She is no longer your servant(M.G.); “He has a headache,” Bayev sympathized with his heart. - Ehh... you. Residents!(Shuksh.);

V) as part of other requests: Dear friend, you are mine, don't be ashamed...(Fad.); My darling(Shuksh.).

The address is not grammatically related to the sentence and is not a member of the sentence.

Punctuation marks for addresses

1. Appeals are usually highlighted (or separated) by commas, and with special emotional stress - by an exclamation mark after the appeal.

For example: Congratulations, comrades, on your safe arrival(Paust.)

“Don’t go, Volodya,” said Rodion.(Ch.).

Goodbye, it's time, my joy! I'll jump off now, conductor(Past.) . Quiet, wind. Don't bark, water glass(Es.). Gain your sight, sighted comrade, by the lake in the drainage waters(Vozn.).

Vocative intonation is enhanced if the address is placed at the end of the sentence.

For example:

- Hello, brothers! - he said(Ch.);

Farewell, it's time for the outskirts! Life is a change of ashes(Vozn.).

2. Multiple hits are separated by commas or exclamation points.

For example: " My dear, my darling, my torment, my longing "- she read (Ch.); Goodbye, my happiness, my short-lived happiness! (Cupr.); Proletarian! Poor brother... When you receive this letter, I will already be leaving(Ch.).

Addresses connected by a conjunction And , are not separated by commas.

For example: Weep tavern violins and harps (Vozn).

3. If after the appeal there is a definition or application, then it is separated; such a definition is perceived as a second appeal.

For example: Grandpa, dear where have you been? (Spread); Miller, my dear, stand up. Lights on the shore! (Paust.).

4. The parts of the dissected circulation are highlighted separately, each on its own.

For example: Hear me, darling, hear me, beautiful, my evening dawn, unquenchable love! (Isa.); ABOUT, my neglected, thank you and kiss you, hands of the Motherland, timidity, friendship, family (Past.).

5. If the address ends an interrogative sentence, then a question mark is placed after it.

For example: Do you hear? Dmitry Petrovich? I will come to you in Moscow(Ch.); When will Kara-Ada finally arrive, captain?(Paust.); What's wrong with you, blue sweater?(Vozn.); Did you pray at night, birch? Did you pray at night? overturned lakes Senezh, Svityaz and Naroch? Have you prayed at night? Cathedrals of the Intercession and Dormition? (Vozn.).

6. Particles oh, ah, ah etc., standing before the appeals, are not separated from them.

For example: Oh my darling, my gentle, beautiful garden! (Ch.).

“Prosh, and Prosh!” called Prokhor Abramovich(Payment).

Ah Nadya, Nadenka, we would be happy...(OK.).

O whirlwind, probe all the depths and hollows(Past.).

O grapes of retribution! I soared in one gulp to the West - I am the ashes of an uninvited guest!(Vozn.).

Oh youth, phoenix, fool, the diploma is all in flames!(Vozn.).

O beloved deceptions of the heart, delusions of infancy! On the day when the meadows turn green, I have no escape from you(Sick.).

7. If there is an interjection before the address (unlike a particle, it is accentuated), then it is separated by a comma or an exclamation mark.

For example:

“Oh, dear Nadya,” Sasha began his usual afternoon conversation.(Ch.);

- Hey, three octagons for thread, go get a bolt! – From that day on, Zakhar Pavlovich was called by the nickname “Three Osmushki for Carving”(Payment). The word about can also act as an interjection (in the meaning Oh ): ABOUT, my lost freshness, riot of eyes and flood of feelings (Es.).

An interjection (as a call for attention) can itself act as an appeal.

For example: Hey, watch out! You'll create a closure!(Vozn.).

- Hey, be careful there! - Stepakha shouted(Cool.).

Where? What are you doing? Hey!(Shuksh.).

8. After an address, which is a separate vocative sentence (Sentence-address, i.e. a one-part sentence in which the main and only member is the name of the person - the addressee of the speech), an ellipsis or an exclamation mark is placed - single or in combination with an ellipsis.

For example: - Miller! – Shatsky whispered(Paust.); Anya, Anya!(Ch.); – Sing!.. – Lyalka is at the window again(Shuksh.);

- Mother... And mother! - he called his old woman(Shuksh.); “Brothers...” he said quietly, and his voice broke.(Paust.).

It always surprises me when someone says, “I don’t read books.” Yes, there are many things in the world that occupy our time - movies, video games, media. But you should still find time to read. If you don't read books, you're missing out.

1. Reading improves imagination and creativity

When we read, we give new life written words - they are transformed in our imagination. We reintroduce the sights, sounds, and smells of a fascinating story. And this work develops the “creative muscles” of our brain - and there are few places where you can find such effective exercises.

2. Improved intelligence

Despite all the achievements modern technology, reading remains the best way to learn and retain information. Those who read more become smarter. They filled their heads with information that others do not have and would not have without books.

3. Reading can change your life

Some books can change your life in ways you might not expect. Books like The Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies, and Flowers for Algernon made me see the world differently. These books had a profound effect on me and I was changed by reading each one. This is the power of reading - a journey into yourself, and not just through a fascinating plot. Just like after a trip, after such books, you are no longer the same as before.

4.Readers are sexy

According to research, women consider smart guys sexier than those with average intelligence. Intelligence is one of the most sought-after qualities that women look for in men. So, single guys, check out the bookstore!

5. The ability to empathize

It's hard to imagine yourself in someone else's shoes, especially if their world is very different from yours.
Reading is a great way to “look into another person’s head” and learn about their thoughts and feelings. Instead of looking at life from one point, you can look at the world through different eyes!

6. Wisdom

Every time you open a book, you fill your head with knowledge, facts, opinions, stories. Reading is like a continuous delivery of information. Along with this information, the reader also receives experience. Books are stories about someone’s life lessons, about experiences gained. This is an opportunity for you to understand how the world works. By reading books, you become wiser.

7. Self-improvement

The more you read, the wider your lexicon. It’s not surprising - after all, you regularly come across so many words in different books that you soon begin to use them yourself. Everyday life. Good readers are usually good writers themselves. Any successful writer will tell you that to improve your writing skills, you need to read every day. Moreover, reading helps improve self-confidence. It can help you in many areas of life such as social relations or promotion.

8. Improved thinking skills

Reading enhances analytical thinking. People who read identify patterns faster than people who don't read. Reading makes your mind sharper and strengthens the synapses in your brain, because it also trains your memory. In other words, your brain gets stronger and faster because you read.

9. Improved attention and concentration

Most of us are accustomed to “multitasking” and have learned to divide our attention between TV, the Internet, telephone and a lot of other things. But this way we lose the ability to focus on one important thing at the right time. Reading a book improves your ability to concentrate. After all, the book itself requires full concentration, because if you are distracted, you lose the thread of the story.

10. People who read have a better chance of success.

You can probably find successful people who don't read books. But it's difficult. Remember famous scientists, businessmen, writers, politicians. If they all have a common interest, it is reading.

11. Generating ideas

Ideas are a powerful engine. Scientific and technical achievements are based on them. They solve world problems and cure diseases. Ideas can change our lives. When you read, you get many new thoughts. These thoughts swirl around in your head - and help you create your own amazing idea.

12. Reading will help you set your priorities correctly.

Reading opens up new possibilities for you. You will read about new adventures, a different way of life - about different things that you had never even thought about before. Perhaps you will think about it and realize that you want to change your life and set other goals for yourself. And what is important in your life is not at all what you previously put in first place.

13. Live multiple lives

People who don't read can only live their own lives. Readers have access to many, many lives - real or fictional characters. We can feel what they felt, experience what they experienced.
Our own life experiences make us stronger and wiser. But if you only live one life, you are depriving yourself of other people's experiences and lessons from their lives.

14. Improved mental health

Just like the muscles in the body, the brain needs a boost to stay healthy and strong. Research has shown that mental activities such as reading can slow down (or even prevent) Alzheimer's disease and dementia. And people who read a lot during their lives experience much later age-related decline in memory and mental abilities, compared to those who did not like to read.

15. Around the world without leaving home

Traveling is the best way to get to know other peoples and cultures. And the second best way is reading. It can open up a whole new world– there, right outside your doorstep. A lot of books have been written about different countries, you can read about any corner globe and get to know life different nations with the help of books.

16. Improved physical health

We usually read in silence, alone with ourselves. When you are captivated by a good book, you are in a state close to meditation. Reading is relaxing and calming. The result is a reduction in stress and normalization of blood pressure. People who read suffer less from mood disorders.

17. More topics to talk about

The more you learn about new topics, stories, and opinions, the easier it becomes to strike up conversations. After all, you have an endless source of new discussion material at your fingertips!

18. Explore yourself

Have you heard the expression “lost in a book”? Reading is an active process, and you yourself are actively involved in it, as if participating in the action. You can learn a lot about yourself through reading. For example, you may ask yourself what you would do if you were in the book's place. And the answer may surprise you.

19. Expand your horizons

If you don't read, then your world is small. You only know a small fraction of what is happening around you. Reading will reveal to you how big the world really is. There are many subjects that I knew nothing about. It was only when I started reading about them that I realized how little I knew before!

Thousands of books are printed every month. Add to this blog posts and magazine articles. You can always find something to suit your taste among this variety. Moreover, now there is nothing easier than becoming a reader. Libraries are everywhere - and they are free! Now there are digital copies of books, which means you don’t even have to go to the library.

So, given all the benefits of reading listed, there is no reason not to read.

Boy with a Silver Throat

I regret that documents relating to Zherebtsov’s life have been lost, and what has survived to our time is very fragmentary and meager.

Fortunately, just before his death, Zherebtsov, already retired, met the writer Evseenko. This writer conscientiously supplied numerous stories and novellas for the magazines “Niva” and “Rodina”. These unwise things were designed for a reader with a lot of free time, mainly a summer resident, and did not in any way shine with talent.

Evseenko was not devoid of the gift of depiction, but, like many of his contemporaries (the case dates back to the 90s of the last century), he was infected with a passion for capturing moods. He described the mood of nature, people, animals, his own and even the mood of entire cities and dacha areas near Moscow.

In one of these areas he met Zherebtsov, immediately with an experienced eye determined that the decrepit and good-natured sailor must inevitably keep within himself a certain literary plot, and set about fishing out this plot. Having not found out the plot, Evseenko nevertheless wrote the story, but did not have time to print it, since he developed a severe stage of consumption and was sent to Yalta, where he soon died. The manuscript of his story, which interests me only to the extent of the information it contains about the last days of Zherebtsov, the first explorer of the Kara-Bugaz Bay, I present here, having made the necessary abbreviations. The story is called "Fatal Mistake".

“If you, reader, have been to art exhibitions, you should remember the paintings depicting provincial courtyards overgrown with mallow. A dilapidated but warm house with many outbuildings and porches, linden trees under the windows (jackdaws nest in them), grass growing thickly among the wood chips, a black puppy tied on a rope, and a fence with broken boards. Behind the fence is the mirror surface of a picturesque river and the lush gold of the autumn forest. Warm sunny day in September.

Country trains passing near the old house add even more charm to the landscape, covering the yellowness of the forests with clouds of locomotive steam.

If you, reader, love autumn, then you know that in autumn the water in rivers turns a bright blue color from the cold. On this day, the water was especially blue, and yellow willow leaves floated along it, smelling of sweet dampness.

Wet birch leaves stick to your boots, to the footboards of the carriages, to the large plank boards where Moscow merchants praise their goods to the provincials looking out from the carriages.

It is about these shields, especially about one that called on everyone to smoke Katyk cartridges, that I want to talk to you, reader.

On the September day that we just mentioned, I met an old man in a worn naval overcoat near such a rain- and sun-worn advertising billboard. The old man’s face was striking with a thick tan, especially noticeable when framed by gray hair and in the setting of the pale northern autumn. It seemed that the sun of the hot seas had so saturated the senile skin that even the bad weather of central Russia could not destroy its traces.

- Rogue! – the old man shouted angrily and waved his stick threateningly. - A rascal, but a smart guy!

– Who are you talking about?

“About Katyk, dear sir, about the manufacturer Katyk,” the old man answered kindly: apparently, he was not averse to entering into a conversation.

I asked why Katyk is a scoundrel and a swindler.

– This story is very long. Come on, come to my place - I live nearby - and have some tea. By the way, I’ll tell you about Katyk.

The old man led me to the courtyard mentioned above and led me into a room that sparkled with cleanliness. On the shelves were stuffed tall birds with pink plumage. On the walls hung many nautical maps, covered with red pencils, and watercolors depicting the deserted shores of a green and stormy sea. Old books lay in strict order on the table. I looked at the titles - they were works on the hydrography of various seas and travels around Central Asia and the Caspian Sea. While the girl, the owner’s daughter, was putting the samovar on for us, the old man uncorked a box of yellow Feodosia tobacco and rolled a thick cigarette.

“That’s it, my friend,” he said, enveloped in smoke, “let me first of all introduce myself.” My name is Ignatiy Aleksandrovich Zherebtsov. I am a retired sailor, hydrographer, mapmaker of the Caspian Sea. If you please, I am already in my eighties. You were interested in Katyk. So, I can report that Katyk very unsuccessfully corrects the mistake I made in my young years, when I had just finished sailing the Caspian Sea. My mistake was that the Kara-Bugaz Bay located on this sea - I don’t know whether you have heard of it or not - I was the first to examine and recognize it as completely useless for the state, as not possessing any natural resources. But, by the way, I discovered that the bottom of the bay consists of salt, as it later turned out - Glauber's salt. Kara-Bugaz is an extraordinary place for its dry air, its pungent and thick water, its deep desert and, finally, its vastness. It is surrounded by sands. After swimming in its waters I became ill with suffocation. Only here, in the north, did the illness leave me, otherwise, my friend, I was suffocating every night and literally dying.

Out of my stupidity, I wanted to propose to the government to block the narrow entrance to the bay with a dam in order to cut it off from the sea.

Why, you ask? And then, that I was convinced of the deep harmfulness of its waters, poisoning countless schools of Caspian fish. In addition, I interpreted the mysterious shallowing of the sea in those years by saying that the bay was insatiably absorbing Caspian water. I forgot to tell you that the water flows into the bay in a strong stream. I calculated that if the bay is blocked, the sea level will begin to rise every year by almost an inch. I intended to make locks in the dam and in this way maintain the level in the sea that is necessary for navigation. But the late Grigory Silych Karelin, thanks to him, talked me out of this crazy project.

I asked why the old man called this project, although extraordinary, crazy.

– You see, my friend, I have already said that the bottom of the bay consists of Glauber’s salt. Scientists suggest that every year millions of pounds of this salt settle in the waters of the bay. The greatest, one might say, deposit of this salt in the whole world, exceptional wealth - and suddenly all this would be destroyed in a single blow.

My second mistake was due to the fault of these northern places. I myself am from Kaluga, and spent fifteen years on the Caspian Sea. There - if you have been, you should know - dullness, dust, winds, deserts and no grass, no trees, no clean flowing water.

I should have, as soon as a suspicion arose in me of the greatest riches of the Kara-Bugaz, took up this matter, stirred up the learned men, but I gave up on everything and thought only about how I could quickly return to my place, to the Zhizdra forests. I didn’t need Kara-Bugaz with its salt. I wouldn’t trade my Kaluga copses for a dozen Kara-Bugaz. I wanted, you know, as I used to do in infancy, to breathe the mushroom air and listen to the sound of the rain on the leaves.

It is clear that our weaknesses are stronger than the dictates of our minds. I gave up fame, committed, one might say, a crime against the human race, went to my home near Zhizdra - and was happy. Meanwhile, the rumor that Lieutenant Zherebtsov had found a bottom of unusual salt in the bay reached scientists. The Turkmen were sent to the bay. They brought bottled water. They analyzed it, and it was discovered that it was the purest Glauber’s salt, without which neither glassmaking nor many other industries are unthinkable.

It was then that the rascal Katyk surfaced. He doesn't have enough shell casings and racing horses - he decided to mine salt in the bay, since in winter the waves throw it ashore right in the mountains. He founded a joint-stock company for this purpose and screwed everyone over; does not export salt, but Kara-Bugaz received almost complete ownership from the government. That’s why I say that this Katyk of yours is quite a scoundrel.”

Further in his story, Evseenko describes in detail Zherebtsov’s funny conversations with the owner’s daughter and his friendship with the surrounding boys. For them, Zherebtsov was an indisputable authority in matters of fishing and pigeon training. He called the boys “bubbles” and “bugs.”

On holidays, the son of his deceased school friend came to him from Moscow (we gave a letter to this friend at the beginning of the first chapter) - a boy with a silver pipe in his throat. Together they made bird traps and fishing rods or did chemical experiments.

Sometimes Zherebtsov left the boy with him to spend the night. Then the conversations in his room did not stop until late in the evening. Zherebtsov talked about his voyages, and, it must be said, he had never had such an attentive interlocutor. The boy listened and could not fall asleep for a long time, looking at the stars outside the windows. But then they slept soundly, like children. Even the hoarse cries of the roosters, greeting the new gray day, could not drive away their sweet sleep.

One morning like this, Zherebtsov did not wake up.

They buried him in a deserted cemetery on the edge of the forest. The owner of the dacha - the owner of a shoemaker's establishment from Maryina Roshcha, a boy with a silver throat, several pigeon-keeping boys and Evseenko came to the funeral.

A week later, the grave was covered with wet red pine needles. Long rainy nights and short cold days began, and everyone forgot about Zherebtsov except the boy with the silver throat. Occasionally he came from Moscow to the grave. He will come, stand for a few minutes and leave along a long clearing to the station, where columns of lush locomotive steam rise to the sky.

All attempts made now to find Zherebtsov’s grave have been in vain.

Black Island

Sprinkled with your blood

They fly the red banner,

making noise above us.

Mayakovsky

January 1920 was ending. The storm splashed the windows of the low port buildings. Heavy rain roared through the streets of Petrovsk. The mountains were smoking. North from Petrovsk to Astrakhan the sea lay under ice.

The old steamship Nikolai, captured by the White Guards, was separating couples. Last year's calendars and fly-spotted portraits of Kolchak hung in the untidy cabins. Cigarette butts and yellowed newspapers stuck to the deck. In the chart room, the watchman, blue from the cold, with a ruffed face, was waiting for the captain. The captain disappeared in the city.

The stinking smoke from the galley chimney announced that the cook was cooking barley porridge with mouse droppings. But even this event did not disperse the despondency that was eating away at the ship like rust. The sailors were lying around in the cockpit. In the wardroom, a yellow and angry waiter was sleeping on a red plush sofa.

Taking advantage of the gloomy day, skinny steamboat bugs crawled out of all the cracks. In the hold, the rooster that had been stolen the day before crowed hoarsely.

“It’s time for our guitar to go to the cemetery,” thought the watchman and looked at the helm, where one could see a copper plaque indicating that the steamship “Nikolai” was built in 1877.

By the way, the watchman looked at the yellow, battered pipe. Red smoke poured out of it.

- What are they drowning with garbage, or what? - said the watchman and shuddered: a cannon shot thundered in the damp smoke on the mountains.

A sailor in galoshes on bare feet crawled out of the cockpit. He sluggishly dragged his numb legs along the deck, climbed onto the bridge and listened: the dull blows became more frequent.

“It looks like the Red cadets are beating,” he told the watchman. “The Reds,” he whispered, and his eyes narrowed, “are advancing from Khasav-Yurt, they will be in Petrovsk at night.” You need to talk to the captain about this. The team believes that the evacuation must be ticked away. We'll take off in the evening and plunge into the sea - quietly, nobly, without cadets, without weapons.

The sailor waved his hand to the east, where the sea was boiling like a cauldron with soapy and dirty foam.

The watchman looked at the stern - there was a wet tricolor flag flapping there - and sighed. Oh, if only everything turned out as planned! Get away from Denikin's men, from evacuation!

“The captain is missing, we’ll fall asleep because of this,” he muttered sadly and went out onto the deck.

He peered into the rain slanting across the rotten piers and spat. A crowd of people in green English overcoats was walking towards the ship. They dragged a machine gun on a rope and walked straight through the puddles, breaking them with their swollen boots. From the side, the watchman noticed the familiar figure of the captain in a raincoat. Drops quickly flowed from his mustache, and it seemed that the captain was silently crying.

A detachment of Denikin's men climbed onto the deck along a slippery ladder. An officer with bulging gray eyes walked into the wardroom, pulled the sleeping waiter by the leg and said hoarsely:

- Go to your place, thief!

The waiter pulled a napkin from his pocket, wiped his face and left.

Closing the cabin door, he looked at her in such a way that, if the door had been a living creature, she would have shuddered with fear.

Soldiers with three-color stripes on their sleeves - “death battalion” - tore open the doors of the cabins, without waiting for the keys to be brought, and threatened someone, gritting their teeth. A sentry was posted at the gangway.

The captain entered the chart room and with trembling hands took a long time to unbutton his bulging raincoat. The watchman looked at him sadly and waited.

Finally the captain took out a bent copper cigarette case and lit a cigarette.

- Well, we got it! We were assigned for evacuation. I swore at headquarters. My ship is at anchor in the port and is falling apart. Where can we take him out to sea in such a storm? They laugh: “We, they say, will give such a load that it won’t be a pity.” - “What kind of cargo is this?” - “Bolsheviks from prison, that’s who. Did you hear? - “Where should we put them?” “Yes, they say there is a suitable place for them. Wherever we tell you, you will be taken there. And if you don’t want to go out to sea, then we’ll talk in the basement. Then you will want it."

The captain sat down and pulled the ship's log towards him. There was heavy thunder in the mountains again. A yellow light flashed behind the rain. There were crooked lines in the magazine: “North-east wind of force 10. Excitement – ​​9 points. The water in the holds is 30 centimeters.”

– The water in the holds is thirty centimeters! – The captain threw away the magazine and smiled wryly. – We will put people in the holds. “His face was filled with gray blood. - Into the water, into the holds! We swam under the Nikolaev flag and reached the end. We will transport the live cargo like bulls to the slaughter. Eh, you...

He wanted to add something else, but stopped short: an officer with bulging eyes was standing in the doorway.

“Dear captain,” he gallantly stepped over the high threshold of the wheelhouse, “order the holds to be opened.” The prisoners will be brought in now.

The holds were open, but the prisoners were brought in only at midnight, when gunfire was already falling like peas from the oil warehouses.

The Reds were rushing towards the city. The transition of the Turkish officer Kazym Bey, who commanded the red units, to the Denikin side, did not save the city. Kazym Bey - his black name thundered throughout Dagestan at that time - was an agent of the Musavatists. He penetrated the location of the red units, won their trust, participated in battles and waited for the right moment to betray them. Kazym Bey's betrayal increased the rage of the Reds tenfold. They went on the offensive along the entire front, and their advanced detachments were already fighting on the outskirts of Petrovsk.

“Nikolai” was wheezing with crumpled steam and rocked at the pier as a black, absurd carcass—it was ordered not to light the lights. The sea, the port, the city, the mountains - everything turned into dull darkness, gusty with wind. Only the foam was white, pouring over the storm-damaged pier.

The prisoners were brought in very quietly. The watchman counted them while standing on the bridge.

“More than a hundred people,” he said to the captain, when the last black shadow, driven by rifle butts, slowly climbed into the hold. From the hold there was a smell of cold and the smell of rotten leather.

We left at night.

“Nikolai” rounded the pier, crackled, screamed and raised its nose high. Icy mountains of water rolled under its dilapidated bottom. In the wardroom, glasses fell from the tables.

Denikin's men huddled near the railings. They looked at the shore, where the lights of exploding shells flashed dimly and frequently. The waiter watched with them. The wind lifted his thin hair. The Caspian wave hammered against the side with cast-iron blows.

Before leaving, the ship entered old officer with a gray trimmed beard. His thin legs were wrapped in black silk wrappings, his thin hair was carefully parted. He demanded tea in the wardroom, ordered the captain to be called, slowly unfolded a map on the table and placed his small hands on it.

The captain entered, red from the wind, and stood sullenly at the door.

- Come closer. – The officer smiled dryly.

This smile frightened the captain: this is how people usually smile in the presence of doomed people.

– I’m listening. – The captain approached the map.

The officer took out a red pencil, slowly sharpened it with a safety razor blade, lit a cigarette, squinted and, looking for something on the map, put a bold cross. Then, having taken stock, he drew a straight line across the entire sea from Petrovsk to the marked place.

“Stay this course,” he said.

The captain looked at the map.

– Heading for Kara-Bugaz? – he asked in fear.

- Like that. But only approximately. Keep a little north, towards this island. What is it called? Let me... - The officer looked at the map. - To the island of Kara-Ada.

“You can’t,” the captain said dully.

- That is, how can this not be done?

– There are no anchorages near the island. On this course, the storm hits the side, and we sail without cargo. I consider this direction dangerous.

“But the storm seems to be calming down,” the officer said insinuatingly.

– In general, swimming off the coast of Kara-Bugaz in winter is impossible. There are no lights, lots of reefs. I have no right to put people or the ship at risk. The sea in those places is deserted.

- Ah well! - the officer said in a sing-song voice. - That is great. This is exactly what we need: a deserted sea. Yes need! – he suddenly shouted in a shrill falsetto. - Take the trouble to follow orders, otherwise I will put you in the hold with these brutes. Tell the team that we are going to Krasnovodsk. Don't wander around the deck doing nothing. All. Go!

The captain left. He noticed a sentry in the wheelhouse. The sentry stood next to the sailor and looked at the compass card, checking something against a piece of paper.

“We’ve fallen into a trap, we won’t get out!” – thought the captain. In his cabin, he took out a navigation chart for the Caspian Sea, found a description of the island of Kara-Ada and read it.

The sailing directions said that this completely deserted and waterless island, which is a fragment of a rock, lies one mile from the eastern shore of the sea, opposite Cape Bek-Tash, north of the Kara-Bugaz Bay. The island is full of snakes. There is only one place for disembarking from boats. The approaches to the island are dangerous due to many reefs. There are no anchorages. The soil - a bare stone slab - does not hold anchors at all.

- Lid! – The captain threw the pilot onto the table.

The sea came in mountains. The pitiful mast lights illuminated the high bow, which twitched from side to side. The bell rang by itself - this meant that the swing reached forty degrees. An officer with bulging eyes fearfully climbed onto the spardeck and lay down with his chest on the side - he was vomiting. He vomited into the black water, moaned and cursed. The January night flew from the east with a whistle and roar, foreshadowing inevitable death.

It was dark in the hold, and water flowed from side to side. The prisoners sat and lay on wet boards. They were thrown from corner to corner. They grabbed the ribs of rusty frames, broke their faces bloody, became deaf from the cannon strikes of the waves and groaned from cruel attacks seasickness. Few of them realized that this was a disaster, that the crappy steamer was empty, that it was listing at forty degrees, that it could lie on board every minute and not get up, but everyone knew perfectly well what was ahead, on that unknown land where they would be dropped off , death awaits them.

The geologist Shatsky, who was among the prisoners by accident, knew this very well. He was not a Bolshevik. He tried to get from Petrovsk to Astrakhan. He was suspected of espionage, arrested and taken to Petrovsk three times to be shot, but was not shot. We drove at night. Fifty prisoners were taken from their cells and taken to a landfill where dogs, fat from carrion, lived.

The death row prisoners were lined up and counted. The first time, every tenth person was shot; Shatsky was eighth that night. The second time every fifth person was shot, but Shatsky ended up fourth. For the third time, every fourth person was shot, but Shatsky was lucky again - he was the first. After the third time he turned gray. The whites forced him and other survivors to drag the corpses of those shot into old lime pits.

An officer with bulging gray eyes commanded the executions. Each time he got drunk for courage, cursed the prisoners with “carrion” and forced them, lining up in a line, to change places several times before the calculation. In the language of the guards - sickly-looking young men with drunken, dull eyes - this was called the “Viennese quadrille”.

Shatsky came to Petrovsk from the Mangyshlak Peninsula. After exploring coal and phosphorites in the Kara-Tau mountains, he wanted to go to Kara-Bugaz, but the Kyrgyz guides flatly refused to lead him. It was the height of summer, and on the way to Kara-Bugaz, in the sands of Karyn-Yaryk, there was not a drop of water. We had to return through the wild Udyuk plateau back to Fort Aleksandrovsky. Shatsky lived in the fort for three months. He even liked the despondency of this gray town, where there was no power at that time. At the fort, he wrote a report on the expedition and an interesting work on water reserves on Mangyshlak, dry as a curse.

During the expedition, he noticed that pathetic streams in the Kara-Tau mountains always flow from under stone placers. Shatsky belonged to people accustomed to giving explanations for everything. He lived in a world of exact laws and reliable hypotheses.

For several days he thought about the origin of these streams, then he hired two boys, and they brought him a bunch of pebbles from the seashore into an empty cement pool in the yard. The fisherman owner decided that Shatsky had gone crazy from longing for Russia and from “science.”

Shatsky and the boys filled the entire pool with pebbles, and on the third morning they took out some of the stones. The lower stones turned out to be wet: a puddle of clean water flowed to the bottom of the pool.

The issue was resolved: in Mangyshlak, as elsewhere in the desert, summer days are characterized by severe heat, and summer nights are cold, like March nights in Moscow. Stone placers are natural condensers of vapors from the air, which quickly cool down at night. These placers absorb moisture, pass it down and store it under their layers.

Most of all, his owner was delighted with Shatsky’s discovery. He dreamed of building a large pool, filling it with pebbles and collecting ten buckets of tasty fresh water every morning instead of rotten water from the well.

The former unlimited ruler of Mangyshlak, the merchant Zakhary Dubsky, came to look at the pool. Shatsky responded with hostility to the annoying questions of the green old man in a worn lustrine jacket.

Before the revolution, Dubsky was a millionaire. He took over the entire Mangyshlak from the tsarist government. He alone was allowed to trade and fish without observing the laws “on the protection of fish resources.” The pious and affectionate old man paid the Kyrgyz workers two rubles for the entire Putin, sold vodka and sent gifts to his “benefactor,” Grand Duke Nikolai Mikhailovich, who lived in Tashkent. This gray-bearded prince was famous throughout the Trans-Caspian region for walking naked in the extreme heat through his garden and house. In this form he received petitioners and listened to reports.

Dubsky marveled at Shatsky’s pool, stuck his hand into the bottom, scratched it with a yellow nail, incredulously sucked his wet finger and invited Shatsky to his dacha. The dacha stood on the seashore, near the Tyub-Karagan lighthouse, and was famous for several stunted trees. Shatsky disliked this absurd house, where the Old Believer merchant languished from drinking tea, looking at the smoky haze that smoked over the desert.

The desert approached the fort closely. She guarded him at the city outposts. Its skinny clay and gray wormwood made me sad. This melancholy was mixed with a slight pride: the gloom of the desert was majestic, merciless, and few, Shatsky thought, were lucky enough to experience the exciting sensations of barren and unexplored spaces.

In addition to Dubsky, a retired general-fool who invented traps for gophers lived in retirement at Fort Aleksandrovsky. He once commanded a local provincial garrison. The fishermen told how this general, having just arrived at the fort, flew out to the parade on an angry bay stallion. He galloped up to the Kirghiz and, wanting to greet them in his native language, barked in a thunderous voice:

- Hello, saxauls!

The Kyrgyz were scared. The whole city then died of laughter for several days.

The most interesting inhabitants of the fort were fishermen and seal hunters. Seal fighting was considered a dangerous and cruel activity. In winter, hunters traveled in large convoys across the ice to the sea. All autumn before this, the horses were fattened and trained. The horse at the seal fight decided everything: if the ice cracked with a cannon roar and began to slowly crawl into the sea, the hunters madly drove the horses to the shore, and these wild horses jumped with the sleigh over the cracks.

They only beat seal pups - squirrels that could not yet swim. They beat them with sticks on the ice and brought expensive golden skins to the fort.

Every winter, several hunting cooperatives—cats—died. They were carried on ice floes out to sea, towards Persia. Rescues were rare: there was no telegraph in the fort to let Russia know about the misfortune.

Shatsky learned that Taras Shevchenko was languishing in exile in Fort Aleksandrovsky, shaved into a soldier and sent to the Mangyshlak convict garrison for “spreading harmful ideas.”

Only in November did Shatsky manage to move from the fort to Petrovsk on a fishing schooner - a reyushka.

Now Shatsky was lying in the hold next to the Bolshevik sailor, the Estonian Miller. He spent three months in prison with him. They were taken together to be executed twice, and if Shatsky did not go crazy, it was only thanks to Miller.

This silent young man in a sailor's cap spoke sparingly about his native Estonia, about the dunes and ancient Revel. Shatsky could not get rid of the impression that it was now a cloudy winter in Revel, smelling of greenish Baltic ice.

Miller was captured during reconnaissance. Denikin’s men inevitably had to, as he said, “cut” him, but he was thinking about something far from death, probably about escape.

When Shatsky trembled on the night of the executions, Miller patted him on the back and reminded him:

- Stop it! Once we are born, we will die anyway.

Shatsky was amazed by the self-control of Miller, the helmsman of the Baltic Fleet, who became a Bolshevik in the hot days of July 1717. Miller was ten years younger than Shatsky, did not know even a hundredth part of what Shatsky knew, but the geologist felt like a boy in front of him.

Miller was irreconcilable and well understood what the geologist had no idea about - the laws of struggle and victory. He looked at people calmly and understandingly, always whistled, and during interrogations he answered very politely, but unclearly, smiled and with boredom, as if at a long-familiar trick, looked at the enraged, pale officers.

He became famous for driving the head of counterintelligence into hysterics and then calmly pouring and handing him a glass of water. The boss swept the glass off the table, hit the papers with the stack and promised Miller that he would hang him that same evening, but he did not hang him.

Counterintelligence considered Miller a “dangerous subject” and a commissar and hoped to extract important information from him. He was never hit with ramrods. The guards looked at Miller with some respect: “Tough, bastard, apparently a fighter.”

Now in the hold, a Shkolnik from Odessa - a former saddler and partisan - made his way to Miller, the only sailor among the prisoners, asked for a light and said:

- You are a sailor, you know the structure of the ship.

“Yeah,” Miller replied.

– I decided so (The schoolboy pronounced this word very softly). We need to sink the ship along with that bastard. – The schoolboy pointed the burning cigarette upward. - Open the tap, as you call it - Kingston or something else. Either way they will kill us. If we disappear, then we will end them too. So.

“Kingston is not here,” Miller answered indifferently. - Why nonsense? Their record is ending, and if a dozen of us survive, that’s not bad. Don't commit mass suicide, Schoolboy, don't panic.

- Yes! Yes! – Shkolnik muttered bitterly and crawled away from Miller.

The captain sat in his room all night without taking off his coat. Dawn came late, only at eight o'clock. Gray fog swayed in the frozen cabins. Behind the sweaty portholes the sea still roared. In the east, over the vast deserts of Asia, an icy dawn glowed yellow.

The captain came out on deck. In the wardroom there were green soldiers lying on the floor. The enormous and uncomfortable sea morning oozed onto their chewed overcoats with tricolor stripes, onto their dumped rifles, and onto their swollen faces. It smelled of vomit and alcohol. A pot of dried fuchsia was reflected in a dirty mirror.

The waiter, for some unknown reason, was grinding yellowed cups and setting the tables with crisp, starched tablecloths. An old habit was taking its toll.

He glanced sideways at the captain and sighed. Yes, the wonderful voyages from Astrakhan to Baku ended, when even he, the waiter, suffering from professional misanthropy, joked with the passengers and ruffled the heads of the children.

- We made it, Konstantin Petrovich! – The waiter opened the door of an empty cabinet. – Maybe you’ll drink some vodka? I suppose my whole soul has become damp. Semkin put it right yesterday in the cockpit: we are a “floating gallows”, not the steamship Nikolai.

The waiter turned away and wiped his eyes with a dirty napkin. His skinny neck turned deep red.

The captain grunted and went to the bridge. Yesterday's old officer stood there with binoculars on his strap, standing on thin legs. He looked east and winced.

The officer approached the captain, looked tenderly into his eyes and asked, scratching his beard:

- When will Kara-Ada finally arrive, captain?

- When we arrive, then it will be.

- Yes, yes, yes, I understand. “The officer took out a gold cigarette case and lit it without offering it to the captain. - So so so. “He put his hand on the captain’s shoulder. The hand seemed like cast iron. “When we are five miles from the island, let me know.” By the way, there is not the slightest point in arguing. “He squeezed the captain’s shoulder. - The flight is secret. Warn people that they will answer with their heads for chatter.

The captain nodded and carefully released his shoulder. The officer, swaying on spider legs, balanced towards the gangway.

Two hours later, the sailor on watch reported that the shore had opened. The storm died down. Icy water slowly licked the sides of the Nikolai. In clarity winter day Black, low cliffs floated in, roughly hewn against the blue, shining sky. “Nikolai” walked quietly towards a lonely island surrounded by foaming breakers.