Writer dragoon stories for children to read. Denis Dragunsky: The whole truth about "Denis's stories." Motorcycle racing on a vertical wall

Stories about Denis have been translated into many languages of the world and even into Japanese. Victor Dragunsky wrote a sincere and cheerful preface to the Japanese collection: “I was born quite a long time ago and quite far away, one might even say, in another part of the world. As a child, I loved to fight and never let myself get hurt. As you understand, my hero was Tom Sawyer, and never, under any circumstances, Sid. I'm sure you share my point of view. I studied at school, frankly speaking, it didn’t matter... From the very beginning early childhood I fell in love with the circus and still love it. I was a clown. I wrote a story about the circus, “Today and Everyday.” Besides the circus I really love small children. I write about children and for children. This is my whole life, its meaning.”

“Deniska’s stories” are funny stories with a sensitive vision of important details; they are instructive, but without moralizing. If you haven't read them yet, start with the most touching stories and the story “Childhood Friend” is best suited for this role.

Deniska's stories: Childhood friend

When I was six or six and a half years old, I had absolutely no idea who I would ultimately be in this world. I really liked all the people around me and all the work too. At that time I was in terrible confusion in my head, I was kind of confused and couldn’t really decide what to do.

Either I wanted to be an astronomer, so I could stay awake at night and watch distant stars through a telescope, and then I dreamed of becoming a sea captain, so that I could stand with my legs apart on the captain’s bridge, and visit distant Singapore, and buy a funny monkey there. Otherwise, I was dying to turn into a subway driver or a station master and walk around in a red cap and shout in a thick voice:

- Go-o-tov!

Or my appetite was whetted to learn to become an artist who paints white stripes on the street asphalt for speeding cars. Otherwise it seemed to me that it would be nice to become a brave traveler like Alain Bombard and sail across all the oceans on a fragile shuttle, eating only raw fish. True, this Bomber lost twenty-five kilograms after his trip, and I only weighed twenty-six, so it turned out that if I also swam like him, then I would have absolutely no way to lose weight, I would weigh only one thing at the end of the trip kilo. What if I don’t catch a fish or two somewhere and lose a little more weight? Then I’ll probably just melt into the air like smoke, that’s all.

When I calculated all this, I decided to abandon this idea, and the next day I was already impatient to become a boxer, because I saw the European Boxing Championship on TV. The way they threshed each other was simply terrifying! And then they showed them training, and here they were hitting a heavy leather “bag” - such an oblong heavy ball, you need to hit it with all your might, hit it as hard as you can in order to develop the power of hitting. And I looked at all this so much that I also decided to become the strongest person in the yard so that I could beat everyone, if anything happened.

I told dad:

- Dad, buy me a pear!

- It’s January now, there are no pears. Eat a carrot for now.

I laughed:

- No, dad, not like that! Not an edible pear! Please buy me an ordinary leather punching bag!

- Why do you need it? - said dad.

“Practice,” I said. - Because I will be a boxer and I will beat everyone. Buy it, huh?

- How much does such a pear cost? – Dad asked.

“It’s just nothing,” I said. - Ten or fifty rubles.

“You’re crazy, brother,” said dad. - Get by somehow without a pear. Nothing will happen to you. And he got dressed and went to work. And I was offended by him because he refused me so laughingly. And my mother immediately noticed that I was offended, and immediately said:

- Wait a minute, I think I came up with something. Come on, come on, wait a minute.

And she bent down and pulled out a large wicker basket from under the sofa; It contained old toys that I no longer played with. Because I had already grown up and in the fall I was supposed to buy a school uniform and a cap with a shiny visor.

Mom started digging in this basket, and while she was digging, I saw my old tram without wheels and on a string, a plastic pipe, a dented top, one arrow with a rubber blotch, a piece of sail from a boat, and several rattles, and many other toy items. scrap. And suddenly mom took out a healthy teddy bear from the bottom of the basket.

She threw it on my sofa and said:

- Here. This is the same one that Aunt Mila gave you. You were two years old then. Good Mishka, excellent. Look how tight it is! What a fat belly! Look how it rolled out! Why not a pear? Even better! And you don't need to buy! Let's train as much as you like! Get started!

And then they called her to the phone, and she went out into the corridor.

And I was very happy that my mother came up with such a great idea. And I made Mishka more comfortable on the sofa, so that it would be easier for me to train against him and develop the power of the blow.

He sat in front of me, so chocolate-colored, but very shabby, and he had different eyes: one of his own - yellow glass, and the other large white - from a button from a pillowcase; I didn't even remember when he appeared. But it didn’t matter, because Mishka looked at me quite cheerfully with his different eyes, and he spread his legs and stuck his stomach out towards me, and raised both hands up, as if he was joking that he was already giving up in advance...

And I looked at him like that and suddenly remembered how a long time ago I never parted with this Mishka for a minute, dragged him everywhere with me, and nursed him, and sat him at the table next to me for dinner, and fed him with a spoon semolina porridge, and he got such a funny little face when I smeared him with something, even the same porridge or jam, then he got such a funny, cute little face, just like he was alive, and I put him to bed with me, and rocked him to sleep , like a little brother, and whispered different tales to him right into his velvety hard ears, and I loved him then, loved him with all my soul, I would give my life for him then. And here he is now sitting on the sofa, my former best friend, a true childhood friend. Here he sits, laughing with different eyes, and I want to train the strength of my blow against him...

“What are you talking about,” said mom, she had already returned from the corridor. - What's wrong with you?

But I didn’t know what was wrong with me, I was silent for a long time and turned away from my mother so that she wouldn’t guess by her voice or lips what was wrong with me, and I lifted my head to the ceiling so that the tears would roll back, and then, when I had strengthened myself a little , I said:

-What are you talking about, mom? Nothing wrong with me... I just changed my mind. I'll just never be a boxer.

About the author.
Victor Dragunsky lived a long life, interesting life. But not everyone knows that before becoming a writer, in his early youth he changed many occupations and at the same time succeeded in each: turner, saddler, actor, director, author of small plays, “red-haired” clown in the arena of the Moscow circus. He treated every job he did in his life with equal respect. He loved children very much, and the children were drawn to him, feeling in him a kind elder comrade and friend. When he was an actor, he enjoyed performing for children, usually as Santa Claus during the winter holidays. He was kind cheerful person, but irreconcilable to injustice and lies.

Victor Yuzefovich Dragunsky is a man of amazing destiny. He was born on November 30, 1913 in New York into a family of emigrants from Russia. However, already in 1914, shortly before the start of the First World War, the family returned and settled in Gomel, where Dragunsky spent his childhood. Together with his stepfather, actor Mikhail Rubin, at the age of ten he began performing on provincial stages: he recited couplets, tap danced and parodied. In his youth he worked as a boatman on the Moscow River, as a turner at a factory, and as a saddler in a sports workshop. By a lucky coincidence, in 1930, Viktor Dragunsky entered the literary and theater workshop of Alexei Diky and this is where it begins interesting stage biographies – acting. In 1935 he began performing as an actor. Since 1940, he has been publishing feuilletons and humorous stories, writing songs, sideshows, clowning, skits for the stage and circus. During the Great Patriotic War Dragunsky was in the militia, and then performed at the fronts with concert brigades. For a little over a year he worked as a clown in the circus, but returned to the theater again. At the Film Actor's Theater he organized a literary and theatrical parody ensemble, uniting young, underemployed actors into the amateur troupe "Blue Bird". Dragunsky played several roles in films. He was almost fifty when his books for children with strange names: “Twenty years under the bed”, “Neither bang nor bang”, “Professor of sour cabbage soup”... Deniskin’s first stories by Dragunsky instantly became popular. Books from this series were printed in large editions.

However, Victor Dragunsky wrote prose works for adults as well. In 1961, the story “He Fell on the Grass” about the very first days of the war was published. In 1964, the story “Today and Everyday” was published, telling about the life of circus workers. The main character of this book is a clown.

Viktor Yuzefovich Dragunsky died in Moscow on May 6, 1972. The Dragunsky writing dynasty was continued by his son Denis, who became a very successful writer, and his daughter Ksenia Dragunskaya, a brilliant children's writer and playwright.

Dragunsky’s close friend, children’s poet Yakov Akim, once said: “A young man needs all the vitamins, including all the moral vitamins. Vitamins of kindness, nobility, honesty, decency, courage. Viktor Dragunsky generously and talentedly gave all these vitamins to our children.”

* * *

About my dad

When I was little, I had a dad. Victor Dragunsky. Famous children's writer. But no one believed me that he was my dad. And I shouted: “This is my dad, dad, dad!!!” And she started to fight. Everyone thought he was my grandfather. Because he was no longer very young. I - late child. Younger. I have two older brothers - Lenya and Denis. They are smart, learned and quite bald. But they know much more stories about dad than I do. But since it was not they who became children’s writers, but me, they usually ask me to write something about dad.

My dad was born a long time ago. In 2013, on the first of December, he would have turned one hundred years old. And he was born not just anywhere, but in New York. This is how it happened - his mother and father were very young, got married and left the Belarusian city of Gomel for America, for happiness and wealth. I don’t know about happiness, but things didn’t work out for them at all with wealth. They ate exclusively bananas, and in the house where they lived there were huge rats running around. And they returned back to Gomel, and after a while they moved to Moscow, to Pokrovka. There, my dad did poorly at school, but he loved to read books. Then he worked at a factory, studied to be an actor and worked at the Satire Theater, and also as a clown in a circus and wore a red wig. This is probably why my hair is red. And as a child, I also wanted to become a clown.

Dear readers!!! People often ask me how my dad is doing and ask me to ask him to write something else - bigger and funnier. I don’t want to upset you, but my dad died a long time ago, when I was only six years old, that is, more than thirty years ago. That's why I remember very few incidents about him.

One such case. My dad loved dogs very much. He always dreamed of having a dog, but his mother did not allow him, but finally, when I was five and a half years old, a spaniel puppy named Toto appeared in our house. So wonderful. Eared, spotted and with thick paws. He had to be fed six times a day, like a baby, which made my mother a little angry... And then one day my dad and I came from somewhere or were just sitting at home alone, and I wanted to eat something. We go to the kitchen and find a saucepan with semolina porridge, and it is so tasty (I generally hate semolina porridge) that we eat it right away. And then it turns out that this is Totosha’s porridge, which his mother specially cooked in advance to mix with some vitamins, as puppies should. Mom was offended, of course.

A disgrace is a children's writer, an adult, and he ate puppy porridge.

They say that in his youth my dad was terribly cheerful, he was always inventing something, the coolest and wittiest people in Moscow were always around him, and at home it was always noisy, fun, laughter, celebration, feasting and solid celebrities. Unfortunately, I no longer remember this - when I was born and grew up a little, my dad was very sick with hypertension, high blood pressure, and it was impossible to make noise in the house. My friends, who are now quite grown-up aunties, still remember that I had to walk on tiptoe so as not to bother my dad. They didn’t even allow me to see him, so that I wouldn’t disturb him. But I still got to him, and we played - I was a frog, and dad was a respected and kind lion.

My dad and I also went to eat bagels on Chekhov Street, there was this bakery with bagels and a milkshake. We were also at the circus on Tsvetnoy Boulevard, we sat very close, and when the clown Yuri Nikulin saw my dad (and they worked together in the circus before the war), he was very happy, took the microphone from the ringmaster and sang “The Song about Hares” especially for us. .

My dad also collected bells, we have a whole collection at home, and now I continue to add to it.

If you read “Deniska’s Stories” carefully, you understand how sad they are. Not all, of course, but some – just very much so. I won’t say which ones now. Read it for yourself and feel it. And then we’ll check. Some people are surprised, they say, how did an adult manage to penetrate into the soul of a child, speak on his behalf, as if it were told by the child himself?.. But it’s very simple - dad remained a little boy all his life. Exactly! A person does not have time to grow up at all - life is too short. A person only has time to learn to eat without getting dirty, to walk without falling, to do something, to smoke, to lie, to shoot from a machine gun, or vice versa - to heal, to teach... All people are children. Well, in extreme cases - almost everything. Only they don't know about it.

Of course, I don’t remember much about my dad. But I can write all sorts of stories - funny, strange and sad. I got this from him.

And my son Tema is very similar to my dad. Well, he looks like a spitting image! Elderly people live in the house in Karetny Ryad, where we live in Moscow. variety artists who remember my dad when he was young. And that’s what they call Tema – “Bred of Dragoons.” And Tema and I love dogs. Our dacha is full of dogs, and those that are not ours just come to us for dinner. One day some striped dog came, we treated him to cake, and he liked it so much that he ate it and barked with joy with his mouth full.

Ksenia Dragunskaya

“It’s alive and glowing...”

One evening I was sitting in the yard, near the sand, waiting for my mother. She probably stayed late at the institute, or at the store, or maybe stood at the bus stop for a long time. Don't know. Only all the parents in our yard had already arrived, and all the kids went home with them and were probably already drinking tea with bagels and cheese, but my mother was still not there...

And now the lights began to light up in the windows, and the radio started playing music, and dark clouds moved in the sky - they looked like bearded old men...

And I wanted to eat, but my mother was still not there, and I thought that if I knew that my mother was hungry and was waiting for me somewhere at the end of the world, I would immediately run to her, and would not be late and not made her sit on the sand and get bored.

And at that time Mishka came out into the yard. He said:

- Great!

And I said:

- Great!

Mishka sat down with me and picked up the dump truck.

- Wow! - said Mishka. - Where did you get it? Does he pick up sand himself? Not yourself? Does he leave on his own? Yes? What about the pen? What is it for? Can it be rotated? Yes? A? Wow! Will you give it to me at home?

I said:

- No, I won’t. Present. Dad gave it to me before he left.

The bear pouted and moved away from me. It became even darker outside.

I looked at the gate so as not to miss when my mother came. But she still didn’t come. Apparently, I met Aunt Rosa, and they stand and talk and don’t even think about me. I lay down on the sand.

Here Mishka says:

- Can you give me a dump truck?

- Get off it, Mishka.

Then Mishka says:

– I can give you one Guatemala and two Barbados for it!

I speak:

– Compared Barbados to a dump truck...

- Well, do you want me to give you a swimming ring?

I speak:

- It's broken.

- You will seal it!

I even got angry:

- Where to swim? In the bathroom? On Tuesdays?

And Mishka pouted again. And then he says:

- Well, it wasn’t! Know my kindness! On!

And he handed me a box of matches. I took it in my hands.

“You open it,” said Mishka, “then you will see!”

I opened the box and at first I didn’t see anything, and then I saw a small light green light, as if somewhere far, far away from me a tiny star was burning, and at the same time I myself was holding it in my hands.

“What is this, Mishka,” I said in a whisper, “what is this?”

“This is a firefly,” said Mishka. - What, good? He's alive, don't think about it.

“Bear,” I said, “take my dump truck, would you like it?” Take it forever, forever! Give me this star, I’ll take it home...

And Mishka grabbed my dump truck and ran home. And I stayed with my firefly, looked at it, looked and couldn’t get enough of it: how green it is, as if in a fairy tale, and how close it is, in the palm of your hand, but it shines as if from afar... And I couldn’t breathe evenly, and I heard my heart beating and there was a slight tingling in my nose, as if I wanted to cry.

And I sat like that for a long time, a very long time. And there was no one around. And I forgot about everyone in this world.

But then my mother came, and I was very happy, and we went home. And when they started drinking tea with bagels and feta cheese, my mother asked:

- Well, how is your dump truck?

And I said:

- I, mom, exchanged it.

Mom said:

- Interesting! And for what?

I replied:

- To the firefly! Here he is, living in a box. Turn out the light!

And mom turned off the light, and the room became dark, and the two of us began to look at the pale green star.

Then mom turned on the light.

“Yes,” she said, “it’s magic!” But still, how did you decide to give such a valuable thing as a dump truck for this worm?

“I’ve been waiting for you for so long,” I said, “and I was so bored, but this firefly, it turned out to be better than any dump truck in the world.”

Mom looked at me intently and asked:

- And in what way, in what way is it better?

I said:

- How come you don’t understand?! After all, he is alive! And it glows!..

The secret becomes clear

I heard my mother say to someone in the hallway:

–...The secret always becomes clear.

And when she entered the room, I asked:

– What does this mean, mom: “The secret becomes clear”?

“And this means that if someone acts dishonestly, they will still find out about him, and he will be ashamed, and he will be punished,” said my mother. - Got it?.. Go to bed!

I brushed my teeth, went to bed, but did not sleep, but kept thinking: how is it possible that the secret becomes apparent? And I didn’t sleep for a long time, and when I woke up, it was morning, dad was already at work, and mom and I were alone. I brushed my teeth again and started eating breakfast.

First I ate the egg. This is still tolerable, because I ate one yolk, and chopped the white with the shell so that it was not visible. But then mom brought a whole plate of semolina porridge.

- Eat! - Mom said. - Without any talking!

I said:

- I can’t see the semolina porridge!

But mom screamed:

- Look who you look like! Looks like Koschey! Eat. You must get better.

I said:

- I’m choking on her!..

Then my mother sat down next to me, hugged me by the shoulders and asked tenderly:

– Do you want us to go with you to the Kremlin?

Well, of course... I don’t know anything more beautiful than the Kremlin. I was there in the Faceted Chamber and in the Armory, I stood near the Tsar Cannon and I know where Ivan the Terrible was sitting. And there’s a lot of interesting stuff there too. So I quickly answered my mother:

– Of course, I want to go to the Kremlin! Even very!

Then mom smiled:

- Well, eat all the porridge and let's go. In the meantime, I'll wash the dishes. Just remember – you have to eat every last bit!

And mom went into the kitchen.

And I was left alone with the porridge. I spanked her with a spoon. Then I added salt. I tried it - well, it’s impossible to eat! Then I thought that maybe there was not enough sugar? I sprinkled it with sand and tried it... It got even worse. I don't like porridge, I tell you.

And it was also very thick. If it were liquid, then it would be a different matter; I would close my eyes and drink it. Then I took it and added boiling water to the porridge. It was still slippery, sticky and disgusting. The main thing is that when I swallow, my throat itself contracts and pushes this mess back out. It's a shame! After all, I want to go to the Kremlin! And then I remembered that we have horseradish. It seems you can eat almost anything with horseradish! I took the whole jar and poured it into the porridge, and when I tried a little, my eyes immediately popped out of my head and my breathing stopped, and I probably lost consciousness, because I took the plate, quickly ran to the window and threw the porridge out onto the street. Then he immediately returned and sat down at the table.

At this time my mother entered. She looked at the plate and was delighted:

- What a Deniska, what a great guy! I ate all the porridge to the bottom! Well, get up, get dressed, working people, let's go for a walk to the Kremlin! - And she kissed me.

At that same moment the door opened and a policeman entered the room. He said:

- Hello! – and went to the window and looked down. - And also an intelligent person.

-What do you need? – Mom asked sternly.

- Shame on you! “The policeman even stood at attention.” – The state provides you with new housing, with all the amenities and, by the way, with a garbage chute, and you pour all kinds of crap out the window!

- Don't slander. I don't spill anything!

- Oh, don’t you pour it out?! – the policeman laughed sarcastically. And, opening the door to the corridor, he shouted: “Victim!”

And some guy came in to see us.

As soon as I looked at him, I immediately realized that I would not go to the Kremlin.

This guy had a hat on his head. And on the hat is our porridge. It lay almost in the middle of the hat, in the dimple, and a little along the edges, where the ribbon is, and a little behind the collar, and on the shoulders, and on the left trouser leg. As soon as he entered, he immediately began to stutter:

- The main thing is that I’m going to take pictures... And suddenly there’s this story... Porridge... mm... semolina... It’s hot, by the way, through the hat and it’s... burning... How can I send my... ff... photo when I’m covered in porridge?!

Then my mother looked at me, and her eyes became green as gooseberries, and this is a sure sign that my mother was terribly angry.

“Excuse me, please,” she said quietly, “let me clean you up, come here!”

And all three of them went out into the corridor.

And when my mother returned, I was afraid to even look at her. But I overcame myself, went up to her and said:

- Yes, mom, you said it correctly yesterday. The secret always becomes clear!

Mom looked into my eyes. She looked for a long time and then asked:

– Have you remembered this for the rest of your life?

And I answered:

No bang, no bang!

When I was a preschooler, I was terribly compassionate. I absolutely couldn't listen to anything pitiful. And if someone ate someone, or threw someone into the fire, or imprisoned someone, I immediately began to cry. For example, the wolves ate a goat, and all that was left was its horns and legs. I'm crying. Or Babarikha put the queen and the prince in a barrel and threw this barrel into the sea. I'm crying again. Yes, how! Tears run out of me in thick streams straight onto the floor and even merge into entire puddles.

The main thing is that when I listened to fairy tales, I was already in the mood to cry in advance, even before that very terrible place. My lips began to curl and crack, and my voice began to tremble, as if someone was shaking me by the collar. And my mother simply didn’t know what to do, because I always asked her to read or tell me fairy tales, and as soon as things got scary, I immediately understood it and began to shorten the fairy tale as I went. Just two or three seconds before trouble happened, I began to ask in a trembling voice: “Skip this place!”

Mom, of course, skipped, jumped from the fifth to the tenth, and I listened further, but only a little, because in fairy tales something happens every minute, and as soon as it became clear that some misfortune was about to happen again , I again started screaming and begging: “Miss this too!”

Mom again missed some bloody crime, and I calmed down for a while. And so, with worries, stops and quick contractions, my mother and I eventually got to the happy end.

Of course, I still realized that all this made the fairy tales somehow not very interesting: firstly, they were very short, and secondly, they had almost no adventures at all. But on the other hand, I could listen to them calmly, without shedding tears, and then, after such tales, I could sleep at night, and not lie around with my eyes open and be afraid until the morning. And that’s why I really liked such abridged tales. They seemed so calm. Still cool sweet tea. For example, there is a fairy tale about Little Red Riding Hood. My mother and I missed so much in her that she became the most a short tale in the world and the happiest. This is how my mother told it:

“Once upon a time there was a Little Red Riding Hood. One day she baked some pies and went to visit her grandmother. And they began to live and prosper and make good.”

And I was glad that everything worked out so well for them. But, unfortunately, that was not all. I was especially worried about another fairy tale, about a hare. This is a short fairy tale, like a rhyme, everyone in the world knows it:

One, two, three, four, five,
The bunny went out for a walk
Suddenly the hunter runs out...

And here my nose began to tingle and my lips parted in different directions, upper to the right, lower to the left, and the fairy tale continued at that time... The hunter, it means, suddenly runs out and...

Shoots straight at the bunny!

My heart just sank here. I couldn't understand how this happened. Why does this fierce hunter shoot straight at the bunny? What did the bunny do to him? What, he started it first, or what? No! He didn't get cocky after all, did he? He just went out for a walk! And this one directly, without talking:

Bang bang!

From your heavy double-barreled shotgun! And then tears began to flow from me, like from a faucet. Because the bunny wounded in the stomach shouted:

Oh-oh-oh!

He shouted:

- Oh-oh-oh! Goodbye everyone! Goodbye bunnies and hare! Goodbye, my merry one, easy life! Goodbye scarlet carrots and crispy cabbage! Goodbye forever, my clearing, and the flowers, and the dew, and the whole forest, where under every bush a table and a house were ready!

I saw with my own eyes how gray bunny lies down under a thin birch tree and dies... I burst into three streams of burning tears and spoiled everyone’s mood, because I had to be calmed down, but I just roared and roared...

And then one night, when everyone had gone to bed, I lay on my cot for a long time and remembered the poor bunny and kept thinking how good it would be if this had not happened to him. How truly good it would be if only all this had not happened. And I thought about it for so long that suddenly, without noticing it, I re-invented this whole story:

One, two, three, four, five,
The bunny went out for a walk
Suddenly the hunter runs out...
Right into the bunny...
Doesn't shoot!!!
No bang! No bang!
Not oh-oh-oh!
My bunny is not dying!!!

Wow! I even laughed! How complicated everything turned out! It was a real miracle. No bang! No bang! I only said a short “no,” and the hunter, as if nothing had happened, stomped past the bunny in his hemmed felt boots. And he stayed alive! He will again play in the morning in the dewy meadow, he will jump and jump and beat his paws on the old, rotten stump. Such a funny, nice drummer!

And I lay there in the dark and smiled and wanted to tell my mother about this miracle, but I was afraid to wake her up. And eventually he fell asleep. And when I woke up, I already knew forever that I would no longer cry in pitiful places, because now I can intervene at any moment in all these terrible injustices, I can intervene and turn everything around in my own way, and everything will be fine. You just need to say in time: “No bang, no bang!”

What I love

I really like to lie on my stomach on my dad’s knee, lower my arms and legs and hang on my knee like laundry on a fence. I also really like to play checkers, chess and dominoes, just to be sure to win. If you don't win, then don't.

I love listening to a beetle digging around in a box. And on a day off I like to crawl into my dad’s bed in the morning to talk to him about the dog: how we will live more spaciously, and buy a dog, and work with it, and feed it, and how funny and smart it will be, and how she will steal sugar, and I will wipe up the puddles after her, and she will follow me like a faithful dog.

I also like to watch TV: it doesn’t matter what they show, even if it’s just tables.

I like to breathe with my nose into my mother's ear. I especially love to sing and always sing very loudly.

I really love stories about red cavalrymen and how they always win.

I like to stand in front of the mirror and grimace as if I were Parsley from puppet theater. I also really love sprats.

I love reading fairy tales about Kanchila. This is such a small, smart and mischievous doe. She has cheerful eyes, and small horns, and pink polished hooves. When we live more spaciously, we will buy ourselves Kanchilya, he will live in the bathroom. I also like to swim where it’s shallow so I can hold onto the sandy bottom with my hands.

I like to wave a red flag at demonstrations and blow the “go away!” horn.

I really like making phone calls.

I love to plan, saw, I know how to sculpt the heads of ancient warriors and bison, and I sculpted a wood grouse and the Tsar Cannon. I love to give all this.

When I read, I like to chew on a cracker or something else.

I love guests.

I also really love snakes, lizards and frogs. They're so clever. I carry them in my pockets. I like to have a snake on the table when I have lunch. I love it when grandma shouts about the frog: “Take away this disgusting thing!” - and runs out of the room.

I love to laugh... Sometimes I don’t feel like laughing at all, but I force myself, squeeze out laughter - and look, after five minutes it really becomes funny.

When I have good mood, I love to jump. One day my dad and I went to the zoo, and I was jumping around him on the street, and he asked:

-What are you jumping about?

And I said:

- I jump that you are my dad!

He got it!

I love going to the zoo! There are wonderful elephants there. And there is one baby elephant. When we live more spaciously, we will buy a baby elephant. I'll build him a garage.

I really like to stand behind the car when it snorts and sniff the gasoline.

I like to go to cafes - eat ice cream and drink it with sparkling water. It stings your nose and brings tears to your eyes.

When I run down the hallway, I like to stomp my feet as hard as I can.

I love horses very much, they have such beautiful and kind faces.

Victor Dragunsky

Deniska's stories

Part one

It's alive and glowing

What I love

I also like to watch TV: it doesn’t matter what they show, even if it’s just tables.

I like to breathe with my nose into my mother's ear. I especially love to sing and always sing very loudly.

I really love stories about red cavalrymen and how they always win.

I like to stand in front of the mirror and grimace, as if I were Parsley from the puppet theater. I also really love sprats.

I like to wave a red flag at demonstrations and blow the “go away!” horn.

I really like making phone calls.

I love to plan, saw, I know how to sculpt the heads of ancient warriors and bison, and I sculpted a wood grouse and the Tsar Cannon. I love to give all this.

When I read, I like to chew on a cracker or something else.

I love guests.

I love to laugh. Sometimes I don’t feel like laughing at all, but I force myself, I force laughter out of myself - and look, after five minutes it really becomes funny.

When I'm in a good mood, I like to jump. One day my dad and I went to the zoo, and I was jumping around him on the street, and he asked:

What are you jumping about?

And I said:

I jump that you are my dad!

He got it!

I love going to the zoo! There are wonderful elephants there. And there is one baby elephant. When we live more spaciously, we will buy a baby elephant. I'll build him a garage.

I really like to stand behind the car when it snorts and sniff the gasoline.

I like to go to cafes - eat ice cream and wash it down with sparkling water. It makes my nose tingle and tears come to my eyes.

When I run down the hallway, I like to stomp my feet as hard as I can.

I love horses very much, they have such beautiful and kind faces.

I love a lot of things!

... and what I don’t like!

What I don’t like is having my teeth treated. As soon as I see a dental chair, I immediately want to run to the ends of the world. I also don’t like to stand on a chair and read poetry when guests come.

I don’t like it when mom and dad go to the theater.

I hate soft-boiled eggs, when they are shaken up in a glass, crumbled into bread and forced to eat.

I also don’t like it when my mother goes for a walk with me and suddenly meets Aunt Rose!

Then they only talk to each other, and I just don’t know what to do.

I don’t like wearing a new suit - I feel like wood in it.

When we play red and white, I don't like being white. Then I quit the game and that's it! And when I'm red, I don't like to be captured. I'm still running away.

I don't like it when people beat me.

I don’t like to play “loaf” when it’s my birthday: I’m not little.

I don’t like it when guys wonder.

And I really don’t like it when I cut myself, in addition to smearing my finger with iodine.

I don’t like that it’s cramped in our hallway and adults scurry back and forth every minute, some with a frying pan, some with a kettle, and shout:

Children, don't get under your feet! Be careful, my pan is hot!

And when I go to bed, I don’t like the chorus singing in the next room:

Lilies of the valley, lilies of the valley...

I really don’t like that boys and girls on the radio speak in old lady voices!..

“It’s alive and glowing...”

And now the lights began to light up in the windows, and the radio began to play music, and dark clouds moved in the sky - they looked like bearded old men...

And at that time Mishka came out into the yard. He said:

Great!

And I said:

Great!

Mishka sat down with me and picked up the dump truck.

Wow! - said Mishka. - Where did you get it? Does he pick up sand himself? Not yourself? Does he leave on his own? Yes? What about the pen? What is it for? Can it be rotated? Yes? A? Wow! Will you give it to me at home?

I said:

No, I won't. Present. Dad gave it to me before he left.

The bear pouted and moved away from me. It became even darker outside.

I looked at the gate so as not to miss when my mother came. But she still didn’t come. Apparently, I met Aunt Rosa, and they stand and talk and don’t even think about me. I lay down on the sand.

Here Mishka says:

Can you give me a dump truck?

Get off it, Mishka.

Then Mishka says:

I can give you one Guatemala and two Barbados for it!

I speak:

Compared Barbados to a dump truck...

Well, do you want me to give you a swimming ring?

I speak:

Yours is broken.

You'll seal it!

I even got angry:

Where to swim? In the bathroom? On Tuesdays?

Victor Yuzefovich Dragunsky

Deniska's stories

About my dad

When I was little, I had a dad. Victor Dragunsky. Famous children's writer. But no one believed me that he was my dad. And I shouted: “This is my dad, dad, dad!!!” And she started to fight. Everyone thought he was my grandfather. Because he was no longer very young. I am a late child. Younger. I have two older brothers - Lenya and Denis. They are smart, learned and quite bald. But they know much more stories about dad than I do. But since it was not they who became children’s writers, but me, they usually ask me to write something about dad.

My dad also collected bells, we have a whole collection at home, and now I continue to add to it.

Of course, I don’t remember much about my dad. But I can write all sorts of stories - funny, strange and sad. I got this from him.

And my son Tema is very similar to my dad. Well, he looks like a spitting image! In the house in Karetny Ryad, where we live in Moscow, there live elderly pop artists who remember my dad when he was young. And that’s what they call Tema – “Bred of Dragoons.” And Tema and I love dogs. Our dacha is full of dogs, and those that are not ours just come to us for dinner. One day some striped dog came, we treated him to cake, and he liked it so much that he ate it and barked with joy with his mouth full.

Ksenia Dragunskaya

“It’s alive and glowing...”

And now the lights began to light up in the windows, and the radio started playing music, and dark clouds moved in the sky - they looked like bearded old men...

And at that time Mishka came out into the yard. He said:

- Great!

And I said:

- Great!

Mishka sat down with me and picked up the dump truck.

I said:

- No, I won’t. Present. Dad gave it to me before he left.

The bear pouted and moved away from me. It became even darker outside.

I looked at the gate so as not to miss when my mother came. But she still didn’t come. Apparently, I met Aunt Rosa, and they stand and talk and don’t even think about me. I lay down on the sand.

Here Mishka says:

- Can you give me a dump truck?

- Get off it, Mishka.

Deniskin's stories by Dragunsky. Viktor Yuzefovich Dragunsky was born on December 1, 1913 in New York, into a Jewish family of emigrants from Russia. Soon after this, the parents returned to their homeland and settled in Gomel. During the war, Victor's father died of typhus. His stepfather was I. Voitsekhovich, a red commissar who died in 1920. In 1922, another stepfather appeared - Jewish theater actor Mikhail Rubin, with whom the family traveled all over the country. In 1925 they moved to Moscow. But one day Mikhail Rubin went on tour and did not return home. What happened remains unknown.
Victor started working early. In 1930, already working, he began to attend the “Literary and Theater Workshops” of A. Diky. In 1935, he began performing as an actor at the Transport Theater (now the N.V. Gogol Theater). At the same time, Dragunsky was engaged in literary work: he wrote feuilletons and humoresques, came up with interludes, sketches, variety monologues, circus clownery. Got closer to circus performers and even worked in a circus for some time. Gradually the roles came. He played several roles in films (the film “The Russian Question”, directed by Mikhail Romm) and was accepted into the Film Actor’s Theater. But in the theater with its huge troupe, which included famous movie stars, young and not so famous actors I didn’t have to count on constant employment in performances. Then Dragunsky had the idea of creating a small amateur troupe inside the theater. True, such a troupe could be called conditionally an amateur performance - the participants were professional artists. Many actors responded with pleasure to the idea of creating a parody “theater within a theater.” Dragunsky became the organizer and leader of the literary and theatrical parody ensemble “Blue Bird,” which existed from 1948 to 1958. Actors from other Moscow theaters also began to come there. Gradually, the small troupe gained significance and repeatedly performed at the House of Actors (then: All-Russian Theater Society), where at that time Alexander Moiseevich Eskin was director. The funny parody performances were such a resounding success that Dragunsky was invited to create a similar group with the same name in Mosestrad. For productions in “The Blue Bird”, together with Lyudmila Davidovich, he composed texts for several songs, which later became popular and acquired a second life on the stage: “Three Waltzes”, “Wonder Song”, “Motor Ship”, “Star of My Fields”, “ Berezonka."
During the Great Patriotic War, Dragunsky was in the militia.
Since 1940 he has published feuilletons and humorous stories, later collected in the collection Iron Character (1960); writes songs, sideshows, clowneries, skits for the stage and circus.
Since 1959, Dragunsky has been writing funny stories about the fictional boy Denis Korablev and his friend Mishka Slonov under the general title “Deniska’s stories”, based on which the films “ Funny stories"(1962), "Girl on a Ball" (1966), "Deniska's Stories" (1970), "A Secret to the Whole World" (1976), " Amazing Adventures Denis Korablev" (1979), short films "Where is it seen, where is it heard", "Captain", "Fire in the outbuilding" and "Spyglass" (1973). These stories brought their author enormous popularity, and it was with them that his name became associated. The name Deniska was not chosen by chance - that was the name of his son.
In addition, Dragunsky was the screenwriter of the film “The Magic Power of Art (1970),” in which Deniska Korablev was also featured as a hero.
However, Viktor Dragunsky wrote prose works for adults too. In 1961, the story “He Fell on the Grass” about the very first days of the war was published. Its hero, a young artist, like the author of the book himself, despite the fact that he was not drafted into the army due to disability, enlisted in the militia. The story “Today and Everyday” (1964) is dedicated to the life of circus workers, main character which is a clown; This is a book about a person who exists in spite of time, who lives in his own way.
But most famous and popular are Deniska’s stories for children.
In the 1960s, books from this series were published in large numbers:
"Girl on a Ball"
"Enchanted Letter"
"Childhood Friend"
"Dog Thief"
"Twenty years under the bed"
“The magical power of art”, etc.
In the 1970s:
"Red ball in the blue sky"
"Colorful Stories"
"Adventure" etc.
The writer died in Moscow on May 6, 1972.
The widow of V. Dragunsky Alla Dragunskaya (Semichastnaya) published a book of memoirs: “About Victor Dragunsky. Life, creativity, memories of friends”, LLP “Chemistry and Life”, Moscow, 1999.