My teachers at high school were people about my current age. The elderly. The elderly. Their youth was in war. I am so clever and can count years. And then, in the seventies, I didn’t even think about the fact that the partorg of the school of Rimma Mikhailovna with her assy waist, sad eyes and shoes on spikes and the Olympiad Andreevna, my teacher of literature with a flowery shining, like a bird nest on her head, could participate in the war just as the frontman director of the school, a historian. During the ambulance, a portrait of Lenin fell on him. He gradually stumbled. Starting with lily. Lenin said nothing. Actually, I don’t remember anything about the director. And not about him.

Olympiad Andreevna was my class leader and teacher of Russian language and literature. Time lightened her eyes to the steel, and her hair laid in a funny, thin shining on the back of her head. Andrievna’s Olympiad was slightly sluggish, slightly above the third class, but every pupil of my school, having seen from a distance her silhouette with a whitening in her teeth, slowed down and marched like the field Marshal Zhukov:
Welcome to the Olympics of Andreevna!

Olympiad Andreevna created in my school the museum "Buchenwald, your heroes talk about you". On May 9, he opened the doors to first-class students. Imagine black satin-strung walls with photographs of the Buchenwald horrors, hanging windows, the dim light of wall lamps. The little girl stumbled and stopped cuddling at the entrance. Andreevna’s Olympics included a magnetophone, and we, the high school girls, learned to take pictures and tell the kids about Buchenwald.

After such an entry, it would be appropriate to note that every future criminal who had undergone such hardening, smashing, considered the Olympiad Andreevna an authority in our district, which was disadvantaged in all respects, and at its literature lessons he sat like a silk, bitten a pencil, covered with steam and plunged something non-memberly on the question of Chatsky, for what (for presence!) I got a deserved trio.

In the graduation class we had a new one. Red as the fire of Alka from Poltava. Smooth and sharp on the tongue. And at the first lesson on "Groze" Ostrovsky stretched his hand. I disagree with the benevolent. The bell ringed and Alkin’s voice spread through Buchenwald. What a lie? Catherine descends from the abyss into the river, and she is "a ray of light in the dark kingdom"?? to

I pulled my hand to the textbook. Rinka, a party neighbor, raised her head trying to see O.A.’s attitude. what is happening in her eyes. And the Olympiad Andreevna, inviting Alka to the board with a broad gesture, went back to the back.

Give up! She just said.

And more we did not hear her during the lesson, absorbed by the dispute on the subject, what is more important, no, what is more correct - to be able to stay with a loved one or drown from thirst and hopelessness. Even the twins said something. We burst like spring streams. And Olympiad Andreevna was sitting on the back, laying her head on her arms... and her glowing eyes shone with quiet happiness.

When the phone sounded, she said:

Thanks to everyone! This is the dream of any teacher of literature. But there are five!

Why is it five? She is thinking wrong! Not as in the textbook. We have stumbled.

That’s why she has five. Growing up, you will understand.

P.s. Thank you for the Olympics. I’m “grown up” and I think now: God, what a teacher we had!