The boy-kibalchish was born at the Khabarivsk psychiatry. Character history Communism clue kibalchich kibalchish new revelation
In those far-distant fates, since the war raged fiercely throughout the entire region, Malchish-Kibalchish is still alive.
At that time, Chervona's Army drove away the white cursed bourgeoisie, and it became quiet in those wide fields, on the green onions, where life grew, where buckwheat was in bloom, and in the middle of the dense gardens and cherry groves there was a hut, in a bag the Boy was nicknamed mta Malchisha’s father, Malchisha’s older brother, but there was no mother in them.
Father is busy mowing hay. My brother is busy hauling hay. The same boy either helps his father or his brothers, or simply tries to join in with the other boys.
Hop!.. Hop!.. Good! Don't screech coolies, don't rattle shells, don't burn villages. There is no need to lie down on the ground, there is no need to throw shells at the fox, there is no need to run away from the forest. There is nothing for the bourgeoisie to be afraid of. There is no one to bow to. Live and practice - garne to life!
Axis jakos - on the right above the day - vyyshov Malchish-Kibalchish on the ganok. Marvel at the sky - the sky is clear, the wind is warm, the sun is setting at night over Chorni Gori. Everything would be good, but everything would be bad. The boy feels like he needs to put on makeup and something is knocking. It seems to the Boy that the wind smells not of flowers from the gardens, not of honey from the meadows, but the wind smells of something like smoke from fires, or gunpowder from fires. Having said “Vin Batkovi”, and “Batko”, we have arrived.
What are you doing? - like the boy. - There are distant threats looming behind the Black Mountains. These shepherds are busy with riches behind the Sinya River, their turns are to graze and cook the evening. Go, Boy, and sleep well.
Pishov Malchish. Sleep. If you can’t sleep well, well, you can’t sleep at all.
He immediately hears the window knocking on the street, and the window knocking. Looking at Malchish-Kibalchish, you can see: it’s worth the top of the window. Kin is crow, shabla is light, papakha is sir, and zirka is red.
Hey, get up! - the top leader shouted. - Trouble came, the spies didn’t check. Having attacked us through Chorni Gory, the curses of the bourgeoisie. I’m starting to whistle again, shells are bursting again. Our corrals fight with the bourgeoisie, and rush to call for help from the distant Red Army.
So the red-eyed leader said these alarming words and rushed off. Father The boy walked up to the wall, taking out the screw, throwing in the bag and putting on the cartridge belt.
Well, like my eldest son, I’m brightly beaming, apparently you’ll have a lot of tidying to do. Well, - like the Boy, - I have lived a cool life, and you, the Boy, may have a chance to live a calm life for me.
Having said so, he kissed the boy and the boys dearly. And I was kissed a lot, because now everyone can already see and almost see how the horns are humming behind the bows and the dawns are burning behind the mountains in the shadow of the dark fires...
A day passes, two passes. Let the Boy go to gank: no... don't bother the Red Army anymore. Zalize Khlopchish na dakh. Don't be angry all day long. No, not visible. All night until bedtime. He immediately hears the sound of someone knocking on the street, and finally knocking. Having looked at the Malchish: it costs almost as much as the top. Only thin and tired, only the shawl is bent, dark, only the hat is shot through, the mirror is cut, and the head is tied.
Hey, get up! - the top leader shouted. - There was victory, and now there is trouble all around. There are plenty of bourgeois, but few of us. There are clouds of darkness in the fields, behind the corrals there are thousands of shells. Hey, get up, let's help!
The elder brother stood up and said to the boys:
Goodbye, Boy... You're left alone... Cabbage soup in the cauldron, cow on the table, water in the keys, and your head on your shoulders... Live like you're crazy, and don't worry about me.
A day passes, two passes. Malchish sits, blowing the trumpet on the street, and Malchish sings, as an unknown peak gallops in the distance.
Having galloped the horseman to Malchish, he took off his horse and said:
Give me, kind lad, some water to drink. I haven’t drunk for three days, haven’t slept for three nights, and driven three horses. The Chervona Army learned about our bravery. The trumpeters sounded all the signal pipes. The drummers beat all their drums. All the military ensigns flared up. The entire Red Army rushes and gallops to the rescue. Abi, Boy, we have to dry ourselves off until tomorrow night.
The boy brought tears from Dahu and brought something to drink. The messenger got drunk and galloped away.
The evening came and the boy went to bed. If the boy can’t get enough sleep, what kind of dream is this?
He soon smells kroki on the street, and finally - sherekh. Looking at the boy and saying: it’s worth the same man. That one, but not that one: and the horse is missing - the horse is missing, and the template is missing - the template broke, and the hat is missing - the hat flew away, and he himself stands - he is caught.
Hey, get up! - Screaming and rising. - And the shells, and the arrows are broken. There are no screws, but there are few fighters. And help was close, but she was speechless. Hey, get up, whoever else has lost! There’s no point in us standing around and drying off for a day.
Looking at Malchish-Kibalchish above: the street is empty. The windows do not grunt, the gates do not creak - there is no one to get up. And the fathers went, and the brothers went - no one was left behind.
Just look at the boy who tells you that one old grandfather tells hundreds of people. I want to lift the screw, but it’s so old that I can’t lift it. Although I want to drink the dough, the wine is so weak that I can’t drink it. He then went to the prayer, lowered his head and began to cry.
The boy became sicker. Then Boy-Kibalchish jumped up and loudly shouted:
Hey, you guys, little boys! Why should we, boys, just dance in the club and jump ropes? And the fathers went, and the brothers went. Why should we, cotton boys, sit and wait for the bourgeoisie to come and take us away from their damned bourgeoisie?
How the little boys sensed such words, how they could scream at the top of their voices! Whoever knocks at the door, whoever climbs out of the window, whoever scrapes through the mud.
Everyone wants to go to help. Only one Pogan Boy wants to join the bourgeoisie. Aloha, such a cunning Pogan, that without saying anything to anyone, he pulled up his pants and rushed at once, otherwise to help.
The boys fight from the dark night until the bright dawn. The only one who doesn’t fight is bad, but everyone goes around looking like they can help the bourgeoisie. And it’s bad that there’s a huge pile of boxes lying behind the lid, and black bombs, shells and yellow cartridges are stored in these boxes. “Yeah,” thought Bad, that’s all I need.”
And at this hour the Head Bourgeois asks his bourgeois:
Well, bourgeois, have you achieved any victories?
No, Head Bourgeois, - the bourgeoisie says, - they defeated our fathers and brothers, and it was our victory that Malchish-Kibalchish rushed to their aid, and we are still not in trouble with them.
Golovny Burzhuin was very surprised and angry, and shouted in a dirty voice:
Can you buti, so as not to get into the cotton? Oh, you wicked bourgeois cowards! How can you not break up such a mess? Take the lead and don’t turn back without a fight.
The bourgeoisie just sit and think: what can they earn? Ramp up: climb out from behind the bushes of Malchish-Pogash and straight up to them.
Rejoice! - shout to him. - That’s all I, Bad One, have earned. I chopped the wood, I pulled the hay, and I set fire to all the boxes with black bombs, with white shells and yellow cartridges. Then immediately put on makeup!
The bourgeoisie were happy, they enrolled the most famous Bad Boy in their bourgeoisie and gave him a whole barrel of jam and a whole cat of stove.
Sit, Bad Boy, and be happy.
The boxes slammed like crazy! And it thundered so loudly that thousands of thunders struck in one place and thousands of sparkles flashed in one gloom.
Zrada! - Malchish-Kibalchish shouted.
Zrada! - all the faithful boys shouted.
And then, through the smoke and fire, the bourgeois force flew in, descended, and tied up the Boy-Kibalchish.
They wrapped the Boy in an important lancet. They put the lad in a kamyan vezha. And they rushed to ask: what do you want the Bourgeois Bourgeois to do now with the full-fledged Boy?
Golovny Burzhuin thought for a long time, and then came up with an idea and said:
We're in trouble for this guy. Please don’t let us know this whole Vyskova Tamnitsa right away. Go ahead, bourgeois, and drink this:
Why, Boy, did the Forty Kings and the Forty Queens fight with the Army of Reds, fight, fight, and then only fall apart?
Why, Boy, and all the troubles are out, and all the penal servitude is slaughtered, and all the gendarmes are in prison, and all the troops are on their feet, and yet we have no peace either on a bright day or in a dark night?
Why, Boy, curses Kibalchish, and in my High Bourgeoisie, and in the second - the Plain Kingdom, and in the third - the Snow Kingdom, and in the fourth - the Special Power of the same day of early spring and the same day of late Seni na riznyh movami, ale ty Do the songs sing, in different hands, do the same bear ensigns, do the same speak, do the same think, and the same cry?
You ask, bourgeois:
Doesn’t the Red Army have a military secret, Boy?
And don’t let me tell you the secret.
Why don’t our workers get help from others?
And don’t forget to tell me, there are signs of help.
There’s no way, Boy, we’re moving from your land to all the other lands, whichever way you call us, we hum, like you sleep, we spit, what can you say, should we think about this?
The bourgeoisie went, and suddenly they turned back:
No, Chief Bourgeois, without revealing to us the Boy-Kibalchish of the Military Taemnitsa. We laughed at the meeting.
And, - it seems, - there is a powerful secret in the Mitsk Red Army. And you didn’t attack if you didn’t overcome you.
And, - it seems, - and the help is incurable, and no matter how much you leave the relationship, you still don’t pass it on, and you will not have peace neither in the bright day nor in the dark night.
And, it seems, there are deep, dark passages. No matter how much you joke, you won’t find out. And if they knew, then don’t dump it, don’t pawn it, don’t sniffle. And I won’t tell you, the bourgeoisie, anything else, and you, the damned ones, will never guess.
Golovny Burzhuin frowned and said:
Give this secret Boy-Kibalch the most terrible torment, like only one in the world, and absorb the new Military Prison, because we will have no life, no peace without something important Tamnitsa.
The bourgeoisie went, but now they didn’t turn back soon.
Go and steal heads.
No, it seems, our boss is Golovny Burzhuin. Standing pale, Boy, but proud, and without telling us the Vyskova Tamnitsa, because such a firm word. And when we got there, we sank down onto the cover, putting our ear to the important stone of the cold cover, and, believe me, O Head Bourgeois, we smiled so much that we shuddered, bourgeois, and we became afraid, without feeling the crocue along the hidden passages is our inevitable death?
What kind of country is this? - Viguknuv todi zdivovany Golovny Burzhuin. What kind of foolish land is this, in which such children know the Military Prison and are so careful to keep their word? Hurry up, bourgeois, and save this proud lad. Load your alarms, take out your templates, open our bourgeois ensigns, for I can feel our signalers blowing and our wavers waving their ensigns. Apparently, we will not have an easy battle, but a hard battle.
And having died Malchish-Kibalchish...
Ale...were you guys throwing up a storm? So, like thunder, the battle wars were darkened. So, like flashes, the flames of the vibukha were shining. Just like the wind, the horse pens escaped, and just like the gloom, the red ensigns were washed away. The Red Army was advancing.
And why were you angry in the dry and speculative summer? Just like the streams running from the powdered mountains were angry in the turbulent, frothy streams, so at the first rumble of the war, an uprising began in the Georgian Bourgeoisie, and thousands of angry voices arose from of the Kingdom of the Snow, and of the Species. .
And in fear of defeat, the Head Bourgeois, loudly cursed this land with its marvelous people, with its insurmountable army and with its unsolved Military Crime.
And Malchisha-Kibalchisha was greeted on the green hillock of the Blue River. I placed a great red ensign over the grave.
Steam melts - hello to the Boy!
The little boys are flying by - hello to the Boy!
Pass the locomotives - hello to the Boy!
And the passage of the pioneers is a salute to Malchish!
Arkady Petrovich Gaidar
A tale about the military prison, about Malchish-Kibalchish and his firm word
In those far-distant fates, since the war raged fiercely throughout the entire region, Malchish-Kibalchish is still alive.
At that time, Chervona's Army drove away the white cursed bourgeoisie, and it became quiet in those wide fields, on the green onions, where life grew, where buckwheat was in bloom, and in the middle of the dense gardens and cherry groves there was a hut, in a bag the Boy was nicknamed mta Malchisha’s father, Malchisha’s older brother, but there was no mother in them.
Father is busy mowing hay. My brother is busy hauling hay. The same boy either helps his father or his brothers, or simply tries to join in with the other boys.
Hop!.. Hop!.. Good! Don't screech coolies, don't rattle shells, don't burn villages. There is no need to lie down on the ground, there is no need to throw shells at the fox, there is no need to run away from the forest. There is nothing for the bourgeoisie to be afraid of. There is no one to bow to. Live and practice - garne to life!
Axis jakos - on the right above the day - vyyshov Malchish-Kibalchish on the ganok. Marvel at the sky - the sky is clear, the wind is warm, the sun is setting at night over Chorni Gori. Everything would be good, but everything would be bad. The boy feels like he needs to put on makeup and something is knocking. It seems to the Boy that the wind smells not of flowers from the gardens, not of honey from the meadows, but the wind smells of something like smoke from fires, or gunpowder from fires. Having said “Vin Batkovi”, and “Batko”, we have arrived.
What are you doing? - like the boy. - There are distant threats looming behind the Black Mountains. These shepherds are busy with riches behind the Sinya River, their turns are to graze and cook the evening. Go, Boy, and sleep well.
Pishov Malchish. Sleep. If you can’t sleep well, well, you can’t sleep at all.
He immediately hears the window knocking on the street, and the window knocking. Looking at Malchish-Kibalchish, you can see: it’s worth the top of the window. Kin is crow, shabla is light, papakha is sir, and zirka is red.
Hey, get up! - the top leader shouted. - Trouble came, the spies didn’t check. Having attacked us through Chorni Gory, the curses of the bourgeoisie. I’m starting to whistle again, shells are bursting again. Our corrals fight with the bourgeoisie, and rush to call for help from the distant Red Army.
So the red-eyed leader said these alarming words and rushed off. Father The boy walked up to the wall, taking out the screw, throwing in the bag and putting on the cartridge belt.
Well, like my eldest son, I’m brightly beaming, apparently you’ll have a lot of tidying to do. Well, - like the Boy, - I have lived a cool life, and you, the Boy, may have a chance to live a calm life for me.
Having said so, he kissed the boy and the boys dearly. And I was kissed a lot, because now everyone can already see and almost see how the horns are humming behind the bows and the dawns are burning behind the mountains in the shadow of the dark fires...
A day passes, two passes. The boy goes out to the ganok: no... the Red Army is not visible yet. Zalize Khlopchish na dakh. Don't be angry all day long. No, not visible.
All night until bedtime. He immediately hears the sound of someone knocking on the street, and finally knocking. Having looked at the Malchish: it’s worth the same height. Only thin and tired, only the shawl is bent, dark, only the hat is shot through, the mirror is cut, and the head is tied.
Hey, get up! - the top leader shouted. - There was victory, and now there is trouble all around. There are plenty of bourgeois, but few of us. There are clouds of darkness in the fields, behind the corrals there are thousands of shells. Hey, get up, let's help!
The elder brother stood up and said to the boys:
Goodbye, Boy... You're left alone... Cabbage soup in the cauldron, cow on the table, water in the keys, and your head on your shoulders... Live like you're crazy, and don't worry about me.
A day passes, two passes. Malchish sits, blowing the trumpet on the street, and Malchish sings, as an unknown peak gallops in the distance.
Having galloped the horseman to Malchish, he took off his horse and said:
Give me, kind lad, some water to drink. I haven’t drunk for three days, haven’t slept for three nights, and driven three horses. The Chervona Army learned about our bravery. The trumpeters sounded all the signal pipes. The drummers beat all their drums. All the military ensigns flared up. The entire Red Army rushes and gallops to the rescue. Abi, Boy, we have to dry ourselves off until tomorrow night.
The boy brought tears from Dahu and brought something to drink. The messenger got drunk and galloped away.
The evening came and the boy went to bed. If the boy can’t get enough sleep, what kind of dream is this?
He soon smells kroki on the street, and finally - sherekh. Looking at the boy and saying: it’s worth the same man. That one, but not that one: and the horse is missing - the horse is missing, and the template is missing - the template broke, and the hat is missing - the hat flew away, and he himself stands - he is caught.
Hey, get up! - Screaming and rising. - And the shells, and the arrows are broken. There are no screws, but there are few fighters. And help was close, but she was speechless. Hey, get up, whoever else has lost! There’s no point in us standing around and drying off for a day.
Looking at Malchish-Kibalchish above: the street is empty. The windows do not grunt, the gates do not creak - there is no one to get up. And the fathers went, and the brothers went - no one was left behind.
Just look at the boy who tells you that one old grandfather tells hundreds of people. I want to lift the screw, but it’s so old that I can’t lift it. Although I want to drink the dough, the wine is so weak that I can’t drink it. He then went to the prayer, lowered his head and began to cry.
The boy became sicker. Then Boy-Kibalchish jumped up and loudly shouted:
Hey, you guys, little boys! Why should we, boys, just dance in the club and jump ropes? And the fathers went, and the brothers went. Why should we, cotton boys, sit and wait for the bourgeoisie to come and take us away from their damned bourgeoisie?
How the little boys sensed such words, how they could scream at the top of their voices! Whoever knocks at the door, whoever climbs out of the window, whoever scrapes through the mud.
Everyone wants to go to help. Only one Pogan Boy wants to join the bourgeoisie. Aloha, such a cunning Pogan, that without saying anything to anyone, he pulled up his pants and rushed at once, otherwise to help.
The boys fight from the dark night until the bright dawn. The only one who doesn’t fight is bad, but everyone goes around looking like they can help the bourgeoisie. And it’s bad that there’s a huge pile of boxes lying behind the lid, and black bombs, shells and yellow cartridges are stored in these boxes. “Yeah,” thought Bad, “that’s all I need.”
And at this hour the Head Bourgeois asks his bourgeois:
Well, bourgeois, have you achieved any victories?
No, Head Bourgeois, - the bourgeoisie says, - they defeated our fathers and brothers, and it was our victory that Malchish-Kibalchish rushed to their aid, and we are still not in trouble with them.
Golovny Burzhuin was very surprised and angry, and shouted in a dirty voice:
Can you buti, so as not to get into the cotton? Oh, you wicked bourgeois cowards! How can you not break up such a mess? Take the lead and don’t turn back without a fight.
I know I know! You will immediately say that this fairy tale, as Arkady Gaidar wrote, is not called
So, the name in it is different. Let me know, and you yourself remember this difficult text in full detail: “A tale about the military dungeon, Malchisha-Kibalchisha and his firm word”?
If you immediately say “So,” then I will kill you! You have a miraculous memory, which, unfortunately, most adults do not enjoy. For example, I don’t remember.
Well, it’s over, it’s too important to call the fairy tale about the Boy Kibalchisha.
Just think: 100 years have passed! ONE HUNDRED!
And there is no such edge anymore. And many of our speeches are now perceived in a completely different way. And there are a lot of times we wouldn’t want to read from Kastya about Malchish Kibalchish.
Ale, unimportant at all, the story about the important Kibalchish is still alive. And so, with their hearts sinking, the little ones are wondering how Kibalchish’s fight against the filthy guys will end.
It doesn’t matter what they sound like. It’s important that you stink up our lad. And so it goes without saying that Malchish Kibalchish is a gyne. For 100 years now, children have been reading this story. Doesn't care about the political system and the reconning. Believe, worry, fuss. And I think that you, just like me, will not be afraid at all that you won’t understand anything, you will read about the brave lad Kibalchish to your children. Otherwise, are you still here? 🙂
Arkady Gaidar
“A tale about the military dungeon, Malchisha-Kibalchisha and his firm word”
“Tell me, Natko, the Kazka,” the blue-eyed girl asked and laughed guiltily.
Kazka? - Natka became thoughtful. - I don’t know any Cossacks right now. Otherwise... I’ll tell you Alchina’s tale. Is it possible? - she asked the wary Alka.
“It’s possible,” Alka allowed, looking proudly at the quiet Zhovten.
I will recite Alkin’s tale in my own words. And if I just forgot or said something wrong, then please correct me. Well, listen up!
“In the distant future, when the war raged fiercely throughout the entire region, Malchish-Kibalchish is still alive.
At that time, Chervona's Army drove away the white cursed bourgeoisie, and it became quiet in those wide fields, on the green onions, where life grew, where buckwheat was in bloom, and in the middle of the dense gardens and cherry groves there was a hut, in a bag the Boy was nicknamed mta Malchisha’s father, Malchisha’s older brother, but there was no mother in them.
Father is busy mowing hay. My brother is busy hauling hay. The same boy either helps his father or his brothers, or simply tries to join in with the other boys.
Hop!.. Hop!.. Good! Don't screech coolies, don't rattle shells, don't burn villages. There is no need to lie down on the ground, there is no need to throw shells at the fox, there is no need to run away from the forest. There is nothing for the bourgeoisie to be afraid of. There is no one to bow to. Live and practice - garne to life!
Axis jakos - on the right above the day - vyyshov Malchish-Kibalchish on the ganok. Marvel at the sky - the sky is clear, the wind is warm, the sun is setting at night over Chorni Gori. Everything would be good, but everything would be bad. The boy feels like he needs to put on makeup and something is knocking. It seems to the Boy that the wind smells not of flowers from the gardens, not of honey from the meadows, but the wind smells of something like smoke from fires, or gunpowder from fires. Having said “Vin Batkovi”, and “Batko”, we have arrived.
What are you doing? - like the boy. - There are distant threats looming behind the Black Mountains. These shepherds are busy with riches behind the Sinya River, their turns are to graze and cook the evening. Go, Boy, and sleep well.
Pishov Malchish. Sleep. If you can’t sleep well, well, you can’t sleep at all.
He immediately hears the window knocking on the street, and the window knocking. Looking at Malchish-Kibalchish, you can see: it’s worth the top of the window. Kin is crow, shabla is light, papakha is sir, and zirka is red.
Hey, get up! - the top leader shouted. - Trouble came, the spies didn’t check. Having attacked us through Chorni Gory, the curses of the bourgeoisie. I’m starting to whistle again, shells are bursting again. Our corrals fight with the bourgeoisie, and rush to call for help from the distant Red Army.
So the red-eyed leader said these alarming words and rushed off. Father The boy walked up to the wall, taking out the screw, throwing in the bag and putting on the cartridge belt.
Well, like my eldest son, I’m brightly beaming, apparently you’ll have a lot of tidying to do. Well, - like the Boy, - I have lived a cool life, and you, the Boy, may have a chance to live a calm life for me.
Having said so, he kissed the boy and the boys dearly. And a lot of times I was kissing each other, because now everyone can already see and almost see how the vibukhas are humming behind the bows and the dawns are burning behind the mountains in the shadow of the dark fires...”
What am I saying, Alko? - Natka asked, looking around at the quiet boys.
So... so, Natko,” Alka said quietly and placed her hand on her dark shoulder.
- “Well, okay... A day is passing, two days are passing. The boy goes out to the ganok: no... the Red Army is not visible yet. Zalize Khlopchish na dakh. Don't be angry all day long. No, not visible. All night until bedtime. He immediately hears the sound of someone knocking on the street, and finally knocking. Having looked at the Malchish: it costs almost as much as the top. Only thin and tired, only the shawl is bent, dark, only the hat is shot through, the mirror is cut, and the head is tied.
Hey, get up! - the top leader shouted. - There was victory, and now there is trouble all around. There are plenty of bourgeois, but few of us. There are clouds of darkness in the fields, behind the corrals there are thousands of shells. Hey, get up, let's help!
The elder brother stood up and said to the boys:
Goodbye, Boy... You're left alone... Cabbage soup in the cauldron, cow on the table, water in the keys, and your head on your shoulders... Live like you're crazy, and don't worry about me.
A day passes, two passes. Malchish sits, blowing the trumpet on the street, and Malchish sings, as an unknown peak gallops in the distance.
Having galloped the horseman to Malchish, he took off his horse and said:
Give me, kind lad, some water to drink. I haven’t drunk for three days, haven’t slept for three nights, and driven three horses. The Chervona Army learned about our bravery. The trumpeters sounded all the signal pipes. The drummers beat all their drums. All the military ensigns flared up. The entire Red Army rushes and gallops to the rescue. Abi, Boy, we have to dry ourselves off until tomorrow night.
The boy brought tears from Dahu and brought something to drink. The messenger got drunk and galloped away.
The evening came and the boy went to bed. If the boy can’t get enough sleep, what kind of dream is this?
He soon smells kroki on the street, and finally - sherekh. Looking at the boy and saying: it’s worth the same man. That one, but not that one: and the horse is missing - the horse is missing, and the template is missing - the template broke, and the hat is missing - the hat flew away, and he himself stands - he is caught.
Hey, get up! - Screaming and rising. - And the shells, and the arrows are broken. There are no screws, but there are few fighters. And help was close, but she was speechless. Hey, get up, whoever else has lost! There’s no point in us standing around and drying off for a day.
Looking at Malchish-Kibalchish above: the street is empty. The windows do not grunt, the gates do not creak - there is no one to get up. And the fathers went, and the brothers went - no one was left behind.
Just look at the boy who tells you that one old grandfather tells hundreds of people. I want to lift the screw, but it’s so old that I can’t lift it. Although I want to drink the dough, the wine is so weak that I can’t drink it. He then went to the prayer, lowered his head and began to cry.
What am I saying, Alko? - Natka said, trying to catch her breath, and looked around.
It was not only the Zhovtians who heard Alka’s tale. Who knows, when all the pioneer Yoska's lanka came up silently. And tell the Bashkir Emine, who only recently understood the Russian, sat thoughtful and serious. Like the beshket Vladik, who lay far away, even though he did not hear, he truly heard, because he lay quietly, not speaking to anyone, and not bothering anyone.
So, Natko, so... Even better, even so, - Alka said, leaning even closer to her.
- “Well, that’s it... The old grandfather answered the prayer, lowered his head and began to cry.
The boy became sicker. Then Boy-Kibalchish jumped up and loudly shouted:
Hey, you guys, little boys! Why should we, boys, just dance in the club and jump ropes? And the fathers went, and the brothers went. Why should we, cotton boys, sit and wait for the bourgeoisie to come and take us away from their damned bourgeoisie?
How the little boys sensed such words, how they could scream at the top of their voices! Whoever knocks at the door, whoever climbs out of the window, whoever scrapes through the mud.
Everyone wants to go to help. Only one Pogan Boy wants to join the bourgeoisie. Aloha, such a cunning Pogan, that without saying anything to anyone, he pulled up his pants and rushed at once, otherwise to help.
The boys fight from the dark night until the bright dawn. The only one who doesn’t fight is bad, but everyone goes around looking like they can help the bourgeoisie. And it’s bad that there’s a huge pile of boxes lying behind the lid, and black bombs, shells and yellow cartridges are stored in these boxes. “Yeah,” thought Bad, “that’s all I need.”
And at this hour the Head Bourgeois asks his bourgeois:
Well, bourgeois, have you achieved any victories?
No, Head Bourgeois, - the bourgeoisie says, - they defeated our fathers and brothers, and it was our victory that Malchish-Kibalchish rushed to their aid, and we are still not in trouble with them. 
Golovny Burzhuin was very surprised and angry, and shouted in a dirty voice:
Can you buti, so as not to get into the cotton? Oh, you wicked bourgeois cowards! How can you not break up such a mess? Take the lead and don’t turn back without a fight.
The bourgeoisie just sit and think: what can they earn? Ramp up: climb out from behind the bushes of Malchish-Pogash and straight up to them.
Rejoice! - shout to him. - That’s all I, Bad One, have earned. I chopped the wood, I pulled the hay, and I set fire to all the boxes with black bombs, with white shells and yellow cartridges. Then immediately put on makeup!
The bourgeoisie were happy, they enrolled the most famous Bad Boy in their bourgeoisie and gave him a whole barrel of jam and a whole cat of stove.
Sit, Bad Boy, and be happy.
The boxes slammed like crazy! And it thundered so loudly that thousands of thunders struck in one place and thousands of sparkles flashed in one gloom.
Zrada! - Malchish-Kibalchish shouted.
Zrada! - all the faithful boys shouted.
And then, through the smoke and fire, the bourgeois force flew in, descended, and tied up the Boy-Kibalchish.
They wrapped the Boy in an important lancet. They put the lad in a kamyan vezha. And they rushed to ask: what do you want the Bourgeois Bourgeois to do now with the full-fledged Boy?
Golovny Burzhuin thought for a long time, and then came up with an idea and said:
We're in trouble for this guy. Please don’t let us know this whole Vyskova Tamnitsa right away. Go ahead, bourgeois, and drink this:
Why, Boy, did the Forty Kings and the Forty Queens fight with the Army of Reds, fight, fight, and then only fall apart?
Why, Boy, and all the troubles are out, and all the penal servitude is slaughtered, and all the gendarmes are in prison, and all the troops are on their feet, and yet we have no peace either on a bright day or in a dark night?
Why, Boy, curses Kibalchish, and in my High Bourgeoisie, and in the second - the Plain Kingdom, and in the third - the Snow Kingdom, and in the fourth - the Special Power of the same day of early spring and the same day of late Seni na riznyh movami, ale ty Do the songs sing, in different hands, do the same bear ensigns, do the same speak, do the same think, and the same cry?
You ask, bourgeois:
Doesn’t the Red Army have a military secret, Boy? Don't let us tell you the secret.
Why don’t our workers get help from others? And don’t forget to tell me, there are signs of help.
There’s no way, Boy, we’re moving from your land to all the other lands, whichever way you call us, we hum, like you sleep, we spit, what can you say, should we think about this?
The bourgeoisie went, and suddenly they turned back:
No, Chief Bourgeois, without revealing to us the Boy-Kibalchish of the Military Taemnitsa. We laughed at the meeting.
And, - it seems, - there is a powerful secret in the Mitsk Red Army. And you didn’t attack if you didn’t overcome you.
And, - it seems, - and the help is incurable, and no matter how much you leave the relationship, you still don’t pass it on, and you will not have peace neither in the bright day nor in the dark night.
And, it seems, there are deep, dark passages. No matter how much you joke, you won’t find out. And if they knew, then don’t dump it, don’t pawn it, don’t sniffle. And I won’t tell you, the bourgeoisie, anything else, and you, the damned ones, will never guess.
Golovny Burzhuin frowned and said:
Give this secret Boy-Kibalch the most terrible torment, like only one in the world, and absorb the new Military Prison, because we will have no life, no peace without something important Tamnitsa.
The bourgeoisie left, but they didn’t turn back soon. Go and steal heads.
No, it seems, our boss is Golovny Burzhuin. Standing pale, Boy, but proud, and without telling us the Vyskova Tamnitsa, because such a firm word. And when we got there, we sank down onto the cover, putting our ear to the important stone of the cold cover, and, believe me, O Head Bourgeois, we smiled so much that we shuddered, bourgeois, and we became afraid, without feeling the crocue along the hidden passages is our inevitable death?
It’s not because of the secrets… it’s the Chervona Army that’s galloping! - the impatient Karasikov cowtail shouted hoarsely.
And she waved her hand with an obvious sign so belligerently that those same girlish, like just recently, jumping on the same nose, fearlessly teased his “Karasik-rugasik”, looked displeasedly at him and asked about all the incidents.
Here Natka interrupted the conversation, because from afar the signal sounded until lunchtime.
Prove it,” Alka said commandingly, looking angrily at her.
Prove it,” after thoroughly washing Yoska’s red blood. - We’ll get back to you soon.
Natka looked around: no one had risen from the details. She saw a lot of baby heads - white, dark, chestnut, golden-haired. The eyes marveled at her: great, brown, like Alka; Clearly, Voloshkov, like that blue-eyed one who asked for a fairy tale; high school, black, like Emine. And many other eyes - call them cheerful and carefree, and at the same time thoughtful and serious.
Okay, guys, I'll get it.
“...And we became afraid, Head Bourgeois, because we didn’t feel how our inevitable death was creeping along the hidden passages?
What kind of country is this? - Viguknuv todi zdivovany Golovny Burzhuin. - What kind of foolish land is this, in which such little people know the Vyskova Tamnitsa and so carefully trim their firm word? Hurry up, bourgeois, and save this proud lad. Load up the harmonics, take out the templates, open our bourgeois ensigns, for I can feel our signalers blowing loudly and our wavers waving their ensigns. Apparently, we will not have an easy battle, but a hard battle.
And Malchish-Kibalchish died...” said Natka.
With these unsatisfactory words, the denunciation of the Zhovtyanka Karasikova became a rampant, ruinous, and no longer waved his hand. The blue-eyed girl frowned, and the spring people, having denounced Yoska, became angry, and they fooled him or made him look bad. The boys began to spin, whispered, and Alka, who already knew this story, sat quietly.
- “Ale... why were you guys throwing up a storm? So, like thunder, the battle wars were darkened. So, like flashes, the flames of the vibukha were shining. Just like the wind, the horse pens escaped, and just like the gloom, the red ensigns were washed away. The Red Army was advancing.
And why were you angry in the dry and speculative summer? Just like the streams running from the powdered mountains were angry in the turbulent, frothy streams, so at the first rumble of the war, an uprising began in the Georgian Bourgeoisie, and thousands of angry voices arose from of the Kingdom of the Snow, and of the Species. .
And in fear of defeat, the Head Bourgeois, loudly cursed this land with its marvelous people, with its insurmountable army and with its unsolved Military Crime.
And Malchisha-Kibalchisha was greeted on the green hillock of the Blue River. I placed a great red ensign over the grave.
Steam melts - hello guys!
The little boys are flying by - hello to the Boy!
Passing steam locomotives - hello cotton!
And the passage of the pioneers is a salute to Malchish!
Ax to you, boys, and the whole story.
Boy-kibalchish
The hero of the tale by A. Gaidar (A.P. Golikova), who is included in the story “Vyskov’s Prison” (1935). First, the kazka is over-armed at the beginning of 1933. at the newspaper “Pioneer-. such is the truth" under the title "A Tale about the Viysk Boy-Kibalchisha and her firm word." Gaidar writes an epic story about a little guy - M.-K., a man with the soul of a good commander, faithful to his ideals and heroically steadfast in his service. We must place this marvelous tale, in the words of the writer, in the context of the story about children living at a pioneer camp on the birch of the warm sea. At the center of the story there is a baby Alka, who in his essence is the name of M.-K. A tale about M.-K. - tse "Alkina Kazka". This is what the girl Natka recognizes from a number of pioneers, interrupting her confession hour after hour: “That’s right, Alko, why am I confessing like that?” And Alka immediately echoed her: “Yes, Natko, so.” Gaidar calls the story “The Military Dungeon” and he himself knows that there is no such thing as a prison. This is a tale about the sacrificial feat of war-on-the-Boy and a story about a little boy with a pure and courageous heart, the sacrifice of whose share is inevitable for the author. There is a secret place in it that the reader himself may reveal. The image of the boy Alka was conceived by Gaidar as heroic. The imminent death of the child at the hands of a bandit is considered by the author to be the beginning of the work on the story: “It’s easy for me to write this warm and good story. But no one knows how bad Alko is. I am so sorry that the young woman has a book of gynes. And I can’t change anything” (Shchodennik, 12th September 1932). Gaidar’s artistic strength lies primarily in what S.Ya.Marshak described as “warmth and faithfulness of tone, which the reader praises more strongly for any artistic images.” Zagiblogo M.-K. “They were buried on the green hillside of the Blue River. I placed a great red ensign over the grave. In the story, Alka was buried on a high hill above the sea and a great red ensign was placed over his grave. Kaza has an anti-hero: The Bad Boy is a fearsome man and a prisoner, thank God M.-K. Gaidar’s story was engaged in “defense” plans, which led to the romanticization of the Red Army. However, it is obvious that the standard social scheme is constantly being corrupted and the pathos of the tale rises to epic levels that interpret the eternal theme of the struggle between good and evil. Already at the beginning of the real school, Gaidar burst into readings of “Kalevali” and took the theme of his work as “alegory”. Gaidar’s allegorical and powerful dreams, which the Kazki creator writes down from his friend at the rivers. Kastya has the image of a leader who, having galloped three times, raises the first warriors, then the elderly, to battle the enemy. I, let’s find out, if no one is missing, M.-K. He takes his little boy to battle. This three times the top can often lead to apocalyptic associations. The story ends with the praises of M.-K., since the trains that pass, the steamboats that spill, and the planes that fly by salute the eternal memory of him. (Lit. Heroes)
Literary encyclopedia. 2012
What is Malchish-Kibalchish? What kind of hangover, sorry? And you read the caption in French on the police photograph.
“Kibalchish”, they themselves wrote that way and took his nickname in French, that is. that is, as he himself thought and wrote, Viktor Lvovich Kibalchich (1890 - 1947), also known as Viktor Serge, elder friend and political mentor of Arkady Gaidar.
Viktor Kibalchich was born in Brussels to a family of revolutionary emigrants from Russia. Father Lev Kibalchich was a non-commissioned officer of the Russian Horse Guards and a participant in the military organization of the People's Will. His distant relative was the revolutionary and winemaker M.I. Kibalchich. Victor’s fathers “wandered between London, Paris, Switzerland and Belgium in search of daily bread and good libraries.”
Popular hatred in the Russian Federation for the defeat of Arkady Gaidar in our hour has prompted active and inquisitive delving into the punitive exploits of his ancestor during the rocks of the great war, as a result of which the rich have formed such a logical picture of the Adams family... sorry... well, it’s crazy in any case. However, life is more complicated. One on the right is because you served as Chikatil / Himmler from childhood to death, the other - when you were fooled and tied up with blood, and then it began to dawn on you. Even though Arkady Gaidar was godless, the executioners came steadily until the next day. And those who are not afraid to deprive one of their texts - which all really teach children about the ideal, “correct” revolution - are one of the main, and most effective, enemies of Stalin Izmu, stop such an encrypted look - even about The character of the author and the understanding of it are superfluous. We, the future readers, would like to tell something about ourselves - this is like a leaf from a sunken ship in a clogged dance.
So axis, Viktor Serge (Kibalchich). He was a genius, although he was always kind. Ale mi, without even noticing, lives in the paradigm they formed.
This is where we discovered the word “totalitarianism” and expanded on the whole concept. Before the war. On the butt of the Stalinist USSR. Then they were further questioned; The context of Hitler's Nazism was already given to the ready-made people.
For centuries, French has had a special meaning for the word Résistance and the whole concept. The French Opera has a ready-made (from French culture) context. And so, from the beginning the concept was placed as a support for Stalinism.
I don’t remember any other cases, if international solidarity ensured that people were already arrested under the Stalinist regime. His relatives, of course, were in trouble, but he and his friends and children were dragged into trouble.
A more correct understanding of what the shooting down of the Kronstadt uprising meant for the Russian revolution is, of course, the first to explain the historical significance. Trotsky didn’t really love him at all (Natalia Sedova, after the man’s death, reconciled with him, because Serge emerged as the first fundamental follower of Trotsky - Deutscher later).
I will be the first to explain Stalin’s processes objectively and with advanced knowledge; This became basic, without looking at the material of any course in the history of the Radian period.
I think that I still don’t know everything, but everything was already under control (Spain, for example - even if I tried to explain to the POUM that Stalin was working there). There was one speech that I especially liked from his biography. How do you respect why Danilo Kharms was so stuck up, not at all provincial. He also became a figure of secular literature, having gained time in advance of the current level of European modernism. You read, let’s say, Zoshchenka, Danila Andreeva – they are simply sicker, smarter people, like walking a bicycle. Having known the stars of Kharms on such a living level? Get that axis out. This is well known to Victor Serge, who was an active participant in the literary process in Europe (after all, when the Nazis came, Serge’s family sailed on the same philosophical ship from Marseilles that Andre Breton i Claude Lévi-Strauss) .
The axis is like Kibalchish, yes.
