Viktor Platonovich Nekrasov

Small sad story

- No, guys, Canada, of course, is not so great, but still...

Ashot did not finish the sentence, he simply made a hand sign, which meant that Canada is, after all, a capitalist country, in which, in addition to super-profits and the unemployed, there are 24-hour grocery stores, free love, democratic elections, and, whatever you say, the Klondike - you can’t talk about it. Let us not forget, the St. Lawrence River and the trappers may still be preserved.

They understood him, but did not agree. Preference was given to Europe and, of course, Paris.

- What are you doing with your Paris! Give them Paris. Paris is the end. And Canada is a warm-up. Test of strength. Test of strength. This is the kind of Canada we need to start with.

It was already three o’clock in the morning, my things weren’t packed, and the plane was at eight in the morning, which means I had to be at the theater by six. And not very drunk.

- Put it aside, Sasha, dry tea is nonsense, try my Tibetan or Buryat-Mongolian herb, the devil knows, it will knock you out completely.

Sashka sucked on the grass.

- Well, breathe.

- Fairy tale. Pure lily of the valley...

We started talking about Tibet. Roman was once on tour in those parts from where he brought her, weed, and the famous mummy. I got it from former lamas.

They started drinking immediately after the performance; it ended early, before eleven. Ashot stocked up on vodka and beer in advance, his mother prepared a vinaigrette, and they got export sardines from somewhere. We drank at Roman's - he separated from his wife and lived as a bachelor.

Ashot was drunker than the others, and therefore more talkative. However, no one was drunk, they were just in high spirits - Sasha was included in a trip abroad for the first time.

“Enough about Tibet, God be with her, with the roof of the world,” Ashot interrupted Roman, who was prone to exotic details, and poured the rest of the vodka. - Staff! Then you'll suck again. So, the main thing is, don’t get excited. Don't get carried away with wine and women. Not because spies...

- Oh, Arkady, don’t talk nicely. We know everything ourselves,” Sashka raised his glass. - Went. For friendship! Peoples and developing countries!

- Bhai-bhai!

We drank. We finished the vinaigrette. Sashka again began to stretch his calves. It was hot and everyone was wearing shorts.

“Why are you massaging them all,” Ashot couldn’t resist and immediately jabbed: “They won’t get any longer.”

– Nijinsky also had short legs, - Roman retorted for Sasha, he knew everything about everyone. – By the way, do you know how he explained why he had such a phenomenal jump? It’s very simple, he says, I jump up and stay in the air for a minute, that’s all...

“Okay,” interrupted Sashka, “we need to move.” We pull on our trousers.

They started getting dressed.

– How much currency did they give you? – asked Roman.

- Not at all. They said they would give it on the spot. Pennies, what to talk about.

– Take the sardines, they’ll come in handy.

“And I’ll take it,” Sashka put two flat, unopened boxes into his pocket. - Bastard! – This already applied to power.

“But I’ll still call Henriette, whether you like it or not,” said Ashot. “Extra bashleys never hurt.” What airfield do you land at?

- On Orly, they said...

“He’ll find you on Orly.”

– The first trump card for Krivulin.

- And you stay independent. This is the main thing, they are instantly lost. They think there is someone behind them.

Henriette interned at Leningrad University. Now I was on vacation. Ashot was going to marry her. Oddly enough, just out of love, without any ulterior motive.

“You’ll understand,” Sashka grumbled. “Don’t get carried away, or you’re slipping a foreigner into the hands of a Soviet citizen.”

- I'll call anyway.

- What an asshole.

This ended the discussion. We went outside, it was already quite light. The white nights began. The dawns, according to all astronomical laws, were in a hurry to replace each other, giving the night no more than an hour. Couples were hanging out along the embankments. On the Liteiny Bridge, Sashka suddenly stopped and, grabbing the railing, recited terribly loudly:

- I love you, Peter’s creation, I love your stern, proud appearance...

“Not proud, but slender,” Romka corrected. - Still, we must...

- I must, I must, I know... By the way, I love you bastards too! – Sashka grabbed both of them by the shoulders and pressed them tightly to him. - Well, what can you do, I love you, that’s all...

- And we? – Ashot glanced at Romka, freeing himself from the embrace.

- We’re just jealous, we’re simply jealous...

– Now it’s common to say that you’re jealous in a good way. Okay, so be it, I’ll bring a pair of jeans.

- Bring me a breath of freedom. And don't forget Lolita.

Ashot raved about Nabokov, although he had read nothing except “The Gift.” I read all four hundred pages in one night.

Sashka kissed both of them on their rough chins.

- Brother's love, brother's love! - he sang.

- To the bathhouse!

- Soulless pseudo-intellectuals. I'll bring you "Lolita", don't worry. Risking everything.

At home it turned out that Sashka’s mother had packed everything. She begged the Korovins - he often travels abroad - for a luxurious suitcase with zippers so that Sashka would not be embarrassed, and carefully packed everything. She also took out a foreign jacket, with gold buttons. Sashka tried it on, everything fit well on his ballet-sports figure.

- Well, why is this? – he fished a sweater out of his suitcase. - It’s summer...

“Summer is summer, and Canada is Canada,” Mom grabbed the sweater and put it back in the suitcase. - Same Siberia...

“In summer it’s hotter in Siberia than in Moscow, dear Vera Pavlovna,” Roman explained. - The climate is continental.

However, the sweater remained in the suitcase. Sashka waved his hand; it was already half past five.

Mom said:

- Well, did you sit down in front of the road?

Some sat down on what, Sashka sat on a suitcase.

– Well?.. – he hugged and kissed his mother. His mother baptized him.

“They say there are a lot of Ukrainians in Canada,” she said out of the blue, obviously to hide her excitement, “more than in Kyiv...

“Perhaps...” Sashka walked up to the desk, took out a photograph of the three of them from under the thick glass, and put it in the side pocket of his jacket.

– I’ll look somewhere in Winnipeg and burst into tears... Let’s go.

People in the theater were already worried.

“You must have been drinking all night, Kunitsyn?” - Party organizer Zuev said, looking suspiciously. - I know you.

- God forbid, who do you think we are? I spent the whole night cramming about Canada. Who is the prime minister, how many residents, how many unemployed...

“Oh, I wouldn’t make a joke,” Zuev was cut and hated all the artists. “Run to the director’s office, everyone has already gathered.”

“Let’s run and run,” Sashka turned to the guys. - Well, look here without me... Open your mouth.

They touched noses and patted each other on the back.

“Hello Trudeau,” said Romka.

“And to Vladimir Vladimirovich,” Nabokov meant.

- No, guys, Canada, of course, is not so great, but still...

Ashot did not finish the sentence, he simply made a hand sign, which meant that Canada is, after all, a capitalist country, in which, in addition to super-profits and the unemployed, there are 24-hour grocery stores, free love, democratic elections, and, whatever you say, the Klondike - you can’t talk about it. Let us not forget, the St. Lawrence River and the trappers may still be preserved.

They understood him, but did not agree. Preference was given to Europe and, of course, Paris.

- What are you doing with your Paris! Give them Paris. Paris is the end. And Canada is a warm-up. Test of strength. Test of strength. This is the kind of Canada we need to start with.

It was already three o’clock in the morning, my things weren’t packed, and the plane was at eight in the morning, which means I had to be at the theater by six. And not very drunk.

- Put it aside, Sasha, dry tea is nonsense, try my Tibetan or Buryat-Mongolian herb, the devil knows, it will knock you out completely.

Sashka sucked on the grass.

- Well, breathe.

- Fairy tale. Pure lily of the valley...

We started talking about Tibet. Roman was once on tour in those parts from where he brought her, weed, and the famous mummy. I got it from former lamas.

They started drinking immediately after the performance; it ended early, before eleven. Ashot stocked up on vodka and beer in advance, his mother prepared a vinaigrette, and they got export sardines from somewhere. We drank at Roman's - he separated from his wife and lived as a bachelor.

Ashot was drunker than the others, and therefore more talkative. However, no one was drunk, they were just in high spirits - Sasha was included in a trip abroad for the first time.

“Enough about Tibet, God be with her, with the roof of the world,” Ashot interrupted Roman, who was prone to exotic details, and poured the rest of the vodka. - Staff! Then you'll suck again. So, the main thing is, don’t get excited. Don't get carried away with wine and women. Not because spies...

- Oh, Arkady, don’t talk nicely. We know everything ourselves,” Sashka raised his glass. - Went. For friendship! Peoples and developing countries!

- Bhai-bhai!

We drank. We finished the vinaigrette. Sashka again began to stretch his calves. It was hot and everyone was wearing shorts.

“Why are you massaging them all,” Ashot couldn’t resist and immediately jabbed: “They won’t get any longer.”

“Nijinsky also had short legs,” Roman retorted for Sasha, he knew everything about everyone. – By the way, do you know how he explained why he had such a phenomenal jump? It’s very simple, he says, I jump up and stay in the air for a minute, that’s all...

“Okay,” interrupted Sashka, “we need to move.” We pull on our trousers.

They started getting dressed.

– How much currency did they give you? – asked Roman.

- Not at all. They said they would give it on the spot. Pennies, what to talk about.

– Take the sardines, they’ll come in handy.

“And I’ll take it,” Sashka put two flat, unopened boxes into his pocket. - Bastard! – This already applied to power.

“But I’ll still call Henriette, whether you like it or not,” said Ashot. “Extra bashleys never hurt.” What airfield do you land at?

- On Orly, they said...

“He’ll find you on Orly.”

– The first trump card for Krivulin.

- And you stay independent. This is the main thing, they are instantly lost. They think there is someone behind them.

Henriette interned at Leningrad University. Now I was on vacation. Ashot was going to marry her. Oddly enough, just out of love, without any ulterior motive.

“You’ll understand,” Sashka grumbled. “Don’t get carried away, or you’re slipping a foreigner into the hands of a Soviet citizen.”

- I'll call anyway.

- What an asshole.

This ended the discussion. We went outside, it was already quite light. The white nights began. The dawns, according to all astronomical laws, were in a hurry to replace each other, giving the night no more than an hour. Couples were hanging out along the embankments. On the Liteiny Bridge, Sashka suddenly stopped and, grabbing the railing, recited terribly loudly:

- I love you, Peter’s creation, I love your stern, proud appearance...

“Not proud, but slender,” Romka corrected. - Still, we must...

- I must, I must, I know... By the way, I love you bastards too! – Sashka grabbed both of them by the shoulders and pressed them tightly to him. - Well, what can you do, I love you, that’s all...

- And we? – Ashot glanced at Romka, freeing himself from the embrace.

- We’re just jealous, we’re simply jealous...

– Now it’s common to say that you’re jealous in a good way. Okay, so be it, I’ll bring a pair of jeans.

- Bring me a breath of freedom. And don't forget Lolita.

Ashot raved about Nabokov, although he had read nothing except “The Gift.” I read all four hundred pages in one night.

Sashka kissed both of them on their rough chins.

- Brother's love, brother's love! - he sang.

- To the bathhouse!

- Soulless pseudo-intellectuals. I'll bring you "Lolita", don't worry. Risking everything.

At home it turned out that Sashka’s mother had packed everything. She begged the Korovins - he often travels abroad - for a luxurious suitcase with zippers so that Sashka would not be embarrassed, and carefully packed everything. She also took out a foreign jacket, with gold buttons. Sashka tried it on, everything fit well on his ballet-sports figure.

- Well, why is this? – he fished a sweater out of his suitcase. - It’s summer...

“Summer is summer, and Canada is Canada,” Mom grabbed the sweater and put it back in the suitcase. - Same Siberia...

“In summer it’s hotter in Siberia than in Moscow, dear Vera Pavlovna,” Roman explained. - The climate is continental.

However, the sweater remained in the suitcase. Sashka waved his hand; it was already half past five.

Mom said:

- Well, did you sit down in front of the road?

Some sat down on what, Sashka sat on a suitcase.

– Well?.. – he hugged and kissed his mother. His mother baptized him.

“They say there are a lot of Ukrainians in Canada,” she said out of the blue, obviously to hide her excitement, “more than in Kyiv...

“Perhaps...” Sashka walked up to the desk, took out a photograph of the three of them from under the thick glass, and put it in the side pocket of his jacket.

– I’ll look somewhere in Winnipeg and burst into tears... Let’s go.

People in the theater were already worried.

“You must have been drinking all night, Kunitsyn?” - Party organizer Zuev said, looking suspiciously. - I know you.

- God forbid, who do you think we are? I spent the whole night cramming about Canada. Who is the prime minister, how many residents, how many unemployed...

“Oh, I wouldn’t make a joke,” Zuev was cut and hated all the artists. “Run to the director’s office, everyone has already gathered.”

“Let’s run and run,” Sashka turned to the guys. - Well, look here without me... Open your mouth.

They touched noses and patted each other on the back.

“Hello Trudeau,” said Romka.

“And to Vladimir Vladimirovich,” Nabokov meant.

- OK. Be there! – Sashka made a pirouette and ran merrily along the corridor. At the end he stopped and raised his hand, a la Bronze Horseman:

- The Neva is a sovereign current, its coastal granite... So, that means you don’t need jeans?

- Go...

And disappeared behind the door.

Early 80s Three inseparable friends live in Leningrad: Sashka Kunitsyn, Roman Krylov and Ashot Nikoghosyan. All three are under thirty. All three are “actors”. Sashka is a “ballet dancer” at the Kirov Theater, Roman is an actor at Lenfilm, Ashot sings, plays, and deftly imitates Marcel Marceau.

They are different and at the same time very similar. Since childhood, Sashka has captivated girls with his “sweetness, grace, and ability to be charming.” His enemies consider him arrogant, but at the same time he is ready to “give his last shirt.” Ashot is not distinguished by his beauty, but his innate artistry and plasticity make him beautiful. He speaks well, he is the founder of all plans. The novel is caustic and sharp-tongued. On screen he is funny and often tragic. There's something Chaplin-esque about him.

IN free time they are always together. They are brought together by “a certain search for their own path.” They vilify the Soviet system no more than others, but “the damned question of how to resist the dogmas, stupidity, and one-linearity pressing on you from all sides,” requires some kind of answer. In addition, you need to achieve success - none of the friends suffers from lack of ambition. This is how they live. From morning to evening - rehearsals, performances, filming, and then they meet and ease their souls, arguing about art, talent, literature, painting and much more.

Sashka and Ashot live with their mothers, Roman lives alone. Friends always help each other, including with money. They are called the "three musketeers". There are women in their lives, but they are kept somewhat aloof. Ashot has a love - a French woman, Henriette, who is “training at Leningrad University.” Ashot is going to marry her.

Sashka and Ashot are rushing around with the idea of ​​staging Gogol’s “The Overcoat,” in which Sashka should play Akaki Akakievich. In the midst of this work, foreign tours “fall” on Sasha. He flies to Canada. There Sashka has great success and decides to ask for asylum. Roman and Ashot are completely at a loss; they cannot come to terms with the idea that their friend did not say a word about his plans. Ashot often visits Sashka’s mother, Vera Pavlovna. She is still waiting for a letter from her son, but Sashka does not write and only once gives her a parcel with a bright knitted sweater, some little things and a large - “miracle of printing” - album - “Alexandre Kunitsyn”. Soon Ashot marries Henriette. After some time, they and Ashot’s mother, Ranush Akopovna, are given permission to leave: living in Russia, despite her love for everything Russian, is very difficult for Anriette. Despite the fact that Roman is left alone, he approves of Ashot’s action. Roman's last painting is on the shelf, and he believes that it is impossible to live in this country. Ashot really doesn’t want to part with his beloved city.

In Paris, Ashot gets a job as a sound engineer for television. Soon Sashka performs in Paris. Ashot comes to the concert. Sashka is magnificent, the audience gives him a standing ovation. Ashot manages to get backstage. Sashka is very happy to see him, but there are a lot of people around, and the friends agree that Ashot will call Sashka at the hotel the next morning. But he can’t get through to Ashot: the phone doesn’t answer. Sashka himself does not call. When Ashot arrives at the hotel after work, the receptionist informs him that Monsieur Kunitsyn has left. Ashot cannot understand Sashka.

Gradually Ashot gets used to French life. He lives a rather secluded life - work, home, books, TV. He eagerly reads Akhmatova, Tsvetaeva, Bulgakov, Platonov, which you can easily buy in a store, and watches the classics of Western cinema. Although Ashot becomes, as it were, a Frenchman, “all their elections and discussions in parliament” do not touch him. One fine day, Romka Krylov appears on Ashot’s doorstep. He managed to come to the Cannes Film Festival as a consultant at his own expense, and he did this because he really wanted to see Ashot. For three days, friends walk around Paris, remembering the past. Roman says that he managed to deceive the Soviet Minister of Culture and “smuggle through” an essentially “anti-Soviet” film. Roman leaves.

Soon Sashka appears, flying to Ceylon, but the flight is delayed in Paris. In front of Ashot is still the same Sashka, who is “executed” because of what he did. Ashot understands that he cannot be angry with him. But there is so much rationality in what Sashka now talks about art. Ashot recalls “The Overcoat,” but Sashka claims that rich American “balletomanes” do not need “The Overcoat.” Ashot is offended that Sashka never asks about his “material well-being.”

More friends do not meet. Roman's film is being shown across the country with some success. Roman is jealous of Ashot because there is no “Soviet rubbish” in his life. Ashotik envies Roman because in his life there is “struggle, sharpness, victory.” Henriette is expecting a baby. Sashka lives in New York in a six-room apartment, tours, and constantly has to make important decisions.

From the publisher. While the text of the story was being typed at the printing house, Ashot received a telegram from Sashka asking him to immediately fly to him. “Expenses are paid,” the telegram said.

You have read a summary of the work "A Little Sad Tale". We also invite you to visit the Summary section to read the summaries of other popular writers.

A little sad story

Early 80s Three inseparable friends live in Leningrad: Sashka Kunitsyn, Roman Krylov and Ashot Nikoghosyan. All three are under thirty. All three are “actors”. Sashka is a “ballet dancer” at the Kirov Theater, Roman is an actor at Lenfilm, Ashot sings, plays, and deftly imitates Marcel Marceau.

They are different and at the same time very similar. Since childhood, Sashka has captivated girls with his “goodness, grace, and ability to be charming.” His enemies consider him arrogant, but at the same time he is ready to “give his last shirt.” Ashot is not distinguished by his beauty, but his innate artistry and plasticity make him beautiful. He speaks well, he is the founder of all plans. The novel is caustic and sharp-tongued. On screen he is funny and often tragic. There's something Chaplin-esque about him.

In their free time they are always together. They are brought together by “a certain search for their own path.” They vilify the Soviet system no more than others, but “the damned question of how to resist the dogmas, stupidity, and one-linearity pressing on you from all sides,” requires some kind of answer. In addition, you need to achieve success - none of the friends suffers from lack of ambition. This is how they live. From morning to evening - rehearsals, performances, filming, and then they meet and ease their souls, arguing about art, talent, literature, painting and much more.

Sashka and Ashot live with their mothers, Roman lives alone. Friends always help each other, including with money. They are called the "three musketeers". There are women in their lives, but they are kept somewhat aloof. Ashot has a love - a French woman, Henriette, who is "an internship at Leningrad University." Ashot is going to marry her.

Sashka and Ashot are rushing around with the idea of ​​staging Gogol’s “The Overcoat,” in which Sashka should play Akaki Akakievich. In the midst of this work, foreign tours “fall” on Sasha. He flies to Canada. There Sashka has great success and decides to ask for asylum. Roman and Ashot are completely at a loss; they cannot come to terms with the idea that their friend did not say a word about his plans. Ashot often visits Sashka’s mother, Vera Pavlovna. She is still waiting for a letter from her son, but Sashka does not write and only once gives her a parcel with a bright knitted sweater, some little things and a large - "miracle of printing" - album - "Alexandre Kunitsyn". Soon Ashot marries Henriette. After some time, they and Ashot’s mother, Ranush Akopovna, are given permission to leave: living in Russia, despite her love for everything Russian, is very difficult for Anriette. Despite the fact that Roman is left alone, he approves of Ashot’s action. Roman's last painting is on the shelf, and he believes that it is impossible to live in this country. Ashot really doesn’t want to part with his beloved city.

In Paris, Ashot gets a job as a sound engineer for television. Soon Sashka performs in Paris. Ashot comes to the concert. Sashka is magnificent, the audience gives him a standing ovation. Ashot manages to get backstage. Sashka is very happy to see him, but there are a lot of people around, and

The friends agree that Ashot will call Sashka at the hotel the next morning. But he can’t get through to Ashot: the phone doesn’t answer. Sashka himself does not call. When Ashot arrives at the hotel after work, the receptionist informs him that Monsieur Kunitsyn has left. Ashot cannot understand Sashka.

Gradually Ashot gets used to French life. He lives a rather secluded life - work, home, books, TV. He eagerly reads Akhmatova, Tsvetaeva, Bulgakov, Platonov, which you can easily buy in a store, and watches the classics of Western cinema. Although Ashot becomes, as it were, a Frenchman, “all their elections and discussions in parliament” do not touch him. One fine day, Romka Krylov appears on Ashot’s doorstep. He managed to come to the Cannes Film Festival as a consultant at his own expense, and he did this because he really wanted to see Ashot. For three days, friends walk around Paris, remembering the past. Roman says that he managed to deceive the Soviet Minister of Culture and “smuggle through” an essentially “anti-Soviet” film. Roman leaves.

Soon Sashka appears, flying to Ceylon, but the flight is delayed in Paris. In front of Ashot is still the same Sashka, who is “executed” because of what he did. Ashot understands that he cannot be angry with him. But there is so much rationality in what Sashka now talks about art. Ashot recalls “The Overcoat,” while Sashka claims that rich American “balletomanes” do not need “The Overcoat.” Ashot is offended that Sashka never asks about his “material well-being.”

Friends don't meet anymore. Roman's film is being shown across the country with some success. Roman envies Ashot because there is no “Soviet rubbish” in his life. Ashotik envies Roman because in his life there is “struggle, sharpness, victory.” Henriette is expecting a baby. Sashka lives in New York in a six-room apartment, tours, and constantly has to make important decisions.

From the publisher. While the text of the story was being typed at the printing house, Ashot received a telegram from Sashka asking him to immediately fly to him. “Expenses are paid,” the telegram said.