Not my (from the internet)
end of the 1980s. The last years of the Soviet Union. A deaf village in the Far East.
A teacher from this village.

“I was persuaded for a year to take class leadership in eighth grade. Children have been studying for ten years. After the eighth grade, those who did not have the point of studying left the school. This class was made up of almost all of them. Two-thirds of students in the best case will be in the PTU. In the worst - immediately to dirty work and to evening schools. My class is complicated, the children are unmanaged, in September they were rejected by another class leader. The director says that if I don’t quit them in a year, I’ll be given first class next September.

I am twenty three. The oldest of my students, Ivan, is sixteen. He spent two years in the sixth class, in the future - the second year in the eighth. When I first entered their class, he met me with a glimpse. Partha in the distant corner of the class, a wide-armed large-headed guy in dirty clothes with broken hands and ice eyes. I fear him.

I fear them all. They are afraid of Ivan. Last year, he beat a classmate in the blood that murdered his mother. They are rude, hectic, angry, they are not interested in lessons. They ate four class leaders, didn’t care about recordings in diaries and parents’ calls to school. In half of the class, parents do not dry out of the same. Never raise your voice on children. If you are sure that they will obey you, they will obey you,” I hold on to the old teacher’s words and enter the classroom like a cage with tigers, afraid to doubt that they will obey. My tigers are rude and argue. Ivan is quietly sitting on the back, lowering his eyes to the table. If he doesn’t like something, a heavy wolf look stops the careless classmate.

The district decided to raise the educational component of the work. We should visit families regularly for educational purposes. I have an abyss of reasons for visiting their parents - half of the class can be left not for the second year, but for lifelong learning. I am going to preach the importance of education. In my first family I was confused. Why Why? In the forestry, workers earn more than teachers. I look at the drunken face of the father of the family, encouraged wallpapers and I don’t know what to say. The sermons of the high crystal bell dissolve into dust. Really why? They live as they are used to. They don’t need another life.
The houses of my students are scattered for twelve kilometers. There is no public transport. I go for families. No one is pleased with visits - the teacher in the house to complaints and spoilers. I go to one house after another. Destroyed the floor. A drunk father. A drunk mother. My son is ashamed that his mother is drunk. Dirty dirty rooms. Unspoiled dishes. My students are uncomfortable, they would like me not to see their lives. I’t want to see them either. I am covered by grief and hopelessness. And in fifty years, everyone here will likewise support the falling fence with slugs and live in dirty, poor houses. No one can get out of here, even if they want to. And they do not want. The circle closed.

Ivan looks at me. Around him, brothers and sisters sit on the bed between dirty blankets and pillows. There is no bed linen and, judging by the blankets, there was never. The children stay away from their parents and stick to Ivan. and six. Ivan the Elder. I can’t say anything good to his parents – he has a solid couple. Why say something? As soon as I tell you, the morbidity will begin. My father is drunk and aggressive. I say that Ivan is good and he is very hard at work. Nevertheless, I can’t change anything, even if they won’t be beaten by me. Mother blows out of joy: “He is good to me. No one believes him, but he is kind. He knows how he looks at his brothers and sisters. He goes to the farm and to the taiga... Everybody says he learns badly, and when does he learn? You sit down, sit down, I will pour the tea on you,” she smiles the crumbs from the table with a dark cloth and rushes to put a dirty tea on the fire.

Could this angry, silent overgrowth be good? I refer to dinner, say goodbye and go out. Twelve kilometers to my house. The beginning of winter. It is dark early, you need to get to the dark.

Svetlana Yurievna, wait for you! Vanessa is running after me on the street. How are you alone? It is dark! So far away! The Mother of God spoke. I don’t remember when I heard his voice for the last time.

“Wan, go home, I’ll catch you.

What if you don’t catch? Who will offend?

Vаньka goes next to me six kilometers, until there is a sidewalk. We talk all the way. Without it, it would be terrible - the snow along the road is marked with animal traces. With him I am scared no less – his father’s dim eyes are in front of him. Ivan’s eyes were not warmer. I speak because, with the sounds of my own voice, I am not so afraid to walk next to him in the darkness in the taiga.
In the morning, at the geography class, somebody grumbled at my comment. “Hold your tongue, a silent, quiet voice from the back. We all, silenced by surprise, turn toward Ivan. He surrounds everyone with a cold, angry look and speaks aside, looking me in the eyes. - Hold your tongue, I said, you talk to the teacher. If you don’t understand, I’ll explain in court.”

I no longer have problems with discipline. Silent Ivan is an indisputable authority in the class. After conflicts and bilateral tariffs, my students and I somehow unexpectedly managed to build a relationship. The main thing is to be honest and treat them with respect. I find it easier for me than other teachers: I teach geography with them. On the one hand, the subject is not needed by anyone, the knowledge of geography does not check the area, on the other hand, there is no neglect of knowledge. They may not know where China is, but that doesn’t stop them from learning something new. I don’t call Ivan to the board anymore. He makes tasks in writing. I don’t carefully see him sending notes with answers.

There should be political information at school twice a week. They do not distinguish Indians from Indians and Vorkuta from Voronezh. From hopelessness I spit on the front lines and party politics, and twice a week I tell them articles from the journal Around the World. We discuss futuristic predictions and the possibility of the existence of the snowman, I tell you that the Russians and the Slavs are not the same as the writing was before Cyril and Methodius.

I know they will never get out of here, and lie to them that if they want to, they will change their lives. Can I leave here? can be. If you really want. Yes, they won’t do anything, but it’s impossible to accept that being born in the wrong place, in the wrong family, has blocked all roads for my open, responsive, abandoned students. for the whole life. No chance to change anything. So I inspired them to lie that the main thing is to want to change.

In the spring, they come to visit me. The first one comes and asks questions:

This is what?

and mixer.

Why Why?

Destroying the white.

Bowl, can be wrapped with a fork. Why did they buy dust?

Paul is dusting.

- Empty waste, and a wreath can be, - he ticks his finger in the fan. And this why?

This is a fan! Dry the hair!

The rabbit is furiously angry:

Why do you dry them? Will they not dry themselves?! to

The Lech! How to make hair? To be beautiful!

This is a bad thing, Svetlana Jurievna! With fat you get angry, you spend money! A full balcony is filled! Translate the powder.

In the house of Leshka, like in the house of Ivan, there are no carpenters. This is the bed, the bed.

Ivan will not come. They will regret that Ivan did not come, they will break down the house cake without him and catch up for him. Then they will find a thousand more reasons to fall in guests, who one by one, who company. Everyone except Ivan. He will never come. They will go to the kindergarten for my son without my requests, and I will be calm - as long as there is no village spana with him, nothing will happen, they are the best protection for him. Neither before nor after I have seen such a degree of devotion and reciprocity from the students. Sometimes I bring my son from the kindergarten Ivan. They have mutual sympathy.

On the nose of the graduation exams, I walk the tail after the teacher of English Elena - I persuade not to leave Ivan for the second year. The prolonged conflict and mutual passionate hatred do not leave Vanke a chance to quit school. Elena cheats Vanku with drinking parents and brothers and sisters abandoned with living parents. Ivan hates her fiercely, Hamit. I persuaded all subjects not to leave Vanka for the second year. Elena is unstoppable. To convince Vanku to apologize to Elena also does not work:

I’m not going to apologize to this guy. Let her not talk about my parents, I will not answer her then!

– Van, you can’t say that about the teacher, – Ivan silently raises heavy eyes on me, I silence and again go to persuade Elena:

- Elena Sergeevna, of course, you need to leave him for the second year, but he will still not learn English, and you will have to tolerate it for another year. He will sit with those who are three years younger, and it will be even worse.
The prospect of suffering Vanka another year is a decisive factor, Elena accuses me of earning cheap authority from students and agrees to draw Vanka's annual three.

We take exam in Russian. All the classes received the same pencil. After submitting the works, we check the works with two pencil in hand. One with a blue paste, the other with a red. In order for the composition to pull to three, you need to correct the hell cloud of mistakes, after which you can take the red paste.

The results of the exam are announced. They are proud. Everyone said that we will not surrender the Russians, but we surrendered! You have surrendered. The good guys! I believe in you. I kept my promise for a year. I will get my first class in September. Those of mine who came to study in the ninth will give me all their bouquets during the lineup.

A few years. Beginning of the nineties. Ambulance at the same school on September 1.

Svetlana Yurievna, hello to you! I am being cared for by a young man. Did you recognize me?

I have a feverish memory of whose father this is, but I cannot remember his child:

- Of course I learned, - maybe, in the course of the conversation will release the memory.

I brought my sister. Remember when you came to us, she was sitting with me on the bed?

and WANKA! Is it you?! to

I am Svetlana Jurievna. You did not recognize me, in the voice of insult and reproach. Werewolf, how do you recognize you? You are completely different.

- I have finished the technical school, I work in Khabarovsk, I buy an apartment. When I buy, I take all of my own.

He easily entered the nineties — he had excellent survival practice and a heavy cold look. In a couple of years he will actually buy a big apartment, get married, take his sisters and brothers and break the relationship with his parents. The body will fuse and die by the beginning of the two thousand. Some graduate from institutions. Someone will move to Moscow.

You changed our lives.

How is?

You told a lot. You had beautiful dresses. The girls always waited for what dress you would come in. We wanted to live like you.

When they wanted to live like me, I lived in one of the three houses of a murdered military town near the forest farm village. I had a mixer, a dryer, a vacuum cleaner, bed linen, and Around the World magazines. I dressed beautiful clothes in the evening.

The key to opening the closed doors can be a fan and beautiful dresses. If you really want.”