Prishvin - stories Hedgehog, Talking Rook, Forest Doctor. Mikhail Prishvin

Once I was walking along the bank of our stream and noticed a hedgehog under a bush. He also noticed me, curled up and mumbled: knock-knock-knock. It was very similar, as if a car was moving in the distance. I touched it with the tip of my boot; he snorted terribly and jabbed his needles into his boot.
- Oh, you are so with me! - I said and pushed him into the stream with the tip of my boot.
Instantly, the hedgehog turned around in the water and swam to the shore like a small pig, only instead of bristles on its back there were needles. I took a stick, rolled the hedgehog into my hat and carried it home.
I had a lot of mice, I heard - the hedgehog catches them, and decided: let him live with me and catch mice.
So, I put this prickly lump in the middle of the floor and sat down to write, while I myself looked at the hedgehog out of the corner of my eye. He did not lie motionless for a long time: as soon as I calmed down at the table, the hedgehog turned around, looked around, tried to go there, here and finally chose a place for himself under the bed and there it completely calmed down.
When it got dark, I lit the lamp and - hello! - the hedgehog ran out from under the bed. He, of course, thought to the lamp that it was the moon that had risen in the forest: in the moonlight, hedgehogs like to run through the forest clearings. And so he started running around the room, imagining that it was a forest clearing. I picked up the pipe, lit a cigarette and let a cloud near the moon. It became just like in the forest: the moon and the clouds, and my legs were like tree trunks and, probably, the hedgehog really liked it, he darted between them, sniffing and scratching the back of my boots with needles.
After reading the newspaper, I dropped it on the floor, went to bed and fell asleep.
I always sleep very lightly. I hear - some rustling in my room, struck a match, lit a candle and only noticed how a hedgehog flashed under the bed. And the newspaper was no longer lying near the table, but in the middle of the room. So I left the candle burning and I don’t sleep myself, thinking: “Why did the hedgehog need a newspaper?” Soon my tenant ran out from under the bed - and straight to the newspaper, spun around near it, made noise, noise, and finally managed: he somehow put a corner of the newspaper on the thorns and dragged it, huge, into the corner.
Then I understood him: the newspaper was like dry leaves in the forest, he dragged it for his nest. And it turned out, however, that soon the hedgehog all turned into a newspaper and made a real nest out of it. Having finished this important business, he went out of his dwelling and stood opposite the bed, looking at the candle - the moon.
I let the clouds in and I ask:
- What else do you need?
The hedgehog was not afraid.
- Do you want to drink?
I wake up. The hedgehog does not run.
I took a plate, put it on the floor, brought a bucket of water, and now I pour water into the plate, then pour it into the bucket again, and I make such a noise as if it were a stream splashing.
- Well, go, go, - I say, - you see, I arranged the moon for you, and let the clouds go, and here is water for you ...
I look like I'm moving forward. And I also moved my lake a little towards it. He will move - and I will move, and so they agreed.
“Drink,” I say finally.
He began to cry.
And I so lightly ran my hand over the thorns, as if stroking, and I keep saying:
- You're good, you're good!
The hedgehog got drunk, I say:
- Let's sleep.
Lie down and blow out the candle.
I don’t know how much I slept, I hear: again I have work in my room. I light a candle - and what do you think? The hedgehog runs around the room, and he has an apple on his thorns. He ran to the nest, put it there and after another runs into a corner, and in the corner there was a bag of apples and collapsed. Here the hedgehog ran up, curled up near the apples, twitched and runs again - on the thorns he drags another apple into the nest.
And so I got a hedgehog. And now I, like drinking tea, will certainly put it on my table and then pour milk on a saucer for him - he will drink it, then I will eat the ladies' buns.

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Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin
Hedgehog

Once I was walking along the bank of our stream and noticed a hedgehog under a bush; he also noticed me, curled up and mumbled: knock-knock-knock. It was very similar, as if a car was moving in the distance. I touched it with the tip of my boot; he snorted terribly and jabbed his needles into his boot.

- Oh, you are so with me! - I said. And with the tip of his boot he pushed him into the stream. Instantly, the hedgehog turned around in the water and swam to the shore like a small pig, only instead of bristles on its back there were needles. I took a stick, rolled the hedgehog into my hat and carried it home.

I had a lot of mice, I heard - the hedgehog catches them, and decided: let him live with me and catch mice.

So I put this prickly lump in the middle of the floor and sat down to write, while I myself looked at the hedgehog out of the corner of my eye. He did not lie motionless for a long time: as soon as I calmed down at the table, the hedgehog turned around, looked around, tried to go there, here and finally chose a place for himself under the bed and there it completely calmed down.

When it got dark, I lit the lamp and - hello! The hedgehog ran out from under the bed. He, of course, thought to the lamp that it was the moon that had risen in the forest: in the moonlight, hedgehogs like to run through the forest clearings. And so he started running around the room, imagining that it was a forest clearing. I picked up the pipe, lit a cigarette and let a cloud near the moon. It became just like in the forest: the moon and the clouds, and my legs were like tree trunks and, probably, the hedgehog really liked it, he darted between them, sniffing and scratching the back of my boots with needles.

Alexey Antonov

I stood at the window and looked beyond the horizon, where the sun was slowly setting. A crimson summer sunset slid along the black treetops, casting long shadows on the cracked asphalt. The ghosts of the abandoned city floated through the streets, lifting garbage into the air, spinning it in a slow dance. My thoughts were thrown back several decades ago. I saw these streets filled with people: a woman in a white headscarf hurried to the store for milk, there was a car in front of the house, under which a greasy peasant in a cap was rummaging, continuously smoking a cigarette. It was the eighties or early nineties, I couldn't say for sure. The kids ran noisily with the ball around the yard, with the very ball that is now pressed against the half-rotted fence, it has long since given up its last air and has faded over the years. I struggled to understand what happened in this godforsaken place, to understand why the same ball was thrown here and forgotten.

Behind me there was a whistle of a boiling kettle, I turned and looked around the room, which became my shelter during my stay in this strange place. It was a real Klondike for a seeker like me. Despite the past decades, things and furnishings have retained their former appearance, except that the wallpaper has slightly faded and the wood of the shelves hanging on the walls has rotted. Books, dishes, furniture, clothes - everything was in its place, not touched, not looted, here was the spirit of the time when people left this place.

I went to the camping gas burner and turned it off, the whistle of the kettle immediately subsided, dissolving in the heavy air of the room. I took out a metal mug from the backpack, bought in the "Expedition", poured black tea into it and poured boiling water over it. The aroma of tea was soothing. To tell the truth, I was afraid of this place, and my fear increased with the onset of night. For the eighth day I wandered through the abandoned streets of the Hedgehog, and for eight nights I was overwhelmed by a panicky horror of the unknown, of what could have happened here twenty years ago.

About the city strange name I learned the hedgehog near Yekaterinburg, from a peasant working at a power plant. It was about three years ago, and then I treated his story with distrust. That year there was a fierce winter, frozen birds fell from the branches into the cold snow. Advertising inscriptions on trams cracked from the frost and flew around like dry leaves. Cars and buses froze on the road, and people moved on a run, trying to be less on the street. I came with an economic check to a small regional town. At that time, the general director of the local power plant was suspected of not entirely expedient use of funds coming from the budget. My job was simple and extremely tedious - piles of papers, millions of figures and an accountant who played fools and fools. A couple of days later, I knew that Georgy Ivanovich was rowing money not with a shovel, but with a bucket of a small excavator into his own pocket.

On that significant day for me, I was sitting on the sixth floor of the administrative building - it was here that economic department and accounting of Gorelectro. The clock hand was inexorably approaching four o'clock in the afternoon, it was Wednesday - the day of issuing salaries to the workers of this glorious enterprise. On the floor, someone was staggering all the time, after dinner a crowd of suffering people filled the narrow corridor in front of the cash register. Most of them were women in their forties who loved to gossip, and the time for gossip turned out to be the most suitable. After a couple of hours, I already knew who and what lived at the station. The mood was, to put it mildly, non-working, and I decided to go to my hotel, where I was going to have dinner and drink a couple of glasses of cognac. I left the office into the noisy corridor, locked the door, and was about to head for the elevator when I was stopped by the only man hustling among the women.

Hello, boss! - His voice was with a pleasant hoarseness, but his face was drunk about ten years ago. Once bright blue eyes faded and failed, the face was completely covered with wrinkles. He was short, about a foot tall with two caps, dried up like an old log left in a barn.

Good afternoon! - I held out my hand to him and he shook it, the handshake was firm, and I realized that he looked much worse than he felt.

How is the test going, will we live?

You will still have plenty of life, but your general is unlikely. - I was about to turn my back to him to get closer to the elevators, but he again stopped me.

He stole, which means that rumors have been circulating here for a long time, this groom came from Eburg and ate all our gingerbread. I'll tell you this: people's money spoils, and everyone has known this for a long time, it is better to transfer money into alcohol - there is truth in it. He smiled sadly and looked at me. - Wait for me here, I'll be in a minute. - He turned abruptly and with a confident step went to the cash register through the line of women. He was met with dissatisfied exclamations, and I already thought that the peasant would be beaten, perhaps even with his feet, but by some miracle he made his way to the window, handed the cashier some kind of statement and in a couple of minutes received his hard-earned money.

I thought I wouldn’t get out, ”he told me with a laugh,“ we have harsh women, they will stop the galloping elephant, and tie the trunk into a bow, I’m already silent about the hut, and they’ll build it, and they can dismantle it to the last log. - He grabbed my hand, and we moved to the elevators, accompanied by exclamations of dissatisfaction with my new acquaintance. Twenty minutes later, with two bottles of cognac, which we bought at my insistence, we came to a small area enclosed by a flimsy and rare fence.

My hacienda, - commented my Susanin and, apparently, a drinking buddy for this evening. - My wife died four years ago - cancer. You see, the ecology here is to hell with me, I have this garden ... everything is done with my own hands ... but I blew everything, and I have no desire to poke around in the ground, I am a mechanic, not a plowman, and never have been. - He spoke somehow detachedly, without emotions, spoke about the past years without a hint of regret. Victor, that was the name of my new acquaintance, opened the gate and walked in front of me to a one-story house, sheltered at the far end of the once beautiful, but now withered garden, covered with a thick layer of uncleaned snow.

Here I have a bathhouse, - he waved vaguely to the right, I followed his gesture and saw a squat bathhouse made of a blackened log house from time to time, - we won’t heat today, we haven’t prepared enough firewood for the winter, and the toad is crushing me to buy, I go to it on schedule, to make it to spring.

We entered the house. It was an ordinary village house: long lurid "paths" in the corridors, a couple of carpets nailed to the walls in a large room that served as both a living room and a bedroom, an iron mesh bed by the stove, a large wooden table, obviously inherited by Victor from his great-grandmother, by the curtained window, and equally massive chairs around him.

Settle down, - Victor nodded at a chair, - you will lie down to sleep here (he pointed to the bed), - and I will take a nap on the stove, like in my grandmother's childhood. I like to sleep on the stove, I remember when I was six or seven years old, I often stayed with my grandmother, my parents worked at night. We will climb into the oven with her in winter, the fire crackles under you, and you are warm and comfortable, the grandmother starts snoring after five minutes, and you lie and think. You think about all sorts of nonsense, about how you covered Marinka with a snowball in the afternoon so that she would pay attention to you, that in the summer they can buy you a bike, because in the summer it’s your birthday and for the second year your grandmother has been saving three rubles for him with her pensions. I regret my childhood, oh, how I regret it, Sanya, now I climb onto the stove and think about that time, about how good it was for me. - I saw a deeply tired man in front of me, it seemed that his wrinkles became even deeper, and his eyes turned completely white. Now he was somewhere very far away, where he would like to stay for the rest of his life.

Victor took out yesterday's potatoes from the refrigerator, we added to it the smoked sausage I bought and began to destroy the stock of cognac. Victor drank it and grimaced, scolding me for what the world is worth for the fact that I persuaded him to drink some kind of filth of overseas origin instead of "little white". He talked a lot about what is good for the Russian and that the foreigner is dead, and it would have been an ordinary evening that I spent in the company of a random drinking companion who loves to philosophize, if not

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Once I was walking along the bank of our stream and noticed a hedgehog under a bush. He also noticed me, curled up and mumbled: knock-knock-knock. It was very similar, as if a car was moving in the distance. I touched it with the tip of my boot; he snorted terribly and jabbed his needles into his boot.
- Oh, you are so with me! - I said and pushed him into the stream with the tip of my boot.
Instantly, the hedgehog turned around in the water and swam to the shore like a small pig, only instead of bristles on its back there were needles. I took a stick, rolled the hedgehog into my hat and carried it home.
I had a lot of mice, I heard - the hedgehog catches them, and decided: let him live with me and catch mice.
So, I put this prickly lump in the middle of the floor and sat down to write, while I myself looked at the hedgehog out of the corner of my eye. He did not lie motionless for a long time: as soon as I calmed down at the table, the hedgehog turned around, looked around, tried to go there, here and finally chose a place for himself under the bed and there it completely calmed down.
When it got dark, I lit the lamp and - hello! - the hedgehog ran out from under the bed. He, of course, thought to the lamp that it was the moon that had risen in the forest: in the moonlight, hedgehogs like to run through the forest clearings. And so he started running around the room, imagining that it was a forest clearing. I picked up the pipe, lit a cigarette and let a cloud near the moon. It became just like in the forest: the moon and the clouds, and my legs were like tree trunks and, probably, the hedgehog really liked it, he darted between them, sniffing and scratching the back of my boots with needles.
After reading the newspaper, I dropped it on the floor, went to bed and fell asleep.
I always sleep very lightly. I hear - some rustling in my room, struck a match, lit a candle and only noticed how a hedgehog flashed under the bed. And the newspaper was no longer lying near the table, but in the middle of the room. So I left the candle burning and I don’t sleep myself, thinking: “Why did the hedgehog need a newspaper?” Soon my tenant ran out from under the bed - and straight to the newspaper, spun around near it, made noise, noise, and finally managed: he somehow put a corner of the newspaper on the thorns and dragged it, huge, into the corner.
Then I understood him: the newspaper was like dry leaves in the forest, he dragged it for his nest. And it turned out, however, that soon the hedgehog all turned into a newspaper and made a real nest out of it. Having finished this important business, he went out of his dwelling and stood opposite the bed, looking at the candle - the moon.
I let the clouds in and I ask:
- What else do you need?
The hedgehog was not afraid.
- Do you want to drink?
I wake up. The hedgehog does not run.
I took a plate, put it on the floor, brought a bucket of water, and now I pour water into the plate, then pour it into the bucket again, and I make such a noise as if it were a stream splashing.
- Well, go, go, - I say, - you see, I arranged the moon for you, and let the clouds go, and here is water for you ...
I look like I'm moving forward. And I also moved my lake a little towards it. He will move - and I will move, and so they agreed.
- Drink, - I say finally. Hedgehog
He began to cry.
And I so lightly ran my hand over the thorns, as if stroking, and I keep saying:
- You're good, you're good!
The hedgehog got drunk, I say:
- Let's sleep.
Lie down and blow out the candle.
I don’t know how much I slept, I hear: again I have work in my room. I light a candle - and what do you think? The hedgehog runs around the room, and he has an apple on his thorns. He ran to the nest, put it there and after another runs into a corner, and in the corner there was a bag of apples and collapsed. Here the hedgehog ran up, curled up near the apples, twitched and runs again - on the thorns he drags another apple into the nest.
And so I got a hedgehog. And now I, like drinking tea, will certainly put it on my table and then pour milk on a saucer for him - he will drink it, then I will eat the ladies' buns.