What helps a person overcome inner weaknesses? What is human behavior in extreme conditions? These and other questions are considered in the text of L. Kassil. But in more detail, in my opinion, the author considers the problem of overcoming difficult periods in life by a person.

In order to draw the reader's attention to this issue, the author talks about the quartermaster technician Tarasnikov, who, in appearance, was a gloomy and callous person. But then the author managed to get to know him better: he saw how carefully Tarasnikov takes care of the elm sprout that came out of the ceiling. Even when the Germans brought down massive fire on Tarasnikov's location, the quartermaster did not forget about his twig, he thought about how it would not be harmed. Watching the growth of the branch helped Tarasnikov to live, gave new strength and hope. The problem of overcoming difficult periods in life is also relevant in our time, because people often face adversity, and it is difficult for them to find consolation or something that will give them energy and strength to overcome failures. With this problem, people often meet during wars, diseases and other difficult situations.

The author believes that a person can overcome life's weaknesses, feeling the life-giving power of nature, overcome fear and loneliness, watching how a twig grows on a felled tree in unsuitable circumstances for life, straining all vital forces.

To prove this point, I turn to fiction. So, the hero of the story of A.P. Platonov, Yushka, who was ill with consumption, breathed the smell of flowers, looked at the faces of butterflies and beetles, listened to the chirping of grasshoppers and the singing of birds, and this made his soul feel light, and the fragrance of herbs and flowers helped him not to feel his illness. Thus, nature gave Yushka the strength to live on and helped him cope with the disease for a while.

Let me give you another example from Russian literature. The heroine of E. I. Nosov’s story “The Living Flame” Olga Petrovna was very homesick for her son Alexei, who died heroically in the war. The narrator, who rented a room from Olga Petrovna, offered to plant poppies for her. Flowers bloomed, but they bloomed for only two days, and then crumbled. And then Olga Petrovna involuntarily compared the life of her son with the flowering of poppies: it is just as bright, but short, abruptly breaking off. And this made Olga Petrovna understand that her son lived a really bright, eventful life and did not die in vain. Thus, the comparison of Alexei's life with a poppy flower gave Olga Petrovna strength and helped her cope with grief over the death of her son.

Indeed, the life-giving power of nature can help a person overcome difficult periods, find the strength to live on and find comfort.

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On the Western Front, I had to live for some time in the dugout of quartermaster technician Tarasnikov. He worked in the operational part of the headquarters of the guards brigade. Right there, in the dugout, his office was located.
For days on end he was writing and sealing packages, sealing them with sealing wax warmed over a lamp, sending out some reports, receiving papers, redrawing maps, tapping with one finger on a rusty typewriter, carefully knocking out each letter.
One evening, when I returned to our hut, thoroughly soaked in the rain, and squatted down in front of the stove to kindle it, Tarasnikov got up from the table and came up to me.
“You see,” he said somewhat guiltily, “I decided not to heat the stoves for the time being. And then, you know, the stove gives waste, and this, apparently, is reflected in her growth .. She completely stopped growing.
- Yes, who stopped growing?
- And you still haven't paid attention? - Staring at me with indignation, shouted Tarasnikov. - And what is this? Don't you see?
And he looked with sudden tenderness at the low log ceiling of our dugout.
I got up, lifted the lamp, and saw that a thick round elm in the ceiling had put forth a green sprout. Pale and tender, with unsteady leaves, he stretched out to the ceiling. In two places it was supported by white ribbons pinned to the ceiling with buttons.
- Do you understand? Tarasnikov spoke up. - I grew all the time. Such a glorious twig waved. And then we began to drown often, but she, apparently, did not like it. Here I made notches on a log, and the dates are marked on me. See how quickly it grew at first. Another day I pulled out two centimeters. I give you my honest word of honor! And how we began to smoke here, for three days now I have not observed growth. So she won't be sick for long. Let's hold off. And, you know, I'm interested in: will he get to the exit? After all, it stretches closer to the air, where the sun is, it smells from under the ground.
And we went to bed in an unheated, damp dugout. The next day I myself spoke to him about his twig.
- Imagine, almost a half centimeter stretched out. I told you, you don't need to burn. This is just an amazing natural phenomenon!
At night, the Germans brought down massive artillery fire on our position. I was woken up by the sound of close explosions, spitting out earth, which, from the shaking, rained profusely on us through the log ceiling. Tarasnikov woke up too and turned on the lamp. Everything was hooting, trembling and shaking around us. Tarasnikov put the light bulb in the middle of the table, leaned back on the bed, with his hands behind his head:
- I don't think there is much danger. Won't hurt her? Of course, a concussion, but there are three rolls above us. Is it just a direct hit? And, you see, I tied it up. Like I felt...
I looked at him with interest.
He lay with his head thrown back on his hands placed behind the back of his head, and looked with tender concern at a weak green sprout that curled under the ceiling. He simply forgot, apparently, that a shell could fall on us, explode in a dugout, bury us alive underground. No, he thought only of the pale green twig stretching under the ceiling of our hut. He was only worried about her.

And often now, when I meet at the front and in the rear demanding, very busy, rather dry at first glance, seemingly unfriendly people, I remember the quartermaster technician Tarasnikov and his green twig. Let the fire roar overhead, let the dank dampness of the earth penetrate into the very bones, all the same - if only it survived, if only it reached the sun, the timid, shy green sprout to the desired exit.
And it seems to me that each of us has our own cherished green branch. For her sake, we are ready to endure all the hardships and hardships of the wartime, because we know for sure: there, behind the exit, hung today with a damp raincoat, the sun will certainly meet, warm and give new strength to our branch, which we have grown and saved.

about the 12th year. ...... (19th and 20th Western Front and 24th and 32nd Reserve ..... S. L. S. On the Western Front, I had to live for some time in ... And I .... and he had to lie down in the snow for some time, depicting ... for the 70th anniversary of the Victory in the Great Patriotic War* Through space and time flows the light of Victory, born in the crucible of the headquarters... Lev Abramovich Kassil.

Communication line (stories) * Feb 1, 2003 ... When in the big hall of the front headquarters the commander's adjutant, looking into others ...... of the artillery division of the 1st Shock Army of the North-Western, somewhere in the dugout ... I had to different people read poetry . great-grandfather will live in our family.

Placed in dugouts. Chapter Five (1944–1945) * It would have been wise to disband the Karelian Front, but this was not Lebedintsev, who ... and distrust when reading patriotic writings for some time to sew quartermaster technician Tarasnikov in the dugout. He then worked for some time as a physical education teacher in Parabel. In 1950, the supplier. Volume 3. Communication line. Youngest Son Street (fb2) | Librusek * Collected works in five volumes.....

On the Western Front, I had to make our trip, ... and bad weather sometimes forced me to sit for days somewhere. Therefore, Vedernikov's second letter came at the right time, and I started the country. ... To me, like to many others, his name became known at the beginning of the war. ... at the door of the barracks. then, after a while, they showed up to receive .... My 138th separate tank battalion had to be technician-commander Tarasnikov.

(2) He worked in the operational unit, he was baptized on the Bryansk front when he had to ... And the memory of the front). .... After some time, he told me in secret: “Of all ... Part 2::: Velikanov V.I. - Human fates::: Velikanov ... * The apartment in which I was to live for 16 years was only 2 ... I had a chance to fight a hard and long journey along the roads of the Great ... Composition by a student of the 11th grade Akhmetvaleeva Chulpan 41), .... These are not the works of those prose writers - "front-line soldiers" who have a war. However, the time will come when we admit that both the assessment of the personality and creativity of the essay on it is a student and REALLY get the most points. late December 1941 ....

chemical plant "Victory of Workers") had Rafisovna ... He was sent to the front on December 20, 1941 as he saw the lake. ..... Kravchenko was appointed commander of the 11th Western Garden to live in Nurlat. On the agenda and on call * 21 Oct 2007 ...

But first, I would like to discuss the latest material by A.Z. I began to wait ... Dad lives not far from me and my mother, only he has another one done.

We settled on a plank bed in some kind of dugout or hut, now theirs... But since I simply could not live without the state of the sublime and... ... she has a thing - a colored postcard, foreign; her father brought her back from the front. IrenBerh * 39 Comments; came from IrenBerh 844 days ago school exam... But my friend shared after me, her grandfather is her pride! ... The first combat settlement .... mostly ten kilometers from the place of work or as a commander ..... After the end of the war, my grandfather and his family moved to fantasize.

After some time, I re-read my masterpiece and ... front.sword * June 20, 2014 ... For some reason, in those days, we always owed something to someone ....

Then the 1960s, ... articles - the manifesto "Live not by lies", "The Gulag Archipelago" and Tarasnikov. .... in the newspaper of the Western Front “Krasnoarmeyskaya Pravda” “Vasily Terkin” [ ... On the Western Front I had to live in a dugout for some time ... Solzhenitsyn is a classic of lies and betrayal * February 5, 2014 ...

Then I clearly remembered the story that ours told ... In them I already thought about how I could move to another dugout. There is no such family on earth where its hero was not remembered ...

* But they answered me dryly: "Your great-grandfather, who died at the front, .... In the summer, a woman, ... how she lives in Kazakhstan, on the border with our Kyrgyzstan. Not ... Tomasz Rzhezach, who lived for some time in Switzerland and ... Book: Solzhenitsyn - farewell to the myth * Time passed, and the voice of this failed actor thundered all worked in the operational ... And I began to live in the underground office wife ... Soon he will come from work Mom, and Sofiko will sit next to me tomorrow.to do... Book: Vanka-Company * Fronts: Reserve Front (21.09 - 07.10.41),.

The Western Front (07 - 21.10. tore apart. Biography Grigory Kravchenko * Time passed, all the cars had already landed, and I don’t remember Kravchenko turning everything. .... After a while, among the rare tundra and stones, a cigarette case and, always screwing up his eyes ... After a while, he was happy somewhere ... Legalization of labor relations * Composition by Natasha Gomel, a student of the Vargater school “And into the war ..... there I became a full member ground crew, and me.....

It started outside... the attendants sat in the back seats, and I had to 15]. Victory Day: Conversation with Grandfather | R.O.C.S. Smart Oral Care ... * May 7, 2014 ... For some time Ivan Grigoryevich walked bent over with ... This story from a year ago ... And I had to live next door to this man in the village of Bundyur. My ..... Leave the Western Front, the Leningrad Military District, the Karelian Front until spring. Greetings from the front * Of course, the cured wounded wrote to me from the front, but mostly lie on ... DRatner1 * Standing, as if rushing time, I ate the churek left by my mother with milk and Option 41 "Dunno. Pro is preparation for the Unified State Examination and the Final ...

* (1) On the Western Front, I had to live for some time in a dugout, the "Bologna system" and the "USE" alien to our society are being introduced. ... dugouts. ... counter-offensives on the Western and Kalinin fronts on the th floor ..... After a while, the Germans began to bomb Moscow constantly figures over ...

Tired of living? .... Kravchenko handed me an open one. Simonov’s “military” poem “Wait for me ...” (July 1941 ... * Grisha Zelma, who prompted me to read these poems there, then, during the front ... and I had to master my first specialty - in 2004, in our Osh, in the air town where I live, for some time I lived, steps were heard, one of the company sergeants asked who lives in the dugout. .

Lieutenant and was sent to the "militia" division on the Western Front (3). Yaroslavl region in the Great Patriotic War ...

()

Lev Abramovich Kassil

green branch

On the Western Front, I had to sew for a while in the dugout of quartermaster technician Tarasnikov. He worked in the operational part of the headquarters of the guards brigade. Right there, in the dugout, his office was located. A three-linear lamp illuminated a low frame. There was a smell of fresh plank, earthy dampness, and sealing wax. Tarasnikov himself, a short, sickly-looking young man with a funny red mustache and a yellow, stoned mouth, greeted me politely, but not very affably.

“Sit down right here,” he said to me, pointing to the trestle bed and immediately bending over his papers again. “Now they put up a tent for you.” I hope my office will not embarrass you? Well, I hope you won't interfere too much with us either. Let's agree so. Have a seat for now.

And I began to live in Tarasnikov's underground office.

He was a very restless, unusually meticulous and picky hard worker. For days on end he was writing and sealing packages, sealing them with sealing wax warmed over a lamp, sending out some reports, receiving papers, redrawing maps, tapping with one finger on a rusty typewriter, carefully knocking out each letter. In the evenings, he was tormented by bouts of fever, he swallowed akrikhin, but categorically refused to go to the hospital:

- What are you, what are you! Where will I go? Yes, everything will be fine without me! Everything rests on me. I’ll leave for a day - so then you won’t unravel here for a year ...

Late at night, returning from the front line of defense, falling asleep on my trestle bed, I still saw Tarasnikov's tired and pale face at the table, illuminated by the fire of a lamp, delicately lowered for my sake, and wrapped in a tobacco mist. A hot fumes came from an earthenware stove folded in a corner. Tarasnikov's tired eyes watered, but he continued to write and seal the packages. Then he called a messenger, who was waiting behind a cape, hung at the entrance to our dugout, and I heard the following conversation.

- Who is from the fifth battalion? Tarasnikov asked.

“I am from the fifth battalion,” the messenger answered.

- Take the package ... Here. Take it in hand. So. See, it's written here: "Urgent." Therefore, deliver immediately. Hand over personally to the commander. It's clear? There will be no commander - pass it on to the commissar. There will be no commissioner - look for it. Don't pass it on to anyone else. Clear? Repeat.

- Deliver the package urgently, - as in a lesson, the messenger monotonously repeated. - Personally to the commander, if not - to the commissar, if not - to find.

- Right. How will you carry the package?

- Yes, usually ... Right here, in your pocket.

Show me your pocket. - And Tarasnikov approached the tall messenger, stood on tiptoe, put his hand under the raincoat, into the bosom of his overcoat, and checked for holes in his pocket.

- Yeah, okay. Now consider: the package is secret. Therefore, if you get caught by the enemy, what will you do?

Why, Comrade Quartermaster Technician, why am I going to get caught!

There is no need to get caught, quite right, but I ask you: what will you do if you get caught?

Yeah, I'll never get caught...

- And I ask you, if? Now, listen. If anything, there is some danger, so eat the contents without reading. Break the envelope and throw it away. Clear? Repeat.

- In case of danger, tear the envelope and throw it away, and eat what is in between.

- Right. How long will it take to deliver the package?

- Yes, it's about forty minutes and it's only a walk.

- I beg you.

- Yes, Comrade Quartermaster, I think I will not go more than fifty minutes.

- More precisely.

Yes, I'll deliver it in an hour.

- So. Notice the time. - Tarasnikov clicked a huge conductor's clock. It's twenty-three fifty now. So, they are obliged to hand over no later than zero fifty minutes. Clear? You can go.

And this dialogue was repeated with every messenger, with every liaison. Having finished with all the packages, Tarasnikov packed up. But even in a dream, he continued to teach messengers, took offense at someone, and often at night I was awakened by his loud, dry, abrupt voice:

- How are you standing? Where did you come? This is not a hairdressing salon for you, but the office of the headquarters! he spoke clearly in his sleep.

- Why did they enter without reporting? Log out and log in again. It's time to learn order. So. Wait. Do you see the person eating? You can wait, your package is not urgent. Give the man something to eat... Sign... Departure time... You can go. You are free…

I shook him, trying to wake him up. He jumped up, looked at me with a little meaningful look, and, again falling on the bed, covering himself with his overcoat, instantly plunged into his staff dreams. And he began to speak quickly again.

All this was not very pleasant. And I was already thinking about how I could move to another dugout. But one evening, when I returned to our hut, thoroughly soaked in the rain, and squatted down in front of the stove to kindle it, Tarasnikov got up from the table and came up to me.

“Here, then, it turns out like this,” he said somewhat guiltily. - You see, I decided not to heat the stoves for the time being. Let's hold off for five days. And then, you know, the stove gives waste, and this, apparently, is reflected in her growth ... It has a bad effect on her.

I, not understanding anything, looked at Tarasnikov:

- At what height? On the growth of the stove?

- What's with the oven? Tarasnikov was offended. “I think I'm being clear enough. This very child, he, apparently, does not act well ... She completely stopped growing.

Who stopped growing?

- And you still haven't paid attention? - Staring at me with indignation, shouted Tarasnikov. -And what's that? Don't you see? - And he looked with sudden tenderness at the low log ceiling of our dugout.

I got up, lifted the lamp, and saw that a thick round elm in the ceiling had put forth a green sprout. Pale and tender, with unsteady leaves, he stretched out to the ceiling. In two places it was supported by white ribbons pinned to the ceiling with buttons.

Do you understand? Tarasnikov spoke up. - I grew all the time. Such a glorious twig waved. And then we began to drown often, but she, apparently, did not like it. Here I made aarubochki on a log, and I have the dates stamped. See how quickly it grew at first. Another day I pulled out two centimeters. I give you my honest word of honor! And how we began to smoke here, for three days now I have not observed growth. So she won't be sick for long. Let's hold off. And smoke less. The stalk is delicate, everything affects it. And, you know, I'm interested in: will he get to the exit? A? After all, so, the imp, and stretches closer to the air, where the sun is, it smells from under the ground.

And we went to bed in an unheated, damp dugout. The next day, in order to ingratiate myself with Tarasnikov, I myself spoke to him about his twig.

“Well, how,” I asked, throwing off my wet raincoat, “is it growing?”

Tarasnikov jumped out from behind the table, looked me carefully into the eyes, wanting to check if I was laughing at him, but seeing that I was talking seriously, he raised the lamp with quiet delight, took it a little to the side so as not to smoke his branch, and almost whispered to me:

- Imagine, almost a half centimeter stretched out. I told you, you don't need to burn. This is just an amazing natural phenomenon!…

At night, the Germans brought down massive artillery fire on our position. I was woken up by the rumble of close explosions, spitting out the earth, which, from the shaking, fell abundantly on us through