The composition of the exam. Defense of honor. According to V. Aksenov - Essays, Abstracts, Reports. We studied with him in the same class We studied with him in the same

Text essay:

V.P. Aksenov discusses the issue of honor in his text.
It is undoubtedly relevant, since there are still people who defend their rights and interests, defend themselves, their families and their honor. The author reveals this question, telling us about the times of the Great Patriotic War. During these years, despite hunger, devastation, fear, schools continued to operate, the main task of which was not so much to teach children school subjects, but to feed the unfortunate students. V.P. Aksenov very clearly shows the attitude of children to buns: "This wonderful dish is floating to us from the bowels of the school." Small buns have become objects of great joy for children. They became for them what made them freeze, hold their breath with delight. But the hero-narrator did not manage to carry the buns home. They were always taken away and he was left without food.
Vasily Aksenov tells us about a small, frail boy, a fourth grade student. About how a guy in patched pants overcame his fear and rebuffed his offenders, making it clear that he would not give up just like that anymore. With the words about how the boy's aunt "drowns Hitler in soapy water" the author shows us the state of people living at that time.
Despite the fact that the position of the author is not clearly stated, we understand that the author wanted to convey to us the idea that one must always fight desperately and fearlessly for oneself and one's family, for honor and dignity, without letting go.
I, no doubt, agree with V.P. Aksenov, and hold the same opinion on the problem of protecting honor. I think there are moments in everyone's life when you can't give in to your fears. Fear of confronting them can worsen the further course of life, so the main thing is not to be afraid of the consequences and boldly defend your honor.
I see confirmation of this idea in the work of the great Russian writer A.S. Pushkin "The Captain's Daughter", where Pyotr Grinev, a hero with high moral qualities, defended his honor despite fear and risk. This man deserves respect. Fearing nothing, he challenged Shvabrin to a duel for slandering Masha.
Speaking of honor, I want to cite as an example an argument from the life of Baron Benjamin Guggenheim, a man with a capital letter. He was one of the passengers on the Titanic. During the collision of the ship with the iceberg, he put Moda Obar and her maid in the boat, promising that there was nothing to worry about and they would see each other soon, but realizing that it would not be possible to escape, he accepted death with dignity, giving way to women in the boat.
Honor at all times has been the most worthy trait of character, it has been the most striking sign of a kind and morally educated person. That's why it's so important to keep it.

Text by Vasily Aksenov

(1) We studied with Him in the same class during the war in a distant, overpopulated, yellow, dirty Volga city overgrown with dirty ice. (2) He was a third year student, I caught up with him in the fourth grade in 43. (3) I was then frail, walking around in a quilted jacket, huge boots and dark blue trousers, which were given to me by order from American gifts. (4) The pants were hard, made of damn leather, but by that time I had already worn them out and on my backside I had two patches, round like glasses, made of another matter. (5) Nevertheless, I continued to be proud of my pants - then they were not ashamed of patches. (6) In addition, I was proud of the trophy fountain pen that my sister sent me from the active army. (7) However, I was not proud of the fountain pen for long. (8) He took it from me. (9) He took from me - everything that was of interest to him. (10) And not only for me, but for the whole class. (11) He had two comrades - the humpbacked boy Leka and the thin, pale, hot-eyed Cossack.
(12) At school, we were given breakfast every day - sticky buns made from pecked flour. (13) The headman carried them upstairs in a large dish, and we stood on the upper platform and watched how this wonderful dish was sailing towards us from the cold bowels of the school, from the woeful depths.
(14) They met me every day around the corner of the school.
(15) - Come on, - He said, and I handed him my bun, on which there were dents from my fingers.
(16) - Come on, - He said to the next one, and Leka and Cossack worked next to him.
(17) I came home and waited for my little sister. (18) Then we waited for the aunt together. (19) The aunt returned from the market and brought a loaf of bread and potatoes. (20) Sometimes she brought nothing.
(21) Once she told me: - Nina brings breakfast, but you don't. (22) Rustam brings breakfast and all the guys from that yard, and you eat it yourself.
(23) An event took place the next day. (24) The buns were smeared with a thin layer of bacon and sprinkled with egg powder. (25) I tore out a piece of paper from a notebook, wrapped a bun in it and put it in my bag. (26) Around the corner, trembling with courage, I grabbed Him by the button and hit Him. (27) A few seconds later I was lying in the snow, the Cossack sat astride me, and Leka shoved my own breakfast into my mouth.
(28) The next day, when the lesson ended, I put the notebooks in my bag and looked back at Kamchatka. (29) Cossack, Leka and He sat together on the same desk and smiled, looking at me. (30) From my face, they apparently understood that I would again defend my breakfast ... (31) I still don’t know if it was a defeat or a victory. (32) Sometimes they, Kazak, Leka and he, stopped me and took away breakfast, and I didn’t resist, and sometimes for some reason they didn’t touch me, and I carried my bun home, and in the evening we drank tea, eating viscous slices of baked test ... (33) Of course, we could unite and jointly “buy them”, but the school code said that you can only fight one on one and to the first blood. (34) Due to our boyish logic, we did not understand how it was possible to beat someone who was weaker, or three of us to beat one, or the whole class to beat three. (35) That's the whole point: they fought for food without adhering to the code. (36) And also in the fact that they did not defend, but selected. (37) They were older than us.

A touching story by Vasily Aksenov about our delusions and children's joys and sorrows. There are two tenses in the story "Breakfasts of 1943":

pre-war, when children still went to school and got breakfast every day;
post-war, when there were already restaurant cars on the trains and you could order barbecue and cognac there ...

- Yes, yes, there is such a theory, or rather, a hypothesis. It is assumed that the satellites of Mars - Phobos and Deimos are somewhat slowed down by the atmosphere of this planet. Therefore, they are hollow inside, you understand? And hollow bodies, as you know, can only be created ... how?

“Only, only…” the first lady stammered like a schoolgirl.

- Only by artificial means.

- My God! exclaimed the more quick-witted second lady.

Yes, artificial. It means that they are made by some intelligent beings.

I looked at the man who said such interesting things, and painfully tried to remember where I had seen him before. He was sitting across from me in the compartment, swinging his elegantly outstretched leg. He was dressed in a blue suit, rather fashionable, but not outrageously fashionable, in a spotless white shirt and tie to match the suit. Everything in him showed a man who did not sink, and was not going to sink, besides, he was not so many years old - a maximum of 35. Some swelling of his cheeks made his face simple and sweet. All this did not give me the slightest possibility to assume that I had met him somewhere before. And only the fact that he sometimes twisted his lips in a strangely familiar way, and at times the distant and familiar intonations flickering in his speech made me look at him.

- The latest finds in the Sahara and Mesopotamia allow us to think that aliens from outer space visited Earth in ancient times.

“Maybe those same Martians?” The ladies gasped in unison.

“That possibility is not ruled out,” he said, smiling. “It is possible that we are direct descendants of the Martians,” he finished cheerfully and, leaving the ladies in a confused state, took up the newspapers.

He had a thick stack of newspapers, many titles. He looked through them one by one and, having looked through them, put them on the table, pressing down with his elbow.

Red pines and young undergrowth rushed past the window, bright sunny glades flashed by. The forest was warm and calm. I imagined how I was walking through this forest, parting the bushes and getting tangled in the ferns, and an invisible forest web fell on my face, and I went out into a hot clearing, and the squirrels looked at me from all sides, inspiring kind, stupid thoughts.

All this for some reason most decidedly contradicted what connected me with this man who had taken refuge behind a newspaper.

“Let me see,” I asked, and lightly yanked the newspaper from him. He shuddered and looked out from behind the newspaper, and then I immediately remembered him.

We studied with Him in the same class during the war in a distant overpopulated city of the Volga, overgrown with yellow dirty ice. He was a third-year student, I caught up with Him in the fourth grade in the 43rd year. I was then frail, walking around in a quilted jacket, huge boots and dark blue trousers, which were allocated to me by order from American gifts. The trousers were hard, damn leather, but by then I had already worn them out, and on my backside I had two round patches made of a different material, like glasses. Nevertheless, I continued to be proud of my pants - then they were not ashamed of patches. In addition, I was proud of the trophy fountain pen that my sister sent me from the active army. However, I did not take long to be proud of a fountain pen. He took her from me. He took everything from me - everything that was of interest to Him. And not only for me, but for the whole class. I also remembered two of His comrades - the hunchbacked boy Leka and the thin, pale, with hot eyes Cossack. In the evenings near the Elektro cinema they sold cigarettes to the wounded and some surprisingly large, huge women. I was friends with Abka Tsiperson, and we often went to the cinema with him - we climbed through the coal pit and sat on the balcony near the control room. My God, George from Dinky Jazz, and Antosha Rybkin, and miserable, misguided Hitler, whom you only approach, give him a gap between the horn - and the spirit is out of him. But the real Hitler was not like that, we knew this and, sitting in the dark near the control room, came up with the execution of the real one. Put him in a cage and take him around all the cities so that people spit and throw cigarette butts. No, it's better to dip it into molten lead, but there is also a good execution in China called "Thousand Pieces".

When we left the cinema, we constantly bumped into them. They jumped from foot to foot and shouted:

- Hey, flyers, there are cigarettes!

Abka and I tried to get around them, to hide in the shade, but they did not notice us. In the evening they did not recognize us, as if we were not in the same class with them, as if they did not take away our school breakfasts from us every day.

At school, we were given breakfast every day - sticky buns made from pecked flour. The headman carried them upstairs in a large dish, and we stood on the upper platform and watched how this wonderful dish was sailing towards us from the cold bowels of the school, from the woeful depths.

– Is it an interesting event? I told Him and showed him the place in the newspaper where the event was said.

He looked in, smiled and began to tell me the details of this event. I nodded and looked out the window. It was difficult for me to look into His blue eyes, because they met me every day around the corner of the school.

“Come on,” He said, and I handed Him my bun, on which there were dents from my fingers.

“Come on,” He said to the next one, and Lyoka and Cossack worked next to him.

I came home and waited for my little sister. Then we waited for my aunt together. Aunt was returning from the market and brought a loaf of bread and potatoes. Sometimes she didn't bring anything. My aunt fought for my sister and me with submissive, habitual fury. Every morning, getting ready for school, I saw how she passes under the windows, broad-shouldered and short, her nose is bulbous, and her thin lips are compressed.

One day she said to me:

Nina brings breakfast, but you don't. Rustam brings all the guys from that yard, and you eat it yourself.

I went out into the yard and sat down on a broken iron bed near the terrace. Rooks circled above the lamps in the darkening gray sky. Military girls were walking behind the fence. And while the boy was visible behind the mists, the light on the girl's window was still burning. What do rooks eat? Insects, worms, air? They are good. Or maybe they also have someone who takes everything for himself? The weather vane above our house creaked sharply. Dive-bombers were flying low over the city. What will happen to me? My aunt washed all night. Water flowed behind the screen, splashed, gurgled. The pools darkened, the waterfalls thundered. Hitler, in funny striped shorts, choked in soapy foam, his aunt crushed him with her knotted hands.

An event happened the next day. The buns were smeared with a thin layer of lard and sprinkled with egg powder. I tore a piece of paper out of my notebook, wrapped the bun in it and put it in my bag. Around the corner, shaking with courage, I grabbed His button and hit Him. Abka Ziperson did the same and some of the guys did the same. A few seconds later I was lying in the snow, the Cossack was sitting on top of me, and Lyoka was shoving my own breakfast into my mouth.

- On, dare, bite!

"That's the whole point of the story," He said. “I know this because a close friend of mine had something to do with it. And in the newspapers there is only bare information, the details of the event often slip away, this is natural.

“Understood,” I said, and thanked Him, “Thank you.

Nearby ladies chirped sweetly. They treated each other with cherries and talked about the fact that these are not cherries, that they are cherries in the south, and it suddenly turned out that both of them come from Lvov, my God, and seemed to live on the same street and, it seems, studied in the same school, and there were so many coincidences that the ladies eventually merged into one huge whole.

The next day, when the last lesson ended, I put my notebooks in my bag and looked back at Kamchatka. Cossack, Lyoka and He sat together on the same desk and smiled, looking at me. From my face, they must have understood that I would again defend my breakfast. They got up and left. I deliberately sat at my desk for a long time, waiting for everyone to leave. I didn't want to involve Abka and the other guys in this pointless business again. When everyone had gone, I checked my slingshot and emptied my supply of pewter bullets from my bag into my pocket. If they again stand around the corner, I will fire three charges at them and will surely hit everyone in the face, and then, like Antosha Rybkin, with a clear and easy move, I will grab one of them by the leg, maybe Leka or Kazak, but better than Him, and roll over on my back. Well, then come what may. Let them beat me, I will do it every day.

I slowly descended the stairs, turning over the pewter bullets in my pocket. Someone jumped on top of my back, and He grew up in front of me. He grabbed my face with his fingers and squeezed. From below, someone pulled me by the legs. There was a slight scornful laugh. The work went fast. They pulled off my boots and unwound everything I had wrapped around my feet. Then they hung all this foul-smelling rags on the stairs and began to descend.

- Hold your boots, brave! - He shouted, and my boots, funny tumbling, flew up. Laughing merrily, the gang departed. They forgot to take my breakfast.

“Let me invite you to dine with me in the dining car,” I said to Him.

He put down the paper and smiled.

“I just wanted to do this to you,” He said. - You got ahead of me. Let me invite you.

- No no! I cried out in great excitement. - As they say in childhood, chur-chura. Do you understand me?

“Yes, I understand,” He said, looking into my eyes attentively…

I cried. I collected my rags, items of my aunt's care, and wept. I felt that now I was completely broken and would not soon be able to straighten up, and that many more years would pass before I could forget this slight contemptuous laughter and the fingers squeezing my face. The bell rang and the thump of many feet rang out, and an avalanche of high school students hooted down the stairs past me.

I went out into the street and crossed it, climbed between the iron bars and walked through the old neglected park, along the alley, at the end of which a gang of high school students was rushing. I slowly followed in their footsteps, I wanted to see how they play football.

There, near the summer reading room half-torn into firewood, our school trampled down a playground. The high school students, breaking into two bands, rushed along it here and there.

Each offensive was invincible, in whatever direction it was led, it was swift and wild, with inevitable losses and with a victorious howl. Waves of sweat were running in and out, and I was sitting at the edge of the field and big strong legs, felt boots, boots were rushing over me, and, as if wanting to instill in me confidence in their abilities, they fought for their right to own the ball more and more, all fiercer, they, high school students.

Falling waist-deep into deep snow, I gave them balls that flew into the park ...

I still don't know if it was a defeat or a victory. Sometimes they, Kazak, Lyoka and On, stopped me and took away breakfast, and I didn’t resist, and sometimes for some reason they didn’t touch me, and I carried my bun home, and in the evening we drank tea, snacking on sticky slices of baked dough ...

We walked along the carriage corridors, and I opened the doors for Him and let Him go ahead, and when He walked in front, He opened the doors for me and let me go ahead. I was lucky, I opened the door to the restaurant.

Somehow they found out that Abka Tsiperson's mother works in a hospital.

“Listen, the Old Lady-slowly-crossed the path, you should have brought glucose from your mother,” they told him.

Abka shied away for a while, and then, when they "painted" his briefcase to shreds, he brought them several ampoules. They liked glucose - it was sweet and nutritious. Since then, they began to call Abka not as before, but Glucose.

“Hey, Glucose,” they said, “come here!”

I don’t know what Abka suffered more from, whether he had to steal, or because he was called so contagious and shameful.

One way or another, but one day I saw that he was fighting with them. I rushed to him and both of us were severely beaten. Each of this trio was stronger than any of our class. They were three years older than us.

Of course, we could unite and “sell” them together, but the school code said that you can only fight one on one and to the first blood. By virtue of our boyish logic, we did not understand how it was possible to beat someone who was clearly weaker, or beat one with three of us, or beat three with the whole class. That's the whole point: they fought for food without adhering to the code. And also in the fact that they did not defend, but selected. They were older than us.

"Why doesn't He recognize me?" I thought.

The dining car was empty, nice and clean. The tables shone with white starched tablecloths, and only one, apparently recently abandoned, kept traces of a plentiful feast.

I ordered. I didn't skimp. Cognac - so "Choice", fine. It was not the time for me to be stingy and pinch a coin. It was high time to disperse with might and main. It is a pity that in terms of food I had to limit myself to the usual dining car set - hodgepodge, shish kebab and plum compote.

I had a simple, friendly conversation with Him about the changing seasons and looked at His hands, at the little red hairs sticking out from under the bracelet. Then I looked up and remembered another interesting thing.

His heart was not on the left, but on the right side. Later I learned that this phenomenon is called "dextrocardia" and is, in general, rare, terribly rare, a few such people in the world.

At the very beginning of the school year, when they had not yet switched to the forcible seizure of food surpluses, He argued with us on this matter. Argued for breakfast.

“We bet that my heart is on the wrong side,” He said and proudly unbuttoned his shirt.

Then, when everyone had already learned about this peculiarity of His, He switched to power blackmail.

- Are we arguing? - He asked, sat down next to you and twisted your arm. Are you arguing or not? And he unbuttoned his shirt.

Here-knock-knock, knock-knock, my heart was beating evenly and peacefully on the right side.

The heavy radiant surface of the hodgepodge was disturbed by uniform shaking. Amber drops of fat trembled, gathered around small pieces of sausage that floated on the surface, and in the depths of this brew lurked the hell out of them - pieces of ham, and cucumbers, and pieces of chicken meat.

- What bread! - I said. – Do you remember what bread was during the war?

“Yes,” He said, “bread was not very good then.

I gathered my strength and looked into his eyes:

Do you remember our school lunches?

“Yes,” He said firmly, and I could tell by His tone that He still had enough power.

“Such viscous pecked buns, huh?”

- Yes, yes, - He smiled, - well, buns ...

My legs were shaking. No, I can't now. No, no... Let Him eat everything. I enjoy watching him eat. Let Him eat and I will cry.

“Lard fat and egg powder, huh?” I asked with a light smile.

- Second front? He smiled at me in tone.

- But most of all we loved then sunflower cake.

“That was a treat,” he laughed.

Dinner continued in a brilliant flutter of smiles.

The French do this: they pour cognac, spit in it and splash it in the face of such types. Various collaborators there.

- Shall we have a drink? - I said.

“Your health,” he replied.

Served barbecue.

Chewing on juicy, well-done meat, I said:

- Of course, this is not Aragvi, but ...

“Not bad at all,” He picked up, nodding his head and as if listening to the flow of internal juices. - The sauce, of course, is not “tkemali”, but ...

Then such unheard-of anger seized me that ... Oh, you gourmet! You are a foodie. You know a lot about food and wine, probably, and women, I guess ... Do you still carry my pen in your pocket?

I pulled myself together and continued the table conversation in a given rhythm and in the right tone.

“It’s amazing,” I said, “how complicated the concept of “food” has become with the course of history, how many disputes surround this concept, how many nuances ...

“Yes, yes,” He readily picked up, “but the concept is the simplest.

- Right. Simply put, food. Food. The simplest and most important for a person.

“Well, you are exaggerating a little,” he smiled.

- No, really. Food and women are the most important, I continued my naive hoax.

“There are more important things for me,” He said seriously.

- What?

- My business, for example.

- Well, all this is already later stratification.

No, you don't understand me...

He began to develop his ideas. I realized that He would not know. I realized that He would never recognize me, just as he would not recognize anyone else from our class, except Leka and Kazak. And I understood why He would not recognize any of us - we were not separate individuals for Him, we were a mass that just sometimes needed a little tinkering.

- Well, how can I understand you! I suddenly exclaimed rudely to myself. - I see, for you food is what! After all, you are a direct descendant of the Martians!

He stopped and looked at me, narrowing his eyes. Nodules appeared on his plump cheeks.

“Hush,” he said softly, “you won’t spoil my appetite.” It's clear?

I paused and took up the barbecue. Cognac was with me, and it was never too late to spit in it. Let Him only eat everything, and I will cry!

Next to us sat a man in a poor checkered shirt, but wearing a gold watch. He bent his head over the beer and whispered something. He was very drunk. Suddenly he raised his head and called out to us:

- Hey you! The Black Sea, understand? .. Sevastopol, right? Torpedo boat...

And again he dropped his head to his chest. A muffled growl came from deep within his chest.

- Waiter! my companion said. Can't this person be removed? He pointed not at me, but at the drunk. - To avoid excesses.

“Let him sit,” the waiter said. - What's stopping you?

- The Black Sea ... - the man grumbled, - a torpedo boat ... or maybe I'm exaggerating ...

“Do you really consider yourself a descendant of the Martians?” I asked my companion.

- And what? The possibility is not ruled out,” He said meekly.

“Martians are nice guys,” I said. - They are all right, like all people: arms, legs, heart on the left side ... But you ...

“Stop,” he said, “I say it again: you won’t spoil my appetite, don’t try.

I turned the conversation on to another subject, and everything was smoothed out in a few minutes, and the dinner moved on in brilliant fluttering smiles and jokes. That's what He became, just well done, nerves of steel.

- Why are we all like that - “you” and “you”, - I said, - we didn’t even get to know each other.

I gave my name and stood up with outstretched hand. He also stood up and said his name.

It was called differently. It wasn't Him, it was another person.

The writer V.P. Aksenov in his text refers to the problem of honor protection. It remains relevant, because there are enough people in society who are ready to defend their own rights, freedoms, and protect the good name of the family.

The author discusses the issue of honor on the examples of the times of the Great Patriotic War. In terrible years, despite the devastation and fear reigning everywhere, schools worked. The task of the leadership then was not so much to teach children to read and write as to feed them.

Aksyonov tells how the children perceived the buns they were given out: “This wonderful dish is floating to us from the bowels of the school.” The little buns were a great joy for the kids. They made hearts stop, breath caught in delight. However, the narrator could not bring a single bun home - the elders took them away, leaving him without food.

And yet, the frail fourth-grader in patched trousers managed to overcome the fear of force and rebuffed the offenders. He showed that he would never give up again without a fight. With the expression about how the boy's aunt "drowns Hitler in soapy water," Aksyonov emphasized the moral state of the people who lived at that difficult time.

In the narrative, the author did not state his clear position, but he made it clear: one must fight for oneself, for loved ones, for honor and dignity - fearlessly and desperately. I support this idea, I believe that one should not give in to force, one should defend the rightness in any situation. There are difficult moments in everyone's life, but one should not succumb to fears. The fear of confrontation can affect the course of later life, so we must boldly stand up for honor and dignity.

Confirmation of this idea can be found in "The Captain's Daughter" by A.S. Pushkin. Grinev had high moral qualities and the concept of honor was at the forefront. Moreover, the hero defended not only his own dignity, but also the honor of others, as eloquently evidenced by the episode of the duel with Shvabrin because of Masha Mironova.

At all times, honor was considered the most worthy trait of character and testified to the morality of a person. That is why it is so important to have it and carefully store it so as not to stain it.

Updated: 2017-02-23

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(According to V. Aksenov)

What does the character say: “Of course, we could unite and jointly “buy” them, but the school code said that you can only fight one on one and to the first blood”

The main character believes that it is impossible to beat the “lying down”. The main character did not want his friends to take part in the fight. Each person needs to learn how to defend himself. The main character honored the school code.

Question A29

Which of the following statements is incorrect?

Sentences 3-5 include a description. Sentences 33-37 contain reasoning. Sentences 23-30 contain a narrative. Sentence 21 contains a conclusion from sentence 20.

Question A30