Maria Vaysman fairy tales. Maria Heinz stories

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Ground floor apartment

- Hello! Are you renting an apartment? the woman asked hurriedly in German, barely able to get the words out.

- Berg. Good afternoon, you were not mistaken, - the man answered slowly, in opposition to her, stretching each word like accordion bellows. He did not speak his native Russian quickly, and even more so in German.

- Three-room, on the second floor, from the first of August? Slowing down a bit, the woman continued. The man's strong accent made her a little embarrassed. Rent a house in Germany from a foreigner? Although what's the difference if the apartment is suitable.

“Absolutely correct, madam…

“Schmidt, Helga,” the woman said. The man's gentle and polite manner of speaking finally dispelled her doubts. – If you don’t mind, my husband and I will come to see it tonight. Please give me the address.

The man still slowly dictated the address, wrote down the caller's phone number in case something changed with him, and hung up.

The young couple arrived, as promised, by eight. On the threshold of the apartment they were met by a tall, rather dry man of about fifty in neatly ironed black trousers, a tight-fitting jumper and polished boots. Her short, evenly cut hair resembled the round crown of a noble coniferous tree, which had already thinned with age. One might say, a typical German, exemplary even: well-groomed, polite, tidy. Here are just a strong accent ... Because of it or for some other reason, Berg spoke little and used words sparingly, as if filtering through a sieve.

Somewhere between the long, freshly painted corridor and the kitchen, Schmidt could not resist and asked:

- Where are you from, if it's not a secret?

“From Russia,” Berg replied, pointing to the kitchen window, which overlooked a green meadow.

Schmidt, accustomed to life in the countryside, in nature, was not at all impressed by the latter.

- Russian German? Settler? he continued.

- Yes ... - the owner of the apartment answered, showing the kitchen. – You don’t need to purchase appliances: a refrigerator, a dishwasher, a stove – everything is there.

- Have you already saved up for an apartment? Schmidt didn't hesitate.

- No, - Berg grimaced like a musician who stumbled on a difficult passage, - I moved recently, three years ago. Apartments: this one and downstairs - I inherited from my mother.

“Well, I would have moved too,” Schmidt smiled kindly and winked. – What are you doing? Are you working?

- No, I don’t work ... I have a hobby ... Music ...

Do you play or compose? said Mrs. Schmidt.

- No, I don't dare. I listen more and more...

Berg left the young in the kitchen and breathed a sigh of relief. Empty talk... Chatter... Prejudices about settlers are like nails in a wall: even if they are taken out, they will still leave gaping holes. And that there is another space around them, even, white, and people in it of a completely different quality, sensitive and subtle, is inaccessible to their understanding. How to explain the philosophy of a loner to paired creatures ... His philosophy, on which he spent his whole life. No... It's faster to rent an apartment to them and back to the first floor - to your temple of purity, silence and magical music.

After whispering in the kitchen, the young people came out smiling.

We liked the apartment. We agree to sign an agreement,” Schmidt held out his wide, well-worn hand. But Berg did not answer.

- Do you have any questions for us? Mrs. Schmidt was agitated.

Berg had one question, but it was so delicate and even awkward that he still could not find the right moment and form for it. To the pain in his fingers, Berg pulled the verbal strings, tuning them to the correct sound. Not wanting to admit falsehood, he tried chords in various keys, with sharps and flats, but still did not come out with an ideal melody. Words got in the way again...

“Don’t take it for tactlessness,” he muttered, when Schmidt hesitantly lowered his hand, “I must warn you ...” the owner of the apartment spoke in an undertone, almost a whisper, covering his mouth with his hand, as if embarrassed own words. – I have one feature. Of course, everyone has them. In relations such as ours - neighborly, I mean - the main thing is to warn about them in advance so that there are no misunderstandings later. I honestly say that ... - he went almost to a whisper. The faces of the visitors tensed, they leaned forward with their whole body, waiting to hear terrible secret. Berg stepped back and, only feeling a cold wall behind him, he realized that there was nowhere to retreat. He stopped and continued:

– I have very sensitive ears – musical. I live downstairs, in the apartment below this one, on the first floor, and the material here, unfortunately, is thin, - he tapped on the wall, - you can hear everything.

Schmidt shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment and boomed:

We'll try not to make noise. Is that right, dear? He smiled at his wife. She nodded embarrassedly. - Deal?

Schmidt extended his hand to Berg again, but even now Berg was in no hurry to seal the agreement with a handshake.

- Something else? - the woman was alarmed. – Speak!

Berg lowered his eyes, tormented by doubts. Time to move on to final chords, and he still strayed in the overture variations. He was silent, waiting for the appropriate phrase to come to his mind, but she was in no hurry. How to put into words dislike for words? How to explain the dislike for them, and at the same time for all their carriers, especially for the most immature and unintelligent? How to explain to others what the reasons for which he himself did not fully understand?

Berg's dislike of words formed early. For a while, he resisted her along with educators, speech therapists and school teachers, but over time he obeyed the inner call, considering word formation an activity that was not characteristic of him and alien by nature. Words have always carried with them unnecessary anxiety, anxiety and fear. And Berg avoided them as importunate neighbors or relatives. All life. Only here, next to a sick, almost non-speaking mother, did he find peace and harmony. A year without fuss, curious neighbors and acquaintances' questions about the future, talk about the absence of descendants and the suppression of the family. A year in silence, absolute purity, broken only by magical melodies. Berg couldn't go back. He sold everything he had in Russia, and, without telling anyone, hid here from the vain world.

The young people waited tensely.

- Do you have children? Berg finally managed.

- No, until God gives ... - they looked at each other sadly.

The contract was signed for three years. A separate item in the section on termination was the excess of the noise level established by law, and complaints from neighbors, including the owner of the apartment. Three warnings would be enough for eviction.

The Schmidts quickly got acquainted with the other residents of the entrance and learned from them that Berg was called here nothing more than a “correct ghost”: he was seen extremely rarely, and if he left his apartment, then quietly, imperceptibly, at exactly the allotted hours. He showed up on the street twice a week - for a morning run and a trip to the store. If it weren’t for the thick curtains that he parted at exactly eight in the morning and moved at exactly nine in the evening, and occasionally music coming from behind the massive door, one would think that no one lives in the apartment - it was so quiet there.

Berg was said to be a Russian spy sent by intelligence to carry out covert missions. Hence secrecy, unsociableness and silence. He spends his afternoons listening to music, which creates a noise screen for secret work. No one knew for sure, because Berg did not let anyone in his apartment, turning it with bars on the windows and a door with three locks into a kind of impregnable fortress, which only strengthened the suspicions hovering around him.

Berg made no exceptions for tenants: he did not bother with checks, he asked to transfer the payment to the account, he did not enter into conversations, he did not invite him to his place. Noticing, however, that the woman stopped going to work, he became worried.

“Are you sick, Mrs. Schmidt?” he asked her, meeting her on the stairs.

She was embarrassed and lowered her eyes to her rounded belly.

- Here, we are waiting for the replenishment of the family ...

Berg turned pale and recoiled, as if someone invisible had hit him in the face with a glove.

“Good job,” he whispered.

We'll try not to make noise. Don't worry, the woman hurried to reassure him, but the neighbor, not listening to her, turned away and slowly, staggering, disappeared behind the apartment doors.

He no longer spoke to her, he exchanged phrases with her husband that had nothing to do with the inevitable, as if trying to push back his advance. The baby, however, was born at term, healthy and loud. He accepted the house and parents unconditionally, received everything he needed on demand and therefore shouted little, but if he started to roar, then not only the closest neighbors woke up. Dog owners walking along the street shuddered at the cry of the baby and quickened their pace, urging their silent obedient pets on.

Nobody officially complained. The first call at the door of a young family rang six months later. Mrs. Schmidt, red and disheveled, with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, opened it and intended to send the visitor home to dress the baby after bathing, but she did not dare - Berg was standing outside the threshold.

The woman nodded, stroking her tangled hair with her hands. The baby was babbling in the bathroom.

- I won't beat around the bush. You probably have no time to listen to my opuses. I'll go to the main one.

- If not for long, I just bathed the baby ... - she answered, glancing anxiously towards the bathroom.

“Yes, yes ... Forgive me for distracting me with such a trifle, but I have one feature that I was talking about,” Berg stopped again, looking for the right words, but, catching his mother’s heavy look like a seventh chord, he immediately continued, “sensitive ears.

- Yes. What about them?

- IN Lately it's very noisy in your apartment...

“You see, a child,” the woman spread her hands. - If he screams, you will not immediately calm him down. An unintelligent being. I try as best I can.

- What are you, it's not about the child! Not in it. The child is legally entitled to make noise - it is not in my power. The knocking of doors bothers me, the chairs in the kitchen have iron legs. You know, there's a rubber band. It can be pasted on the door. Place soft felt pads under the chairs. They're at the hardware store...

The baby's scream drowned out the neighbor's explanations. The mother rushed to the bathroom and returned with a rosy-cheeked boy wrapped in a towel, rubbing his eyes.

“I wanted to sleep,” she said, immediately forgetting what they had just talked about.

“You can buy it at a hardware store…” Berg continued, staring at the floor. And slippers...

His explanation was interrupted by a phone call.

“Excuse me,” said Mrs. Schmidt. - It could be very important.

She rushed with the child into the room, then into the kitchen. The tube continued to hum melodiously.

– Where is she?! the woman exclaimed in her heart. - Hold it, please.

She put the baby in the hands of a neighbor and disappeared into the bedroom. Berg froze. The kid, taking advantage of the absence of his mother and the confusion of a neighbor, pulled playful hands to his silver beard. She was prickly and tickled the handle. The kid slapped her with his palm and laughed out loud. Berg did not move, only screwed up his eyes before the next attack of the little robber. Slap-slap, slap-slap - he did not let up.

Obeying some strange feeling, Berg took the baby's hand in his, pressed it to his beard, ran it over it, then raised it for a second and lowered it, only softer. The boy smiled, freed his hand and repeated. More and more. Berg froze, stunned. This unreasonable creature understood him! It answered him! They spoke in a language without words. As in music that was suddenly heard ... He shuddered, looked around. The windows were closed, only the voice of Mrs. Schmidt was heard from the bedroom. The melody did not disappear: quiet and gentle, gradually rising and fading again, like sea ​​wave, she rolled onto the cold rocky shore, filling the crevices, cracks and voids. Not allowing her to come to her senses and take a deep breath, she left, leaving life-giving moisture, fertile mud and the salty taste of relieving tears on the stones.

Berg panicked, he wanted to leave the boy and run away, but the music would not let go. She, born of his consciousness, led to a new, hitherto unknown world. A world that no one told him about, about which he did not know or did not want to know. The world is frightening, unknown and at the same time calling and beautiful. A secret door opened to him, and he held the key to it in his hands.

You have a natural talent! exclaimed Mrs. Schmidt, looking out of the bedroom. “Sorry it took me so long. This is from work. Important call. He does not sit so calmly with his father, as with you. Perhaps you have experience?

“Nothing,” Berg smiled embarrassedly and carefully handed the baby to his mother. - The first time I held a small child in my arms.

- Marvelous! - Mrs. Schmidt pressed her son to her, still pulling his plump hands to the neighbor's beard. - So what are we talking about? You talked about noise ... Shoes ...

“Yes, nothing… All this is not very important,” Berg waved his hand and headed towards himself, swaying on each step to the beat of a melody heard only by him.

Since then, the neighbor has not complained about the noise. Less of it, of course, did not. Even vice versa. The kid learned to crawl, grab objects and throw them on the floor, hit the plate with a spoon and perform other exciting loud-sounding actions. The range of his desires was replenished daily, about which he informed the world with a demanding cry. Berg felt more than just that. He woke up now at dawn with the baby and waited for the mother, heeding his ever-increasing calls, to press the child to a warm breast full of milk. Satisfied, the boy fell asleep for another hour. Around eight, he crawled out of bed, made his way on all fours to the kitchen and wailed, drumming his fist on the refrigerator. After breakfast, mother and son went out for a walk. At the same time, now every day, Berg was winding circles along the usual “wheelchair” route of Mrs. Schmidt. When she was heading home, Berg helped her up to the second floor and waved to the baby until his smiling face was hidden in the apartment: it was time for an afternoon nap.

Berg, lulled by the silence, dozed off in a chair by the computer and smiled. He fancied magical music filled with deep meaning. The kid again sat in his arms, tugged at his beard, pricked his plump hands about it and burst into laughter. Berg tightly pressed his little body to himself, as if at one moment he wanted to feel everything that he had no idea about the existence of until recently: he inhaled the smell of mother's milk with a slight aroma of fresh strawberries, stroked the soft, silky skin of a child, was surprised at the wordless play of a mischievous face. The boy's boisterous laugh caressed him absolute pitch and seemed more beautiful than any, the most perfect melody. Then the boy disappeared, and before Berg's eyes appeared faces from another life - on the other side of the door, behind three bolts and bars on the windows: girls he met in his youth, mature women who offered him love and fidelity, but never gave birth to children - he did not want them ... - all those to whom he invariably said "no". All those whom he, without hesitation, left behind the door, cutting off at once any hint of approach, the touch of someone else, disturbing, dangerous. With the jealousy of an overseer he guarded square meters the ideal world of a loner, whom he imprisoned here.

There was a loud cry from upstairs. Berg shuddered, rubbed his eyes, and looked around in confusion. A strange dream…

Wake up, little robber! Now eat and crawl around the apartment. First, in a large room, on a coffee table. It is forbidden! Boom. Of course it hurts if you fall. Now to the horse. “Look, mom, how can I!” No! Just sitting! Boom. Doesn't scream - mom insured. They are going to walk. We went out to the entrance. Laughs. He demands to let go of his hand. He wants to show his mother how he taught himself to go down the stairs. Watch out baby! Going down is more difficult than climbing up. First step, second, third. One span is ready! Well done! Entry to the second. Step, two, three. Wow! I could not resist! Now he will cry ... But the baby did not cry. There was a cry from Mrs. Schmidt.

Berg jumped up and opened the door. The neighbor bent over the immovable body of the boy, pale as a ghost.

- Fell. Hit his head. It seems to be breathing,” she muttered, stroking the baby’s cheek with a trembling hand.

“Let me go, I’ll take a look,” the neighbor bent over the child. “I used to work in a hospital.

The kid opened his eyes and blinked in fear.

“Call an ambulance,” Berg ordered. - Prepare things, documents for the boy, insurance. Call your husband from the hospital when we find out everything.

Mrs. Schmidt silently obeyed. Returning with a package of things, she found a neighbor with a baby in his apartment, in a large room on the floor. Berg stroked the boy's hand and sang something touching, surprisingly tender and beautiful to him. The child was silent, clapped his eyes and listened attentively.

“Forgive me for bringing it here,” the neighbor said guiltily. “It's warmer and quieter here. I wrapped it up so it wouldn't move. Now I sing here ... He stopped crying. It looks like everything is fine with him. My song calms him down.

I thought he didn't like music. My lullabies make him cry even more. What song are you singing? I will learn it too.

“I don’t know,” Berg was confused. - Of course, somehow it works out. From the head...

The ambulance arrived. The boy was diagnosed with a concussion and taken to the hospital with his mother for observation.

Returning home, the young family informed the owner of the apartment about the move. We found a more suitable option - without stairs. Berg signed the termination agreement without any objections, without saying a word about the fact that the contract had not yet expired, and set about looking for new tenants.

The tenants did not come - not one. Just hearing new voice on the phone, Berg grimaced, turned up his nose and, overcoming an unbearable desire to throw the receiver away, was in a hurry to say “no”. When they called again, he said that the apartment had already been rented out. The real estate was idle, there were fewer and fewer calls, but Berg still refused. And so it would have continued indefinitely, if not for the melodious patter of a woman who called after a week of silence.

- Good afternoon! she said in German with an easily recognizable accent. Berg greeted her in Russian, the woman chattered in her native language with relief. Your apartment suits us very well. We haven't been able to find anything for months now. Therefore, do not refuse if you have not already passed.

While Berg pondered whether the woman comes from the Vologda villages or other, even more northern - Pomeranian ones, she talked further.

- We're going to take a look today. I just wanted to ask what floor the apartment is on. Is there an elevator? We have twins who are one years old. With two of them, it will be difficult for me to go down and up.

Berg smiled. Everything that this woman said seemed surprisingly correct and genuinely truthful to him. Her words flowed like a lullaby for a newborn, in which each note had its own letter, each chord a word, each measure a phrase. Everything fit perfectly. Bewitched by the sound, Berg remained silent. He wanted to listen and listen, and let it be louder and louder. Open the door and windows, rip off the bars and locks to let in this fresh wind, feed it to every centimeter empty apartment, every wrinkle on a lonely body and fill them with life, hitherto unknown to him, but suddenly becoming unbearably close and desirable.

- So? Is there an elevator? the woman repeated impatiently. She was about to hang up when Berg's voice came up.

“There is no elevator,” he replied in his leisurely accordion fashion, “but you have nothing to worry about. The apartment I rent is on the ground floor.

Masha Vaysman: "Children's paper book will live longer than others"

Text: Olga Strauss
Photo: Masha Vaysman

How are your favorite children's books born? How do independent book publishers specializing in non-profit children's literature survive? About this - our conversation with Masha Vaisman- manager and owner publishing house "August" publishing books at the highest artistic level from the very beginning of the 2000s, that is, it became one of the first independent children's publishers.

Masha, why did you do this business at all?
Masha Weissman: It came to me by inheritance. My husband, Alexander Konyashov, who, alas, died four years ago, was once the producer of the television program Dog Show. The program was popular, we had some money, and he decided to open a children's book publishing house. It was in the late 90s.

Are you a book person yourself?
Masha Weissman: Yes very. I am a bibliographer by profession and have worked in Historical Library, and in the Theater.

In general, as far as I can remember, I really wanted to make books.

As a child, I built them all the time, together with my dad. Dad painted, and I sewed, wrote, came up with covers. In general, the book as an artifact has always worried me a lot. I spent quite a lot of time with my grandparents, they had an excellent library - I remember, for example, Pushkin's collected works of 1937, such blue volumes, with tissue paper in front of each portrait on title page... And then, when I was already an employee of the Historic, I worked in a restoration workshop, restoring books. I also really liked it.

But back to publishing. Why then, in the 90s, Alexander Konyashov was seduced by the book business?

Masha Weissman: First, he is a poet himself. Wrote and. The poems that Sasha wrote in the late 80s and early 90s, even before the birth of our children, were to be published in a collection by the Malysh publishing house. But the coup broke out, the collapse of the country, then the crisis ... Everyone was no longer up to it.
Well, in the late 90s, he returned to this topic. Moreover, he wanted to publish not only his own, but also republish his favorite works of Russian classics for children. Something that he himself liked as a child, but with some new illustrations, so that it was something radically new. It turned out radically to the point that many commodity experts in bookstores, where we began to offer our products, they were indignant: what is it? Who told you that you can make books like this?

And what was the radical novelty?
Masha Weissman: First, the artists who collaborate with our publishing house - Irina Kireeva, Ekaterina Rozhkova, Katya Margolis, Alexey Orlovsky, Petr Perevezentsev, Andrey Dubrovsky- these are such "artists-artists", not illustrators. Katya Rozhkova generally graduated from VGIK. Therefore, books turned out completely different from those that were then in bookstores. And now our books are recognizable. We try to ensure that in all books, in addition to the text, there is some kind of parallel story told by drawings.
And secondly, I am fundamentally against the fact that in the drawings for children there are such familiar, you know, cute pink kittens-babies. That is

I believe that children are much smarter than we think. Already at four or five years old they are able to perceive very serious things.

I myself did not like lisping as a child, and my children did not digest it.

“Tales of Belkin”, which have become classics of Russian literature, Alexander Pushkin wrote in a month and a half in 1830 / Publishing house “August”, 2012

And how many of them? And how old are they now?
Masha Weissman: Already 26 years old, I have twins, a son and a daughter. When they were growing up, I felt how few good new children's books were. No, of course they were. I remember how happy graduation was for everyone big book. I remember a wonderful collection Sergei Kozlov"I'm lying in the sun" and the pleasure with which my son read it.
Children, of course, need poetry, but then we basically had only Chukovsky yes ... In addition, then for some reason no one wrote (or published?) Stories about modern children, about their today's life. Except yes Nosova, on which we, the parent generation, grew up, there was nothing like them.
But the kids are growing up! Their indescribable life was right before their eyes. And I began to write down everything that happens around. This is how my two books were born. "True, it's fun", which was released in 2000, and "Longing for a jigsaw".

“Longing for a jigsaw is a long-exposed trouble…”
Masha Weissman: Yes, yes, this line, apparently, was sitting firmly somewhere in the subcortex. The first book was born from a trip to the Crimea. We were there big company, with children, and it was surprisingly good: the first sea, pebbles, horses on the embankment ... My husband said: write, write, we will publish everything!

How can there be a children's publishing house without a contemporary author?

And you know, this book was such a success that several stories from it were even included in the reading program for grades 2-3.

The book by Marina Tsvetaeva "The ice rink has melted" was published in the series "Russian poets for children and adults" / Publishing house "August", 2015.

That is, as soon as you wrote your first book, you became a classic, which is taught at school?
Masha Weissman: This does not mean how brilliant I am, but how great the need for modern children's literature is. The book was relevant. There was, for example, the word "prefix" - what all the children then dreamed of: a game console. It was about dill soup, which my son categorically did not want to eat, and dad said: a good half of humanity dreams of such a soup. The son was very ashamed, but he preferred to stay in the other half. In a word, these were such stories from nature. And "Longing for a jigsaw" - already school years. The hero of the stories is a boy who, going to school, dreamed of how interesting it would be there: geography, biology, physics ... And then the first school disappointments came - after all, most of the lessons are: “Take pens and write down.” And finally, in the fifth grade, labor lessons begin. The boy is promised that their class will be taught to cut with a jigsaw. He dreams that he will cut himself an Owl, like a whole epic with the purchase of this necessary tool… Finally, the longed-for day comes. And at the very first lesson, the labor teacher announces: “Take pens, write down the safety rules when working with a jigsaw”.
But this book was born later, when our publishing house began to slowly die.

Why?!
Masha Weissman: For one simple reason: when we printed the first ten books, it turned out that they should not only be published, but also distributed. Sasha had some not the most the right people for this. It was necessary that some reviews of books appear, it was necessary to drag them around the editorial offices, offer them to stores ... There were no social networks as active as they are now, and books were printed in large circulations - 5-10 and even 15 thousand copies. "Bible Tales" Sasha Cherny"," Resentment-swan " Vladimir Nabokov, "How I caught little men" Boris Zhitkov, "White Poodle" Kuprin, "Maximka" Stanyukovich... Later the stories "About the girl Masha" were published Vvedensky and "Weed Adventure" Rozanova. All were printed in Slovakia, excellent printing...
In a word, books were not taken to stores, and if they were taken, then 2-3 copies each. And one day Sasha announced: I urgently need to free one warehouse, I'm taking the books to the trash. I say: books - in the trash?! What are you? In general, during the night I found a warehouse where they can be attached. And then, like an ant, she began to go to all sorts of shops and offer our books. It was very scary and difficult. Everywhere on the shelves there were books with some kind of pink baby dolls, mermaid princesses, everything is pink, and against the background of all this, our books, of course, aroused bewilderment and indignation of commodity specialists.
In general, I sold my entire warehouse solely thanks to the "Labyrinth". Literally a year later. Not the first time, however, our relationship developed. But they formed. It's been ten years now.

So, you survived two giant crises - 2008 and 2014-2015. How did you do it? Because all the publishing houses sank (the price of paper and printing rose sharply), but you “had it with you”?
Masha Weissman: Yes, that's probably why. We had ready-made editions that we sold out after three, five, and seven years after the release. Secondly, it helped that we were able to get into the funding program. We publish two books a year using these funds. From 2011 to 2018, we survived thanks to the program budget financing socially significant literature.

And what exactly did Rospechat finance for you?
Masha Weissman: We have a series of "Russian poets for children and adults." She appeared after the triumphant and quickly sold out collection of the same name. It was a unique book: 50 Russian poets, from to Tarkovsky, for each poem, an illustration, a portrait of the poet. Three artists worked on the collection: Alexey Orlovsky, Irina Kireeva And Petr Perevezentsev. This book is over.
And then Sasha Konyashov died.
And all the work fell on me.

Poet's Tale Silver Age Mikhail Kuzmin "Golden Dress" / Publishing house "August", 2013

How did you get started as a leader?
Masha Weissman: The first book I made myself was Maria Moravskaya, "Orange peels". She didn't sell for a long time. But it was she who opened this series - Russian poets for children and adults. Then we had Sasha Cherny "What anyone likes", Marina Tsvetaeva"The skating rink has melted", now there will be "Mick" Gumilyov, an African poem. In the plans - .

Tsvetaeva, for example, has many poems that are understandable to children.

She also published her first collections "Evening Album", "Magic Lantern" very early. And she began to write when her mother died - at the age of 14-15. There is about children, about family, about brother, about sister, about music, about ice rink. But the tension inherent in her father's house is, of course, also present there. And this is also important.

Do you basically publish only Russian authors?
Masha Weissman: Until recently, this was the case.

And now?
Masha Weissman: Since everything in my publishing house is tied to me: I myself am responsible for everything and manage everything, then the choice of authors is my personal choice. But at some point, I suddenly felt a terrible fatigue from Russian poets, from their biographies and destinies. At some stage, she realized that she had done what she considered her indispensable duty - say, to return to the Russian reader, who left Russia in 1917 and never returned here again. She published her first collection in 1914, at the same time, but they are diametrically opposed. She has such bright psychological children's portraits in her poems with all their whims, humor, secret movements of the soul, moods, insults ... And it turned out that I was not mistaken. All this is sold out, we print additional circulations.
And tired of tragic fates authors, I wanted to take a break. Get some respite. But before I had time to think about it, one translator showed me a completely wonderful book Italians Chiara Lorenzoni"Dog Dreams" And since I'm madly in love with dogs - right after the children in my second place are dogs, this little book was just a gift. For me and hopefully for the readers. There are drawn different dogs and the dreams that each of them sees. For example, a little greyhound sees herself so big and bold that she even stops trembling... Publishing such light, bright books is happiness.

Is your publishing house growing up with your children?
Masha Weissman: This is also there. But interest in the children's audience remains: I love children very much. Indeed, now we have

series "Books for the Big Ones". The format is the size of a palm, and the books are for an adult reader.

This is how Alexander Konyashov's story "Zelik" came out and later fairy tales Evgenia Zamyatina.

"Bible Tales" by Sasha Cherny is his interpretation of biblical stories / August Publishing House, 2017

You regularly reprint circulations: Tsvetaeva, who started with one thousand, has now already published five thousand copies. "Bible Tales" by Sasha Cherny have total circulation 18 thousand. Is your business booming?
Masha Weissman: Publishing house "August" is not a business. This is a job I can't quit. It doesn't feed me, it only gives me tea. If you want, it's more of a hobby that allows you to pay for itself (cover the cost of printing, pay off artists - pay off debts to them at least in a month or two, and not within six months). Well, after all the payments, I have very little left. You can't live on that money, of course.
It helps that we are now exclusively sold by "Labyrinth": it is very profitable for me.
The artists' fees are not fabulous, but they cooperate with "August", because I allow them there to do whatever they want.

The possibility of creative freedom, I think, attracts no less than the fee.

I'm very interested in what they end up with.

Why do people buy children's books today? After all, our entire civilization goes to virtual media?
Masha Weissman: I think if a children's book dies, it will be the last to die. It's one thing to read Pelevin on the phone, and another thing is to read a children's book. It needs to be touched, felt, chewed.

A children's book is such a small home theater!

Here the cover opens - this is a curtain, then another curtain - a flyleaf ... Characters appear, the story begins ... And this is a theater that you can stop at any moment, return to the previous scenes, go to bed with it, sit down to have dinner, go for a swim ... This is an attribute of childhood, an artifact that must be present in it without fail.

"Wooden Actors" - breathtaking adventure story about two boys, Giuseppe and Pasquale, who travel through Europe XVIII century with puppet shows / Publishing house "August", 2013

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I. Organizational moment.

Everyone got up at their desks beautifully,

Greeted politely.

Sit quietly, back straight.

We take a breath

And the lesson will begin with you.

Let's prepare speech apparatus.

II. Speech warm-up.

1. Clean tongues.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, don't go there, Vadim!
Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo- I'll go there anyway.
Dee-dee-dee, dee-dee-dee- You're dressed, don't go!
Yes-yes-yes, yes-yes-yes-Oh! Cold water!
De-de-de, de-de-de-That's the trouble! Vadim, where are you?
Dy-dy-dy, dy-dy-dy- Only heard from the water.

2. Patter:

Woodpecker, woodpecker is our friend
Oak hammers like a chisel.
Help us, uncle woodpecker,
Build a house for the starlings.

Outcome: So, we have prepared the speech apparatus for further work.

III . Knowledge update. Checking homework.

What section of the textbook are we studying?

What works of this section have you read?

Silence in class

We especially need.

Go away, talk

In the lobbies, in the corridors,

And the task to check.

Retelling of the story by N. Nosov "Mishkina porridge"

IV .Setting the topic of the lesson.

slide 1.

Remember the name of the story in the 1st part of the textbook that we read earlier.

How can I find the title of this writer's story? ( According to the content of part 1 of the textbook)

Who main character this story? (boy Phil)

Where do the events in the story take place? ? (on vacation, at sea)

What is the name of the section of the textbook in which we study works ? ("We continue to unravel the secrets of the funny")

Slide 1 (click)

Read on the slide the title that we will read today in the lesson.

Goal setting:

What goals will we set for ourselves?

(1. Get acquainted with the work.

2. Continue to unravel the secrets of the funny.

3. Find out how the main character will appear before us.)

V .Work on the topic of the lesson

Work with the work of M. Weissman “My favorite prefix”.

1. Working with text before reading.

- Read the title again.

Think about what will be discussed in this work?

What does the word attachment mean? (listening to children's answers)

Where do you need to look to clarify the meaning of this word? What skill do we need? (The ability to work with an explanatory dictionary. (T.sl. p.148))

(Hearing an article from explanatory dictionary p.148)

Console - (computer console). A video game device that is connected to a TV. For example: play on a computer console.

Why is the word prefix used affectionately in the title of the work and is it also called "my beloved"? What does it say?

Where should we look to determine the page of the textbook on which we will work? (In the content of the textbook.)

- Consider the illustration for this work. What do you think about what and eye will be discussed in the work? (We again see the boy Filya.)

Indeed, we will talk about the same boy Phil, who came with his family to relax on the sea.

There is another word in this text, the meaning of which needs to be clarified. Find it on page 86 of the reader.

Where should one go for clarification of its meaning? (interpretation dictionary p.134)

Dylda - A tall, awkward man. For example: look what a dylda!

2. Working with text while reading.

1. Reading in passages and conversation for comprehension after each passage.

"Little Intro" the teacher reads (the first two sentences).

Question after reading:

A) Further reading of the text by the teacher until the words "- Come on, shoo baby!"

Who is the narrator? (boy Phil)

Can we tell how old Fila was? (small, if 10 years old for him is tall)

Choose a synonym for the word bullshit. (Big, tall, adult.)

What else says that the main character was small compared to the tall one? (“shook me off the chair ...”, “called me - a little one”)

b) Reading further down the text to the words (... play, well, at least five minutes!)

What did you learn about the hero?

Did the boy want to play on a computer console?

How strong? What words from the text speak of this? (...that goosebumps ran down the back...)

Why didn't mom let him play? ("... to sit in stuffiness", "does not read anything", "twitch", "solid deuces and nightmares")

What can be said about the character of the mother? What is she?

How did Filya react to this dylda? (offended)

Prove (..turning red and angry and my eyes tingle)

What happened in a second? (He saw the boy playing the console well and froze.)

Do you think Fili's opinion about this big guy changed when he saw him play? (He envied me, he also wanted to learn how to play well.)

How did Filya decide to act in order to get permission to play? (beg)

Can he do it? (Yes)

Confirm with words from the text ("gently took his hand", "gently looked into her eyes", "... mommy, I love you so much...")

Did you manage to get your mom's permission?

And how did you understand that mom is against ? (drop hand)

Pay attention to the highlighted places in the text. What is the name of such an approach? (reception of CONTRAST: gently took and threw away the hand)

And what's another trick? (Hand turned into a snake. COMPARE technique)

What did Phil immediately say to his mother? (That's it, don't...)

Why does he repeat these words three times?

Has the boy given up on his dream of playing console games?

How did Phil decide to act? (...I turned to dad)

What did dad say? (immediately allowed, but with one condition).

And in your life you use such a trick: ask your mom, if you don’t allow it, ask your dad.

What game did Phil choose? (where they fight giving the enemy)

How long has Phil been playing the game? (5 minutes)

Why so few? (....like I'm a little out of my mind)

How did mom react to his game? (cries and leaves)

What can be said about the mother, how does this characterize her? (loves, fears for him)

Did Phil want to end the game?

Confirm with words from the text. (... so be it ...)

But still he was happy!

Do you think Phil has calmed down? Can you guess how events will develop further?

Does Phil know his mother well?

Support with words from the text. (crawled on his knees, it's easier to ask, can't forbid when on his knees a little boy)

Did mom let Phila play right away?

Why? What was important to mom? (So ​​that it works in life, not only on the console.)

What trick did our hero come up with so that mom would allow it? (...gradually I will get into the habit of winning in life).

Did this trick work? (Yes.)

e)Reading the text to the end.

What conclusion does Filya come to when he discovers that the tall girl is swimming in armlets? (It turns out that in life I have already defeated him.)

What does Phil decide to do? (Now worthless learn how to press the buttons ..., ran to my favorite console.)

What was Phil at the end of the story? (confident)

3. Identification of reading comprehension.

Work in pairs.

A) Making a story plan.

Read the plan on the cards on the desk.

Slide

"I wanted to play so much that goosebumps ran down my spine."

"It's just that when I pressed the buttons, my legs were bouncing and my hands were shaking."

"I've already beaten him in my life"

"Mom threw my hand away as if it had turned into a snake."

"It would be nice if something worked out in life."

What is the plan? (quoted)

Is it consistent?

Determine the sequence. Fill in the circles with the appropriate numbers. (1,4,2,5,3)

Check the standard.

Who completed the task?

b) Explore the secrets of the funny.

What secrets of the funny did Maria Vaysman help us discover? Pay attention to the underlined places.

Let's explain for each case.

1 case(p. 86) It's funny, someone doesn't understand something. (The boy wants to play on the console, and his mother says that it’s better not to sit in stuffiness, but to go swimming and walking).

2 case(p. 87) It's funny when expectation and reality are opposed. (Wants to play all day, but agrees for five minutes.)

3 case(p. 87) It's funny when there is an exaggeration (reception) (One and a half minutes - painful).

4 case(p. 89) It's funny when it turns out the other way around. (Is reading good books, but I like games where there is a continuous scuffle).

Do you ever have your parents not like what you like? - What way out of such situations did you find?

V) Work on the image of the main character.

Who is the main character of the story?

What can you say about the boy?

What words and actions prove that he:

Affectionate;

Persistent;

Became confident.

Find the words that show how Filya persuades and convinces his mother to allow him to play on the console. Try to convey the character of the boy with your voice. (Reading by role)

Group work.

Compilation of syncwine.

Let's make a syncwine, express our attitude to Fillet.

What skills will help us to cope with this work? (The ability to work with text, highlight the main thing, find the necessary information in the text and write down the essence.)

Slide(Rules for compiling syncwine:

1. In the first line, the topic (1 word is a noun.)

2. The second line is a description of the topic (2 words are adjectives.)

3. The third line is a description of the action (3 words are verbs.)

4. The fourth line is a phrase of 4 words that repeat the essence of the topic.

5. The fifth line is a one-word synonym. which captures the essence of the theme.

For example:

1. Phil.

2. Kind, affectionate.

3. Asks, achieves, plays.

4. In life, he won.

5. Well done!

VI . Summary of the lesson. Reflection

What have you learned?

What work have you read?

To which section do we put this work?

What is the secret of funny?

Remember what goals we set for ourselves . Have you been able to achieve them?

What new did you learn?

What did you find most interesting in the lesson?

To evaluate your work in the lesson, fill out the table of achievements.

Rate yourself

1. I carefully read and studied the text
2. I tried to find answers to all questions.
3. Looked up the meaning of words in the dictionary.
4. Took an active part in the discussion of the text.
5. Worked on drawing up a plan for the story.
6. Actively helped to compose syncwine.

Homework:

Choose a task according to your strength:

1. Make up your own story about Phil and write it down.

2. Retelling the story.

3. Reading by roles.

Is it really fun?

TO Once, on a rainy May day, Vera and I come home from school, and my mother says:
- Children! In a week we are going to the Crimea, and Anya, Kira and little Liza are with us!
- Without parents?! Vera exclaimed.
- No, why? With parents, of course.
- And what is Crimea? I asked.
“Crimea is on the Black Sea,” my mother said.
- Is the Black Sea warm?
- Very warm!
"To the warm Black Sea with Kira and Anya," I thought, "wow" ... And he said quietly:
- Hooray!
The week flew by like I hit the rewind button on a video. So we already packed our backpacks, got into the car, then on the plane ... Rather, rather, at sea, with friends ...
Finally, we landed, we get out of the plane and we are enveloped in a warm south wind and the smell of Crimean plants. This is probably a dream.
- Anya, where is Kira? Kira, where is Anya? - I heard the voice of Anya and Kira's mother.
So, all this is happening in reality and Kira and Anya are with us.
- Really, it's fun? Anya said.
“True,” I agreed.
From the airport to the boarding house "Crimean Primorye" we went by car. Mom admired the beauty of the steppe Crimea. I kept waiting for the sea to appear, but it still did not appear. I was bored. The driver showed us the location where "The Headless Horseman" was filmed; after that we fell asleep.
I woke up with a strange smell. "This is the sea," I thought, and opened my eyes.
- Really, it's fun? I heard Anna's voice.
“True,” I said, and saw the sea.
It turned out to be much more than I expected. I thought grown-ups always exaggerated when they said that the sea did not see the other side. I was sure that I would still see at least a thin strip of it. But I peered and saw nothing resembling a shore. Just a tiny boat far, far away.
The most amazing thing is that the Black Sea was not black at all. The sea was blue and the waves were green. And on the left, a mountain quietly slipped into the sea ...
“This is Mount Karadag,” my mother said admiringly.
- What kind of mountain is this, - said dad, - this dragon came to the watering hole and can't get drunk in any way.
"It's not a dragon," Kira said.
“Dragon-dragon,” dad said with conviction. - See the waves? He drinks this and the circles run on the water.
So is he alive? I asked.
“Of course he’s alive,” Dad said.
We looked at Karadag. He really looked like a dragon, though not alive, but slightly petrified. Still, from time to time we looked at him with apprehension.
On the right, the bank was not as high as Karadag. There were yellow-green hills and purple mountains. It seemed that they were at hand, and I wanted to go there right now.
A horse was walking along the embankment with its owner. We asked them:
What are those hills?
- This is Fox Bay, - the owner of the horse answered, smiling with narrow eyes, - there is sand and beautiful pebbles.
- Do foxes live there? I asked.
- Foxes are few. The savages live there.
- There live unfortunate people-savages! I sang with joy. - Let's go there now.
But it was getting dark, everyone wanted to sleep. In addition, Anya and Kira's mother remembered that Anya had not yet played the violin today, and they went home. I looked after them and said to myself in Anya's voice: "Really, it's fun?"

Best friend jellyfish

The sea has a different mood. Vera and I learned to recognize it by its color. It's very simple. If the sea is of delicate shades - blue, pink and green, then it is sleepy and will not play with us today. If the colors are brighter, it means that the mood by the sea is good, playful, waves will soon appear and - riding on them - lambs. But when the sea really turns black, it means that the sea is angry, it is stormy and you can’t swim.
I must say I'm not a big swimmer. The first two weeks I did not get into the water at all. No, I was perfectly healthy. The reason was different. Pebbles first. They are, of course, beautiful, but to go into the water on them ... Try it yourself ... Then thousands of winged ants caught up in the sea. Where did they come from? I puzzled for a long time and came to the conclusion that somewhere a small island with a huge anthill was washed away.
But most main reason my non-bathing were jellyfish. No, of course, I liked them, these transparent mysterious jellyfish, but only from afar. I did not want to meet them in the water at all.
“Filya, go take a swim,” Vera said.
- I do not want, jellyfish are burning.
“They don’t burn, they are small and cute,” Vera said, patting a small jellyfish with her hand.
“They are slippery and nasty,” I said, and was disgusted with myself, because I considered myself a friend of all animals.
“And they are not at all nasty, they are smooth,” Vera said, stroking the jellyfish in her palm.
- There are just a lot of them, - I said and decided that I would never swim.
Once I was sitting on the shore, reading a book about marine animals and dreaming of meeting them at sea. Nearby, a boy was scurrying about in the water and yelling loudly. At first I couldn't figure out what he was up to. It turned out that he catches jellyfish, brings them to his mouth and screams loudly. I could not resist and asked:
- What are you yelling?
- I yell at the jellyfish in the very ear so that they die of fear, - said the boy.
This seemed to him not enough. He began to bury jellyfish in hot stones. Here I yelled:
- What are you doing?! Stop immediately!
- And what? The boy growled without turning around.
- And then! They are alive! They hurt!
- They're bad, they're slimy.
- They are smooth, it is easier for them to swim, - I said and felt that I was starting to love jellyfish.
“They are not smooth, but ugly,” continued the boy.
- You yourself are ugly, and jellyfish are very beautiful, they are sea butterflies, - I said, trying to clear the stones and throw the jellyfish into the sea.
- Come on, there are so many of them, they interfere with swimming. And they are not butterflies. Butterflies fly like this, and these ones like this: uh, - and he, spreading his arms and legs, showed how jellyfish swim.
- Not at all. They swim beautifully. And they don't touch you. You don't even know how to swim, I said.
- I can swim. But you don’t know how, because you yourself are afraid of jellyfish, ”the boy said, grinning disgustingly.
I was terribly sorry to hear that. It was too much like the truth.
- Am I afraid? Now let's see who's afraid of what! I pushed him into the water with all my might.
He quickly got up and began to angrily approach me. I didn't wait for him and jumped into the sea. I began to paddle with my arms like a crab and with my legs like a frog. And suddenly I felt that I was swimming! It turned out to be so easy. And the jellyfish helped me a lot, because they didn’t interfere at all. As if they felt that now I am their best friend.

Looking for a toad

Once our friend Sashka came running to us in great excitement.
- Phil! Phil! We have a giant toad! They say it's the size of a Doberman! She croaked all night. Nobody could sleep. She croaked like a dinosaur...
- Yeees? Interesting. I've never heard a dinosaur croak before.
- Yes, like a dinosaur! In the morning we ran to where it was croaking and found footprints... Huge... Do you know what? Like an ostrich!
- Yes-ah-ah ... It's very interesting. - I mentally leafed through my favorite encyclopedia on zoology, which remained in Moscow. How would she be useful to me now! So you're talking frog. Doberman height. It croaks like a dinosaur and has footprints like an ostrich. I have never seen anything like it in any book. It's probably some the new kind toads, some kind of mutant, - I concluded.
Yes, mutant! Just a mutant! Sasha jumped happily.
“I would like to see her,” I said, and felt that I was on the verge of a great discovery.
“Let’s run,” Sasha said readily, and we ran. And Vera, of course, is with us.
Sasha was resting in trailers on the mountain. He led us to the trailer, from where came the croaking of a dinosaur toad. The place was deserted and gloomy. No one has lived in the rusty trailer for a long time. It's all overgrown with grass. On the steps, in the windows and on the roof, grass and some kind of flowers grew luxuriantly. This struck me as highly suspicious. Apparently, the ground around the trailer was sprinkled with something special. This could lead to the emergence of a new species of toad.
“Exactly, exactly,” Sasha nodded happily.
He showed us some thick stems broken at the height of my navel and said:
- This toad jumped and crushed the grass.
I became uncomfortable. If the toad crushed the grass at the height of my navel, then what kind of toad is this ...
We walked around the trailer. Here and there there were crushed grass and broken cane stalks.
“But she grabbed these flowers,” Sashka said proudly and pointed to a bush of golden balls. There were no golden balls on it, only stems remained. The sight was terrible.
- Vera, scratch my back, - I said, because small ... these, like them, goosebumps crawled up my back. And Vera, as if not hearing me, began to gnaw at the collar of her T-shirt.
- Where are the tracks? I asked, trying to scratch my back on my own.
“Now I’ll show you,” Sasha answered, and his face became serious. Just walk carefully or you'll trample your tracks.
Between the trailers there was a small sand area the size of a beach towel. Sasha pointed his finger at her and said:
- Here, even more than an ostrich.
The tracks really looked like frog tracks, although, to be honest, I had not seen frog tracks for a long time. They were the size of an elephant's foot and only vaguely resembled an ostrich in shape.
Before I had time to feel that my legs were becoming cottony, when suddenly a surprisingly vile croaking was heard very close by. The mutant toad was very close. Vera and I quickly looked at each other, and I realized that she did not want to meet the toad at all, just like me.
With all our might, we rushed down the mountain, away from this trailer. I even forgot that I have cottony legs and that I was on the verge of a great discovery. Besides, I haven't read everything about toads yet. Maybe this toad has been open for a long time. And by the way, in no book you will hear the cry of a mutant toad, and even so close. This is happiness for a real scientist. Only one question remains: what was the toad doing on the mountain, far from the water that toads usually love so much.
All these thoughts kept me awake, and I tossed and turned in bed for a long time.
I woke up from a loud whisper:
- Phil! Phil! - Sashka whispered under our window. - To us tonight is a huge bat flew in and broke the window! Let's run, let's see!
"I'm not such a fool as to run about all sorts of trifles," I thought, and pretended to be asleep.

gold fish

Mom said that you have to behave well on the breakwater, otherwise you can fall into the sea. It turns out that you just need to stand in the middle of this reinforced concrete slab and not move. Then there is no need to go to the breakwater. And I want to see how the fish and crabs are.
One boy, Igor, was fishing. He had an excellent fishing rod and very good worms. I walked around him and sighed loudly, I wanted to ask him to hold the fishing rod, but I did not dare.
- You are lucky, - I said, - you have both a fishing rod and worms ...
- My grandmother gave me a fishing rod, and I dug up the worms myself. I dug for a long time, the earth is dry, they crawled deep, they still did not want to get out. I picked them out with my hands, - Igor said proudly.
“Good,” I said.
Of course, sorry for the worms. I don’t know if I could pull them out of the ground with my hands, but I have long dreamed of such a fishing rod.
“Yes, you are lucky,” I said again.
- What are you carrying? - Igor did not understand. - I only caught one. Others only eat worms.
A small silver fish swam in a plastic box. I wonder how other fish eat worms?
I lay down on the breakwater and hung my head down ... Here, it turns out, how to behave on the breakwater! It is not dangerous at all, and everything is perfectly visible.
I saw a lot of fry. They rushed back and forth in flocks, like schoolchildren at recess. There the first class swam out for a walk, they are quite small. And there is the second, larger and fewer. There are only a few plump kids in the third grade. The older they are, the more independent they are. Oh ... oh, and this is a manger! A whole bunch of fry, similar to small carnations, rushed somewhere. Where is the teacher? Here he is, barely keeping up with them. What a beautiful educator fish! The scales sparkle... Why, it's gold fish, the real one! She swam slowly and suddenly stopped right under me. Maybe she wants to fulfill some modest desire of one good boy or girls? The fish wagged its tail and hid behind a rock. I wished: if she swims up again, she will fulfill all my desires.
Kira, Anya and Vera came running. They also lay down on their stomachs and saw a fish. Rybka was glad to meet them. She kept coming up from behind the stone and listened to our desires. Our wishes were very simple.
For example, Kira wanted him to have a snake, well, maybe not even a poisonous one. Another iguana, well, maybe not even very big. And another stingray, maybe not even an electric one, but a simple sea stingray.
Igor, whose fish ate all the worms, lay down next to us and said:
- I want my grandmother to give me a donk fishing rod to catch from the hole. And then I live in Novosobirsk. We have winter all the time. Summer is small. Or let me move here to my grandmother, to Feodosia. Summer is great here.
“I would also move,” Vera said, “but actually my wish has already come true, I already have a dog, Watson. I don't know what I want yet.
“But my wish will never come true,” Anya said confidently. - I want a real horse, but my mother won't let me get one. Anya became very sad and almost cried.
- Look, look! Vera screamed. - The fish wagged its tail ... So, everything will come true!
Anya looked at the fish, changed her mind about crying and began to hope.
Now it was my turn to make a wish, and I said:
- On New Year I made a wish - to learn to fly. So it didn't come true. Can you help me, little fish? I would really like to fly, I'm even ready to become a butterfly for this. For a while. I also want to be a lone hero and save everyone, but not a lawyer, as my mother wants, but simply the ruler of the world, and cancel all wars. I also want to invent a pill to stay small forever. It will consist of children's blood, children's spit and children's breath...
Everyone thought. The fish opened its golden eyes in amazement. She did not expect that there would be so many desires. And that was not all.
“And I want to become a doctor,” Vera said. - And not just a doctor, but a veterinarian.
- I also want to become a veterinarian, but not just, but to treat only horses, - Anya said.
- And I will be a sailor, only in south seas swim, - said Igor.
- And I'll be a bachelor, - said Kira quietly.
From the shore came the piercing cry of Anya and Kira's mother:
- Anya, where is Kira? Kira, where is Anya? Let's go to dinner!
The fish waved its tail at us and swam away. Probably have lunch too. But I know she will come to us again...