Clean door by Yuri Koval and illustrations by Galina Makaveeva. Yuri Koval. Chisty Dor - BiblioGuide Yu Koval Chisty Dor read in full

Koval Yuri Iosifovich

Clean Dor (Stories)

Yuri Iosifovich Koval

Clean Dor

Stories

For senior preschool and primary school age.

Along the forest road

Clean Dor

Spring evening

purple bird

Under the pines

Near the war

Birch pie

Zhelezyaka

Potato meaning

Cap with crucian carp

Bunkin's horns

Water with eyes closed

In black

Snowdrops

Last page

ON THE FOREST ROAD

The sun had been hot for weeks.

The forest road was dry and white with dust.

In the ruts where deep puddles once stood, the earth burst, and cracks covered it with a thick network. There, in the ruts, small, dry frogs were jumping.

From a distance I saw a white handkerchief flashing among the raspberry bushes in a roadside ditch. The little old lady was looking for something in the grass.

Have you lost a needle? - I joked as I approached.

An axe, father. Yesterday I hid it, but forgot under which bush.

I rummaged through the raspberries. Dust fell from brown, shaggy stems and limp leaves. The ax flashed in the shadows under the bushes, like a deep fish.

Here he is! - the old lady was happy. - And I’m thinking: wasn’t it the forester who took it away?

What woodsman?

And in the forest who lives. It's kind of scary - bull's eyesores.

The beard is blue,” the old woman confirmed, “and there are spots on it.”

Did you see the forester?

I saw it, father, I saw it. He comes to our store to buy sugar.

Where does he get the money from?

“He does it himself,” the old woman answered and walked out of the way. Her scarf immediately disappeared in the tall grass and fluttered out only under the fir trees.

Despite the sunny day, it was dark under the trees. Somewhere in this darkness, away from the road, there is probably a woodsman sitting.

Suddenly the forest ended, and I saw a large field, like a round lake. In the very center of it, like an island, stood a village.

Blue oily waves wandered across the field. It was flax that was blooming. The high sky dome rested on the forest tops that surrounded the field on all sides.

I looked at the village and didn’t know what it was called, and, of course, I didn’t think that I would live here, that I would again see the old woman in a white headscarf and even the forester.

CLEAN DOOR

The forest road went through the field - it became a field road. I reached the village and turned into a village street.

On the sides stood tall and strong houses. Their roofs were covered with aspen chips. On some houses the wood chips became gray from the wind and time, but on others they were new and golden under the sun.

While I was walking to the crane-well, people were looking at me through all the windows: what kind of person is this?

I stumbled and thought they would laugh at the windows, but everyone remained stern behind the glass.

Having drunk, I sat down on a log by the well.

A window opened in the house opposite. Some woman looked at me and said inside the room:

He got drunk and sits.

And the window closed again.

Two ganders came up and wanted to guffaw, but didn’t dare: what kind of stranger is this?

Suddenly on the road I saw an old woman, the same one who was looking for an ax in the forest. Now she was dragging a long birch pole.

Let me help you.

Did you find the ax for me?

And I was thinking: was it the forester who took it away?

I took the pole and dragged it after the old woman.

A window opened in a five-window house, and a furry head poked out from behind a pot of lemon.

Pantelevna,” said the head, “whose guy is this?”

Mine,” Pantelevna answered. - He found an axe.

We walked a little further. All the people we met were surprised: who is Pantelevna going with?

Some woman shouted from the garden:

Isn’t this your nephew from Olyushin?

Nephew! - Pantelevna shouted back. - He found an ax for me.

Then I was very surprised that I had become a nephew, but I didn’t show it and silently kept up with Pantelevna.

Another woman met with a girl in her arms.

Who's carrying the birch? - she asked.

“My nephew,” answered Pantelevna. “He found the axe, but I thought: was it the forester who took it away?”

So, while we were walking through the village, Pantelevna told everyone that I was her nephew and talked about the ax.

And now he’s bringing me a birch tree!

Why is he silent? - someone asked.

How am I so silent? - I said. - I'm her nephew. She lost the ax and wonders if the forester took it away, and it was lying in the raspberries. And I'm her nephew.

Come here, father nephew. This is our house.

When a line of soldiers lines up, the tallest and bravest are in front, and at the end there is always a little soldier. So Pantelevna’s house stood at the end and was the smallest, with three windows. They say about such houses that they are propped up with a pie and covered with a pancake.

I threw the birch tree on the ground and sat down on a bench in front of the house.

What is the name of your village? - I asked.

Clean Dor.

Why Clean?

Dor... I've never heard such a word before.

What is this - Clean Dor?

This, father, is our village,” Pantelevna explained.

I see, I see. What is dor?

And dor - that’s all he is, dor. Everything around the village is the road.

I looked and saw a field around the village, and beyond the field there was a forest.

What kind of road is this? This is a field, not a road at all.

This is the road. All clean, look. It’s all pine, and even where the fir trees are, it’s all forest.

So I realized that a dor is a field, but not just a simple field, but in the middle of a forest. There used to be a forest here, too, but then the trees were cut down and the stumps were pulled out. They tugged and tugged - it turned out good.

Well, okay,” I said, “Dor is so dear, but I need to go further.”

Where are you going, father nephew? Here I will put the samovar.

Well, I waited for the samovar. And then evening approached, and I stayed overnight.

Where are you going? - Pantelevna said the next morning. - Live here. There is enough space in the hut.

I thought and thought, sent a telegram to the right place and stayed with Pantelevna. I don’t know how it happened, but I only lived with her not for a day or a month, but for a whole year.

He lived and wrote his book. Not this one, but another one.

This is my niche in Moscow.

I look out the window at the cloudy fire tower and remember Chisty Dor.

By the way, Uncle Zui lived in an old bathhouse near the bend of the Yalma River.

CLEAN DOOR

The forest road went through the field - it became a field road. I reached the village and turned into a village street.

On the sides stood tall and strong houses. Their roofs were covered with aspen chips. On some houses the wood chips became gray from the wind and time, but on others they were new and golden under the sun.

While I was walking to the crane-well, people were looking at me through all the windows: what kind of person is this?

I stumbled and thought they would laugh at the windows, but everyone remained stern behind the glass.

Having drunk, I sat down on a log by the well.

A window opened in the house opposite. Some woman looked at me and said inside the room:

- He got drunk and sits.

And the window closed again.

Two ganders came up and wanted to guffaw, but didn’t dare: what kind of stranger is this?

Suddenly on the road I saw an old woman, the same one who was looking for an ax in the forest. Now she was dragging a long birch pole.

- Let me help you.

“Did you find the ax for me?”

“And I was thinking: was it the forester who took it away?”

I took the pole and dragged it after the old woman.

A window opened in a five-window house, and a furry head poked out from behind a pot of lemon.

“Pantelevna,” said the head, “whose guy is this?”

“Mine,” answered Pantelevna. - He found the axe.

We walked a little further. All the people we met were surprised: who is Pantelevna going with?

Some woman shouted from the garden:

- Isn’t this your nephew from Olyushin?

- Nephew! – Pantelevna shouted back. - He found me an axe.

Then I was very surprised that I had become a nephew, but I didn’t show it and silently kept up with Pantelevna.

Another woman met with a girl in her arms.

- Who is carrying the birch? – she asked.

“My nephew,” answered Pantelevna. “He found the axe, and I thought: was it the forester who took it away?”

So, while we were walking through the village, Pantelevna told everyone that I was her nephew and talked about the ax.

- And now he’s bringing me a birch tree!

- Why is he silent? - someone asked.

- How am I so silent? - I said. - I'm her nephew. She lost the ax and wonders if the forester took it away, and it was lying in the raspberries. And I'm her nephew.

- Come here, father nephew. This is our house.

When a line of soldiers lines up, the tallest and bravest are in front, and at the end there is always a little soldier. So Pantelevna’s house stood at the end and was the smallest, with three windows. They say about such houses that they are propped up with a pie and covered with a pancake.

I threw the birch tree on the ground and sat down on a bench in front of the house.

– What is the name of your village? – I asked.

- Clean Dor.

- What about Clean?

Dor... I've never heard such a word before.

– What is this – Clean Dor?

“This, father, is our village,” Pantelevna explained.

- I see, I see. What is dor?

- And dor - that’s all he is, dor. Everything around the village is the road.

I looked and saw a field around the village, and beyond the field there was a forest.

- What kind of road is this? This is a field, not a road at all.

- This is the road. All clean, look. It’s all pine, and where the fir trees are, it’s all forest.

That’s how I realized that a dor is a field, but not just a simple field, but in the middle of a forest. There used to be a forest here, too, but then the trees were cut down and the stumps were pulled out. They tugged and tugged - it turned out good.

“Okay,” I said, “Dor is so dear, but I need to go further.”

-Where are you going, father nephew? Here I will put the samovar.

Well, I waited for the samovar. And then evening approached, and I stayed overnight.

-Where are you going? - Pantelevna said the next morning. - Live here. There is enough space in the hut.

I thought and thought, sent a telegram to the right place and stayed with Pantelevna. I don’t know how it happened, but I only lived with her not for a day or a month, but for a whole year.

He lived and wrote his book. Not this one, but another one.

I am writing this one in Moscow.

I look out the window at the cloudy fire tower and remember Chisty Dor.

I reached the village and turned into a village street.
On the sides stood tall and strong houses. Their roofs were covered with aspen chips. On some houses the wood chips became gray from the wind and time, but on others they were new and golden under the sun.
While I was walking to the crane-well, people were looking at me through all the windows: what kind of person is this?
I stumbled and thought they would laugh at the windows, but everyone remained stern behind the glass.
Having drunk, I sat down on a log by the well.
A window opened in the house opposite. Some woman looked at me and said inside the room:
- He got drunk and sits.
And the window closed again.
Two ganders came up and wanted to guffaw, but didn’t dare: what kind of stranger is this?
Suddenly on the road I saw an old woman, the same one who was looking for an ax in the forest. Now she was dragging a long birch pole.
- Let me help you.
- Did you find the ax for me?
- I.
- And I was thinking: was it the forester who took it away?
I took the pole and dragged it after the old woman.
A window opened in a five-window house, and a furry head poked out from behind a pot of lemon.
“Pantelevna,” said the head, “whose guy is this?”
“Mine,” answered Pantelevna. - He found an axe.
We walked a little further. All the people we met were surprised: who is Pantelevna going with?
Some woman shouted from the garden:
- Isn’t this your nephew from Olyushin?
- Nephew! - Pantelevna shouted back. - He found an ax for me.
Then I was very surprised that I had become a nephew, but I didn’t show it and silently kept up with Pantelevna.

Another woman met with a girl in her arms.
- Who is carrying the birch? - she asked.
“My nephew,” answered Pantelevna. “He found the axe, but I thought: was it the forester who took it away?”
So, while we were walking through the village, Paptelevna told everyone that I was her nephew and talked about the ax.
- And now he’s bringing me a birch tree!
- Why is he silent? - someone asked.
- How am I so silent? - I said. - I'm her nephew. She lost the ax and wonders if the forester took it away, and it was lying in the raspberries. And I'm her nephew.
- Come here, father nephew. This is our house.
When a line of soldiers lines up, the tallest and bravest are in front, and at the end there is always a little soldier. So Pantelevna’s house stood at the end and was the smallest, with three windows. They say about such houses that they are propped up with a pie and covered with a pancake.
I threw the birch tree on the ground and sat down on a bench in front of the house.
- What is the name of your village? - I asked.
- Clean Dor.
- What about Clean?
- Dor.
Dor... I've never heard such a word before.
- What is this - Clean Dor?
“This, father, is our village,” Pantelevna explained.
- I see, I see. What is "dor"?
- And dor - that’s all he is, dor. Everything around the village is the road.
I looked and saw a field around the village, and beyond the field there was a forest.
- What kind of road is this? This is a field, not a road at all.
- This is the road. All clean, look. It’s all pine, and even where the fir trees are, it’s all forest.
So I realized that a dor is a field, but not just a simple field, but in the middle of a forest. There used to be a forest here, too, but then the trees were cut down and the stumps were pulled out. They tugged and tugged - it turned out good.
“Okay,” I said, “Dor is so dear, but I need to go further.”
-Where are you going, father nephew? Here I will put the samovar.
Well, I waited for the samovar. And then evening approached, and I stayed overnight.
-Where are you going? - Pantelevna said the next morning. - Live here. There is enough space in the hut.
I thought and thought, sent a telegram to the right place and stayed with Pantelevna. I don’t know how it happened, but I only lived with her not for a day or a month, but for a whole year.
He lived and wrote his book. Not this one, but another one.
I am writing this one in Moscow. I look out the window at the cloudy fire tower and remember Chisty Dor.

YURIY KOVAL
CLEAN DOOR
Chapters from the book
Read by Mikhail Kozakov
Sound engineer L. Belova
Editor E. Lozinskaya

“Nyurka Dyazueva was six years old. She was six years old for a long time. The whole year. And just in August Nyurka turned seven years old,” begins Yuri Koval’s story “Nyurka.”
Seven years is a holiday. A person goes to school for the first time. And everyone wants to please the little person, give him something good, do something special for him, say the best, warmest words. This record will tell you about what unusual gifts Nyurka received on her birthday and how she became a first-grader. This probably happens to everyone: you listen to a story, and you remember something of your own, something you experienced, something similar. One day I happened to find a little wolf cub in the forest. He was so bad that he allowed himself to be taken over. I brought him home and began to treat him. And the news spread throughout the village that I had a wolf cub. The kids immediately flocked to my house. The wolf cub lay bandaged and did not raise his head. The guys crowded at the door, feeling sorry for the wolf cub. The owner of the hut where I stayed was very unhappy and grumbled because a wolf had killed her sheep in winter. The owner said that the wolf cub must be killed, because it is a predator, and predators must be killed. And in the story by Yu. Koval “The Shot” (he reminded me of the incident with the wolf cub) it is said about how the boy Vitya killed a hawk and how Nyura, who loved all living things, and he himself, Vitka, pitied the bird. Yuri Koval writes about nature, about animals and about people. Various people in his books “Clean Door”, “Leafbreaker”. But the writer talks about each person in a lively and interesting way, and in each one he notices something characteristic. Even his animals are special. And he comes up with interesting nicknames for them. The dog is called Potato Dog because he eats raw potatoes. And he nicknamed the handsome crossbill Captain Klyukvin for his commanding disposition, strong beak and red plumage. A strong horse with steep sides is called Cherry. Yuri Koval entered literature as a children's poet. He wrote funny comic poems. For example, about how Uncle Semyon got rid of mice. I cut the boot into small pieces, caught the mice, glued wings on them - the mice became bats and flew away.
Semyon said,
Looking after them:
"I had a boot,
And now he's gone.
For the right thing
Don't feel sorry for the boot
It's a pity that the shoes
Bye
Road".
There is also a lot of humor in Yuri Koval's prose. But humor is not the main thing here. Each story leaves in the reader a bright feeling from meeting our nature, with good people living on Russian soil. The book from which these stories are taken is called “Clean Dor” - after the name of the village where Nyurka and her friends live.
In everyday life events, the author finds a “greenhouse”, and this “greenhouse” remains in the reader’s heart. In his work, Yuri Koval follows the traditions of Russian children's literature. Writes briefly, concisely and truthfully.
V. Kazarnovsky