"The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules" main characters. The thirteenth labor of Hercules. Fazil Iskander F and iskander the thirteenth labor of Hercules

All the mathematicians I met at school and after school were sloppy people, weak-willed and quite brilliant. So the statement that Pythagorean pants are supposedly equal in all directions is unlikely to be absolutely accurate.

Perhaps this was the case with Pythagoras himself, but his followers probably forgot about it and paid little attention to their appearance.

And yet there was one mathematician in our school who was different from all the others. He could not be called weak-willed, much less sloppy. I don’t know whether he was a genius - it’s difficult to establish now. I think most likely it was.

His name was Kharlampy Diogenovich. Like Pythagoras, he was Greek by birth. He appeared in our class from the new school year. Before this, we had not heard of him and did not even know that such mathematicians could exist.

He immediately established exemplary silence in our class. The silence was so eerie that sometimes the director opened the door in fright, because he could not understand whether we were there or had fled to the stadium.

The stadium was located next to the school yard and constantly, especially during big competitions, interfered with the pedagogical process. The director even wrote somewhere to be moved to another place. He said that the stadium made schoolchildren nervous. In fact, it was not the stadium that made us nervous, but the stadium commandant, Uncle Vasya, who unmistakably recognized us, even if we were without books, and drove us out of there with anger that did not fade over the years.

Fortunately, our director was not listened to and the stadium was left in place, only the wooden fence was replaced with a stone one. So now those who had previously looked at the stadium through the cracks in the wooden fence had to climb over.

Nevertheless, our director was in vain afraid that we might run away from the mathematics lesson. It was unthinkable. It was like going up to the director at recess and silently throwing off his hat, although everyone was pretty tired of it. He always, in winter and summer, wore the same hat, evergreen, like a magnolia. And I was always afraid of something.

From the outside it might seem that he was most afraid of the commission from the city administration; in fact, he was most afraid of our head teacher. It was a demonic woman. Someday I will write a poem about her in the Byronian spirit, but now I am talking about something else.

Of course, there was no way we could escape from math class. If we ever ran away from a lesson, it was usually a singing lesson.

It used to be that as soon as our Kharlampy Diogenovich entered the class, everyone immediately became quiet, and so on until the very end of the lesson. True, sometimes he made us laugh, but it was not spontaneous laughter, but fun organized from above by the teacher himself. It did not violate discipline, but served it, like a proof from the opposite in geometry.

It went something like this. Let's say another student is a little late for class, about half a second after the bell rings, and Kharlampy Diogenovich is already walking through the door. The poor student is ready to fall through the floor. Maybe I would have failed if there hadn’t been a teacher’s room right under our classroom.

Some teachers will not pay attention to such a trifle, others will rashly scold, but not Kharlampy Diogenovich. In such cases, he stopped at the door, transferred the magazine from hand to hand and, with a gesture filled with respect for the student’s personality, pointed to the passage.

The student hesitates, his confused face expresses a desire to somehow slip through the door after the teacher. But the face of Kharlampy Diogenovich expresses joyful hospitality, restrained by decency and understanding of the unusualness of this moment. He makes it known that the very appearance of such a student is a rare holiday for our class and for him personally, Kharlampy Diogenovich, that no one expected him, and since he came, no one will dare to reproach him for this little tardiness, especially since he is modest a teacher who, of course, will go into the classroom after such a wonderful student and will close the door behind him as a sign that the dear guest will not be released soon.

All this lasts for several seconds, and in the end the student, awkwardly squeezing through the door, staggers to his place.

Kharlampy Diogenovich looks after him and says something magnificent. For example:

Prince of Wales.

The class laughs. And although we do not know who the Prince of Wales is, we understand that he cannot possibly appear in our class. He simply has nothing to do here, because the princes mainly engage in deer hunting. And if he gets tired of hunting for his deer and wants to visit some school, then he will definitely be taken to the first school, which is near the power plant. Because she is exemplary. At the very least, if he had decided to come to us, we would have been warned long ago and prepared the class for his arrival.

That’s why we laughed, realizing that our student could not possibly be a prince, especially some kind of Welsh one.

But then Kharlampy Diogenovich sits down. The class instantly falls silent. The lesson begins.

Big-headed, short, neatly dressed, carefully shaved, he held the class in his hands with authority and calm. In addition to the journal, he had a notebook where he wrote something down after the interview. I don’t remember him yelling at anyone, or trying to persuade them to study, or threatening to call their parents to school. All these things were of no use to him.

During tests, he did not even think about running between the rows, looking into desks, or vigilantly raising his head at every rustle, as others did. No, he was calmly reading something to himself or fingering a rosary with beads as yellow as a cat’s eyes.

It was almost useless to copy from him, because he immediately recognized the work he had copied and began to ridicule it. So we wrote it off only as a last resort, if there was no other way out.

It happened that during a test he would look up from his rosary or book and say:

Sakharov, please change seats with Avdeenko.

Sakharov stands up and looks at Kharlampy Diogenovich questioningly. He does not understand why he, an excellent student, should change seats with Avdeenko, who is a poor student.

Have pity on Avdeenko, he can break his neck.

Avdeenko looks blankly at Kharlampy Diogenovich, as if not understanding, and perhaps not really understanding, why he could break his neck.

Avdeenko thinks he is a swan,” explains Kharlampy Diogenovich. “Black swan,” he adds after a moment, hinting at Avdeenko’s tanned, gloomy face. “Sakharov, you can continue,” says Kharlampy Diogenovich.

Sakharov sits down.

And you too,” he turns to Avdeenko, but something in his voice barely noticeably shifted. A precisely dosed dose of ridicule poured into him. - ...Unless, of course, you break your neck... black swan! - he firmly concludes, as if expressing courageous hope that Alexander Avdeenko will find the strength to work independently.

Shurik Avdeenko sits, furiously bending over his notebook, showing the powerful efforts of mind and will thrown into solving the problem.

Kharlampy Diogenovich's main weapon is to make a person funny. A student who deviates from school rules is not a lazy person, not a loafer, not a bully, but simply a funny person. Or rather, not just funny, as many would probably agree, but somehow offensively funny. Funny, not realizing that he is funny, or being the last to realize it.

And when the teacher makes you look funny, the mutual responsibility of the students immediately breaks down, and the whole class laughs at you. Everyone laughs against one another. If one person is laughing at you, you can still deal with it somehow. But it is impossible to make the whole class laugh. And if you turned out to be funny, you wanted to prove at all costs that, although you were funny, you were not so completely ridiculous.

It must be said that Kharlampy Diogenovich did not give anyone privileges. Anyone could be funny. Of course, I also did not escape the common fate.

That day I did not solve the problem assigned for homework. There was something about an artillery shell flying somewhere at a certain speed and over a certain period of time. It was necessary to find out how many kilometers he would have flown if he had flown at a different speed and almost in a different direction.

In general, the task was somewhat confusing and stupid. My solution didn't match the answer. And by the way, in the problem books of those years, probably because of pests, the answers were sometimes incorrect. True, very rarely, because by that time almost all of them had been caught. But, apparently, someone was still operating in the wild.

But I still had some doubts. Pests are pests, but, as they say, don’t be a bad person either.

So the next day I came to school an hour before class. We studied in the second shift. The most avid football players were already there. I asked one of them about the problem, and it turned out that he didn’t solve it either. My conscience finally calmed down. We divided into two teams and played until the bell.

And now we enter the class. Having barely caught my breath, just in case I ask the excellent student Sakharov:

Well, how's the task?

Nothing, he says, he decided. At the same time, he briefly and significantly nodded his head in the sense that there were difficulties, but we overcame them.

How did you decide, because the answer is wrong?

Correct,” he nods his head at me with such disgusting confidence on his smart, conscientious face that I immediately hated him for his well-being, although well-deserved, it was all the more unpleasant. I still wanted to doubt it, but he turned away, depriving me of the last consolation of those falling: to grab the air with my hands.

It turns out that at that time Kharlampy Diogenovich appeared at the door, but I did not notice him and continued to gesticulate, although he was standing almost next to me. Finally, I guessed what was going on, scared and slammed the book and froze.

Kharlampy Diogenovich walked to the place.

I was scared and scolded myself for first agreeing with the football player that the task was wrong, and then disagreeing with the excellent student that it was correct. And now Kharlampy Diogenovich probably noticed my excitement and will be the first to call me.

A quiet and modest student sat next to me. His name was Adolf Komarov. Now he called himself Alik and even wrote Alik on his notebook, because the war had begun and he did not want to be teased as Hitler. Still, everyone remembered what his name was before, and on occasion they reminded him of it.

I liked to talk, and he liked to sit quietly. We were put together so that we could influence each other, but, in my opinion, nothing came of it. Everyone remained the same.

Now I noticed that even he solved the problem. He sat over his open notebook, neat, thin and quiet, and because his hands were lying on a blotter, he seemed even quieter. He had this stupid habit of keeping his hands on the blotter, which I couldn’t wean him off.

“Hitler is kaput,” I whispered in his direction. He, of course, didn’t answer anything, but at least he removed his hands from the blotting cloth, and it became easier.

Meanwhile, Kharlampy Diogenovich greeted the class and sat down on a chair. He slightly pulled up the sleeves of his jacket, slowly wiped his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, for some reason then looked at the handkerchief and put it in his pocket. Then he took off his watch and began leafing through the magazine. It seemed that the executioner's preparations went faster.

But then he noted those who were absent and began to look around the class, choosing a victim. I held my breath.

Who's on duty? - he asked unexpectedly. I sighed, grateful for the break.

There was no duty officer, and Kharlampy Diogenovich forced the headman himself to erase from the board. While he was washing, Kharlampy Diogenovich impressed upon him what the headman should do when there was no duty officer. I hoped that he would tell about this some parable from his school life, or Aesop's fable, or something from Greek mythology. But he did not tell anything, because the creak of a dry rag on the board was unpleasant, and he waited for the headman to quickly finish his tedious wiping. Finally the elder sat down.

The class froze. But at that moment the door opened and a doctor and a nurse appeared in the doorway.

Excuse me, is this the fifth "A"? - asked the doctor.

“No,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich with polite hostility, feeling that some kind of sanitary measure could disrupt his lesson. Although our class was almost the fifth “A”, because he was the fifth “B”, he said “no” so decisively, as if there was and could not be anything in common between us.

Sorry,” the doctor said again and, for some reason, hesitantly hesitated and closed the door.

I knew that they were going to give injections against typhus. Some classes have already done this. Injections were never announced in advance, so that no one could sneak out or pretend to be sick and stay home.

I was not afraid of injections, because I was given a lot of injections for malaria, and these are the most disgusting of all existing injections.

And then the sudden hope that illuminated our class with its snow-white robe disappeared. I couldn't leave it like that.

Can I show them where the fifth “A” is? - I said, insolent with fear.

Two circumstances to some extent justified my insolence. I sat opposite the door, and they often sent me to the teachers' room to get chalk or something else. And then the fifth “A” was in one of the outbuildings in the school yard, and the doctor really could have gotten confused, because she rarely visited us, she always worked at the first school.

Show me,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich and slightly raised his eyebrows.

Trying to restrain myself and not show my joy, I rushed out of the classroom.

I caught up with the doctor and nurse in the corridor of our floor and went with them.

“I’ll show you where the fifth “A” is,” I said. The doctor smiled as if she was not giving injections, but handing out candy.

What won’t you do for us? - I asked.

“You’ll be in the next lesson,” said the doctor, still smiling.

“We’re going to the museum for our next lesson,” I said, somewhat unexpectedly even for myself.

In fact, we were talking about going to the local history museum in an organized manner and examining the traces of a primitive man’s site there. But the history teacher kept postponing our trip because the director was afraid that we would not be able to go there in an organized manner.

The fact is that last year one boy from our school stole the dagger of an Abkhaz feudal lord from there in order to escape with it to the front. There was a big fuss about this, and the director decided that everything turned out this way because the class went to the museum not in a line of two, but in a crowd.

In fact, this boy had everything figured out in advance. He did not immediately take the dagger, but first thrust it into the straw that covered the Hut of the Pre-Revolutionary Poor. And then, a few months later, when everything had calmed down, he came there in a coat with a cut out lining and finally took away the dagger.

“We won’t let you in,” the doctor said jokingly.

“What are you talking about,” I said, starting to worry, “we’ll gather in the courtyard and go to the museum in an orderly manner.”

So it's organized?

Yes, in an organized manner,” I repeated seriously, afraid that she, like the director, would not believe in our ability to go to the museum in an organized manner.

Well, Galochka, let’s go to the fifth “B”, otherwise they will actually leave,” she said and stopped. I always liked such neat doctors in little white caps and white coats.

But they told us first at the fifth “A,” this Galochka became stubborn and looked at me sternly. It was clear that she was pretending to be an adult with all her might.

I didn’t even look in her direction, showing that no one thought of her as an adult.

“What difference does it make,” said the doctor and turned decisively.

The boy can't wait to test his courage, huh?

“I’m a malaria patient,” I said, putting aside personal interest, “I’ve been given injections a thousand times.”

“Well, painter, lead us,” said the doctor, and we went.

Having made sure that they would not change their minds, I ran forward to eliminate the connection between myself and their arrival.

When I entered the class, Shurik Avdeenko was standing at the blackboard, and although the solution to the problem in three actions was written on the blackboard in his beautiful handwriting, he could not explain the solution. So he stood at the board with a furious and gloomy face, as if he had known before, but now he could not remember the course of his thoughts.

“Don’t be afraid, Shurik,” I thought, “you don’t know anything, and I’ve already saved you.” I wanted to be affectionate and kind.

Well done, Alik,” I said quietly to Komarov, “he solved such a difficult problem.”

Alik was considered a capable C student. He was rarely scolded, but even less often praised. The tips of his ears turned pink in gratitude. He leaned over his notebook again and carefully placed his hands on the blotter. This was his habit.

But then the door opened, and the doctor’s wife and this Galochka entered the classroom. The doctor said that this is how the guys need to be given injections.

If this is necessary right now,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich, glancing briefly at me, “I cannot object.” Avdeenko, take your place,” he nodded to Shurik.

Shurik put down the chalk and went to his place, continuing to pretend that he remembered the solution to the problem.

The class became agitated, but Kharlampy Diogenovich raised his eyebrows, and everyone became silent. He put his notebook in his pocket, closed the journal and gave way to the doctor. He himself sat down at a desk nearby. He seemed sad and a little offended.

The doctor and the girl opened their suitcases and began to lay out jars, bottles and hostilely sparkling instruments on the table.

Well, which of you is the bravest? - said the doctor, predatorily sucking out the medicine with a needle and now holding this needle with the tip up so that the medicine does not spill out.

She said this cheerfully, but no one smiled, everyone looked at the needle.

We will call from the list,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich, “because here there are solid heroes. He opened the magazine.

Avdeenko,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich and raised his head.

The class laughed nervously. The doctor smiled too, although she didn’t understand why we were laughing.

Avdeenko walked up to the table, long, awkward, and it was clear from his face that he had not decided whether it was better to get a bad mark or to go first for the injection.

He took off his shirt and now stood with his back to the doctor, still as awkward and undecided as to what was best. And then, when the injection was given, he was not happy, although now the whole class was jealous of him.

Alik Komarov became paler and paler. It was his turn. And although he continued to keep his hands on the blotter, it was clear that this did not help him.

I tried to somehow cheer him up, but nothing worked. With every minute he became more stern and paler. He stared at the doctor's needle without stopping.

Turn away and don’t look,” I told him.

“I can’t turn away,” he answered in a haunted whisper.

It won't hurt as much at first. The main pain is when they administer the medicine, I prepared it.

“I’m thin,” he whispered back to me, barely moving his white lips, “I’ll be in a lot of pain.”

“Nothing,” I answered, “as long as the needle doesn’t get into the bone.”

“I have only bones,” he whispered desperately, “they will definitely hit.”

“Relax,” I told him, patting him on the back, “then they won’t get hit.”

His back was as hard as a board from tension.

“I’m already weak,” he answered, not understanding anything, “I’m anemic.”

“Thin people are not anemic,” I sternly objected to him. - Malaria patients are anemic because malaria sucks blood.

I had chronic malaria, and no matter how much the doctors treated it, they could not do anything about it. I was a little proud of my incurable malaria.

By the time Alik was called, he was completely ready. I don’t think he even knew where he was going or why.

Now he stood with his back to the doctor, pale, with glazed eyes, and when he was given an injection, he suddenly turned white as death, although it seemed there was nowhere to turn pale. He turned so pale that freckles appeared on his face, as if they had jumped out from somewhere. No one had ever thought he was freckled before. Just in case, I decided to remember that he has hidden freckles. This could be useful, although I did not yet know for what.

After the injection, he almost fell over, but the doctor held him and sat him on a chair. His eyes rolled back, we were all afraid that he was dying.

- “Ambulance”! - I shouted. - I’ll run and call!

Kharlampy Diogenovich looked at me angrily, and the doctor deftly slipped a bottle under his nose. Of course, not to Kharlampy Diogenovich, but to Alik.

At first he did not open his eyes, and then suddenly jumped up and walked busily to his place, as if he had not just died.

“I didn’t even feel it,” I said when I was given the injection, although I felt everything perfectly.

Well done, painter,” said the doctor. Her assistant quickly and casually wiped my back after the injection. It was obvious that she was still angry with me for not letting them into the fifth "A".

Rub again, I said, so that the medicine disperses.

She rubbed my back with hatred. The cold touch of the alcohol-soaked cotton wool was pleasant, and the fact that she was angry with me and still had to wipe my back was even more pleasant.

Finally it was all over. The doctor and her Galochka packed their bags and left. They left a pleasant smell of alcohol and an unpleasant smell of medicine in the classroom. The students sat, shivering, carefully testing the injection site with their shoulder blades and talking as if they were victims.

Open the window,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich, taking his place. He wanted the spirit of hospital freedom to leave the classroom with the smell of medicine.

He took out his rosary and thoughtfully fingered the yellow beads. There was little time left until the end of the lesson. At such intervals he usually told us something instructive and ancient Greek.

As is known from ancient Greek mythology, Hercules performed twelve labors,” he said and stopped. Click, click - he moved two beads from right to left. “One young man wanted to correct Greek mythology,” he added and stopped again. Click, click.

“Look what you wanted,” I thought about this young man, realizing that no one is allowed to correct Greek mythology. It may be possible to correct some other, stale mythology, but not Greek, because everything has been corrected there a long time ago and there cannot be any mistakes.

He decided to perform the thirteenth labor of Hercules, continued Kharlampy Diogenovich, and he partially succeeded.

We immediately understood from his voice how false and useless a feat this was, because if Hercules had needed to perform thirteen labors, he would have done them himself, and since he stopped at twelve, it means that’s how it was supposed to be and there was nothing to be done climb with your amendments.

Hercules performed his exploits like a brave man. And this young man accomplished his feat out of cowardice... - Kharlampy Diogenovich thought and added: - We will now find out in the name of what he committed his feat...

Click. This time only one bead fell from the right side to the left. He pushed her sharply with his finger. She somehow fell badly. It would be better if two fell like before than one like this.

I felt that there was some kind of danger in the air. It was as if not a bead clicked, but a small trap slammed shut in the hands of Kharlampy Diogenovich.

“...I think I guess,” he said and looked at me.

I felt my heart slam into my back from his gaze.

Please,” he said and motioned me to the board.

Yes, exactly you, fearless painter,” he said.

I trudged to the board.

“Tell me how you solved the problem,” he asked calmly and, “click, click,” two beads rolled from the right side to the left. I was in his arms.

The class looked at me and waited. He expected me to fail, and he wanted me to fail as slowly and as interestingly as possible.

I looked at the board out of the corner of my eye, trying to reconstruct the reason for these actions from the recorded actions. But I didn't succeed. Then I began to angrily erase from the board, as if what Shurik had written confused me and prevented me from concentrating. I still hoped that the bell would ring and the execution would have to be called off. But the bell did not ring, and it was impossible to endlessly erase from the board. I put down a rag so as not to make myself ridiculous ahead of time.

“We are listening to you,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich, without looking at me.

“An artillery shell,” I said cheerfully in the jubilant silence of the class and fell silent.

“An artillery shell,” I repeated stubbornly, hoping, by the inertia of these words, to break through to other equally correct words. But something held me tightly on a leash that tightened as soon as I uttered these words. I concentrated with all my might, trying to imagine the progress of the task, and once again rushed to break this invisible tether.

An artillery shell,” I repeated, shuddering with horror and disgust.

Muffled giggles rang out in the class. I felt that a critical moment had come and decided not to make myself funny under any circumstances, it was better to just get a bad mark.

Did you swallow an artillery shell? - asked Kharlampy Diogenovich with benevolent curiosity.

He asked this so simply, as if he was asking if I had swallowed a plum pit.

“Yes,” I said quickly, sensing a trap and deciding to confuse his calculations with an unexpected answer.

Then ask the military instructor to clear the mines for you,” said Kharlampy Diogenovich, but the class was already laughing.

Sakharov laughed, trying not to stop being an excellent student while laughing. Even Shurik Avdeenko, the gloomiest person in our class, whom I saved from an inevitable failure, laughed. Komarov laughed, who, although he is now called Alik, remained Adolf as he was.

Looking at him, I thought that if we didn’t have a real redhead in our class, he would pass for him, because his hair was blond, and the freckles, which he hid as well as his real name, were revealed during injection. But we had a real redhead, and no one noticed Komarov’s reddishness. And I also thought that if we hadn’t torn off the class sign from our doors the other day, maybe the doctor wouldn’t have come to see us and nothing would have happened. I vaguely began to guess about the connection that exists between things and events.

The ringing, like a funeral bell, cut through the laughter of the class. Kharlampy Diogenovich marked me in the journal and wrote something else in his notebook.

Since then, I began to take my homework more seriously and never went to the football players with unsolved problems. To each his own.

Later I noticed that almost all people are afraid of seeming funny. Women and poets are especially afraid of appearing funny. Perhaps they are too afraid and therefore sometimes look funny. But no one can make a person look funny as cleverly as a good poet or a good woman.

Of course, being too afraid to look funny is not very smart, but it’s much worse to not be afraid of it at all.

It seems to me that Ancient Rome perished because its emperors, in their bronze arrogance, stopped noticing that they were funny. If they had acquired jesters in time (you should at least hear the truth from a fool), perhaps they would have been able to hold out for some time longer. And so they hoped that if something happened, the geese would save Rome. But the barbarians arrived and destroyed Ancient Rome along with its emperors and geese.

Of course, I don’t regret this at all, but I would like to gratefully exalt Kharlampy Diogenovich’s method. With laughter, he certainly tempered our crafty children's souls and taught us to treat ourselves with a sufficient sense of humor. In my opinion, this is a completely healthy feeling, and I resolutely and forever reject any attempt to question it.

It was Iskander’s “The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules” and several other stories about childhood that became the beginning of his prose. All these works are small and touching. But the moral questions raised in them are far from childish.

The stories examine the concepts of deceit, honor and dishonor, cowardice, dignity and betrayal. Appealing to children's age does not make them less important, but only brings them closer to the reader.

The instructive nature of the story

And in this small work the author remains true to himself. From the beginning to the very last line it is permeated with humor. But, despite the cheerful mood, the story “The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules” by Iskander is quite instructive. He makes the reader think about many serious and important questions. Everyone must decide for themselves how courage and cowardice can be combined in one person. Concluding the story “The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules,” Iskander leads the reader to think that courage can be different. It turns out that moral and physical courage do not always coincide in a person. So, having physical strength, he may turn out to be a coward when solving vital problems.

"The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules." Iskander . Summary: new teacher

Kharlampiy Diogenovich, a Greek by nationality, appeared at school on September 1. No one had heard of him before. He taught arithmetic and was, unlike the generally accepted idea of mathematicians, a neat and collected person. There was always exemplary silence in Kharlampy Diogenovich’s lessons; he never raised his voice, did not threaten, and at the same time managed to hold the entire class in his hands.

"The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules." Iskander.Summary: the case with the main character

No one had privileges over Kharlampy Diogenovich. The main character did not escape the fate of being in a funny position. One day he didn't complete his homework assignment. The solution to the problem did not coincide with the answer. The boy studied in the second shift and arrived an hour before the start of the lesson.

When it turned out that his classmate too, he finally calmed down. The students divided into teams and went to play football at the stadium. Already in class, the excellent student Sakharov said that he had solved the problem, and he had the answer. Kharlampy Diogenovich appeared at the door and proceeded to his place. The main character noticed that even his neighbor at his desk, the quiet Adolf Komarov, (who called himself Alik so that no one would compare him to Hitler, since the war was going on) solved this problem.

Fazil Iskander: “The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules.”Summary: “saving” vaccination

A nurse looked into the classroom, she was looking for 5 “A”, but ended up in 5 “B”. The main character volunteered to show where the children were who needed to be vaccinated against typhus. On the way, he told the doctor that after this lesson their class was going on an organized excursion to the local history museum. They return to 5 B. There, at the blackboard, Shurik Avdeenko had already written three steps of the problem, but could not explain the solution. The nurse vaccinated all the students, but the lesson did not end. Kharlampy Diogenovich said that in this class there was a man who decided to surpass Hercules and perform another feat, the thirteenth. After these words, he called the main character to the board and asked him to explain the solution to the problem. But the boy, even from what was on the board, could not figure out where to start. Of course, he got a bad grade, but from that moment on he began to take his homework more seriously. And he also understood the teacher’s method: to temper the souls of children with laughter, to teach them to treat themselves with a bit of humor.

Very brief for a reader's diary

The work “The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules” by Fazil Iskander was published in 1964. From the very beginning of the work, a certain similarity with the stories of Ancient Greece is visible. The title of the work itself tells the reader that the story will be associated with myths. Everyone knows about the twelve labors of Hercules, so it is interesting to read what the new labor of Hercules was. In the end, it turns out that this is not a feat at all.

The main idea of the work can be taken to be that laughter actually makes it possible to look at a person from different sides, to see hidden traits, and helps to admit mistakes so as not to make them in the future.

Read the summary Iskander The Thirteenth Labor of Hercules

Another school year is coming, and a new mathematics teacher, Kharlampy Diogenovich, comes to the school. This man immediately stood out among his colleagues, he was very serious and smart. During his classes, there was incredible silence and discipline in the classroom. For a long time, the director could not get used to the fact that the new teacher could calm the children so much, and that the children were in the classroom during the lesson.

The class calmed down only at the sight of the teacher at the office door, and the silence lasted until the end. Occasionally, laughter could be heard from the class; Kharlampy Diogenovich sometimes distracted the children with his jokes, laughed himself and amused the children. One day a student was late for his class, and Kharlampiy paid respect to him as the main one, gave him the way to class, and after that he came up with the nickname “Prince of Wales.” Another feature of the teacher was that he did not scold the students and did not call their parents to him.

When the time came to write tests, everyone wrote with their own minds and did not copy, because they knew that Kharlampy Diogenovich would immediately spot the cheater and, in addition, would laugh. So, one day the narrator himself became a reason for ridicule. Before one of his regular math lessons, he was unable to solve a problem. The narrator never managed to cope with the task that was given home; he went to school. There he found out that other students also did not quite succeed in the task, and not everyone’s solution coincided with the answer. This calmed the narrator a little and, forgetting about the tasks, he went to run and kick the ball.

Before the lesson, the narrator was sure that the smartest student in the class, Sakharov, certainly coped with the task. As it turned out, the boy with whom the narrator was sitting also had a solved problem. Then the lesson began and the narrator was determined that he would be called. But at the beginning of the lesson, when everyone was waiting for the survey to begin, a doctor and a nurse came into the class; they needed to find the “A” class, since they were supposed to be vaccinated. The narrator, without being confused, volunteered to help them find the class, to which the teacher agreed. While he was seeing the doctors off, he learned that they wanted to give injections to their class during the lesson, and so he told the doctor that he and the class were just getting ready to go to the museum. The narrator ran ahead of the doctor into the office and discovered that Shurik Avdeenko was standing near the board trying to solve the problem, but he was unable to give an explanation. The teacher ordered Shurik to go to his place, and praised Adolf for the correct task.

Soon the doctors came and said that the children needed to be vaccinated and asked the teacher to let them leave the lesson. Avdeenko was the first to undergo the procedure. Everything went well, the boy was not afraid, but on the contrary, he was happy, because instead of the task, he went for an injection. Adolf Komarov turned pale, he was scared, and despite the consolations of his desk neighbor, he could not calm down. After the injection, he became even worse, and the doctors were even forced to give the boy ammonia. The narrator at this time was proud of himself and boasted that he did not feel pain at all, but this was only boasting. After the vaccinations, the doctors left.

There was still time before the end of the lesson and the teacher decided to tell the children about the exploits of Hercules, and another person who decided to add a thirteenth feat, thereby changing the mythology of Greece. The teacher only explained that the feat was due to cowardice, and for what purpose, he asked the main character to tell. And then the teacher calls the boy to the board and asks him to give an explanation of how he solved his homework. The narrator kept trying to stall for time, but it didn’t help; on the contrary, he looked ridiculous and funny.

This incident had a positive impact on the student, after which he became more flexible and responsible in doing his work. Reasoning, the boy realized that it is bad when a person stops being afraid of seeming funny. After all, this may not affect him in the best way.

Picture or drawing of the Thirteenth Labor of Hercules

Other retellings for the reader's diary

Summary of The Thirteenth Setterfield Tale
The novel revolves around several women: the famous writer Vida Winter, her sisters and the main character Margaret Lee, who works in her father's library and is crazy about French novels.
Summary Andersen The Most Incredible (fairy tale)
The person who imagines something most incredible will marry a princess, and half the kingdom as a dowry. A lot of people immediately appeared - of different ages and classes, but no one could come up with anything sensible
Summary of Confession of Leo Tolstoy
Leo Tolstoy writes that he lost his childhood faith after his older brother came and said that there is no God. And a little later he stopped going to prayer after the story of a certain S.
Summary of The Adventures of Krosh Rybakov
The book tells about a 9th grade summer internship at a car depot. Krosh did not have any technical education, but wanted to drive a car during his internship. Instead, Krosh worked in the garage with Pyotr Shmakov
Summary of Jules Verne Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
The writer, geographer Jules Verne, is a classic of science fiction literature. The novel “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” is an excursion into the animal and plant world. Secrets of the ship, its crew and the captain himself.

Fazil Abdulovich Iskander

13th labor of Hercules

Perhaps this was the case with Pythagoras himself, but his followers probably forgot about it and paid little attention to their appearance.

He immediately established exemplary silence in our class. The silence was so eerie that sometimes the director opened the door in fright, because he could not understand whether we were there or had fled to the stadium.

Of course, there was no way we could escape from math class. If we ever ran away from a lesson, it was usually a singing lesson.

All this lasts for several seconds, and in the end the student, awkwardly squeezing through the door, staggers to his place.

Kharlampy Diogenovich looks after him and says something magnificent. For example:

Prince of Wales.

That’s why we laughed, realizing that our student could not possibly be a prince, especially some kind of Welsh one.

But then Kharlampy Diogenovich sits down. The class instantly falls silent. The lesson begins.

It was almost useless to copy from him, because he immediately recognized the work he had copied and began to ridicule it. So we wrote it off only as a last resort, if there was no other way out.

It happened that during a test he would look up from his rosary or book and say:

Sakharov, please change seats with Avdeenko.

Sakharov stands up and looks at Kharlampy Diogenovich questioningly. He does not understand why he, an excellent student, should change seats with Avdeenko, who is a poor student.

Have pity on Avdeenko, he can break his neck.

Avdeenko looks blankly at Kharlampy Diogenovich, as if not understanding, and perhaps not really understanding, why he could break his neck.

Sakharov sits down.

Shurik Avdeenko sits, furiously bending over his notebook, showing the powerful efforts of mind and will thrown into solving the problem.

)

Fazil Abdulovich Iskander 13th labor of Hercules

Perhaps this was the case with Pythagoras himself, but his followers probably forgot about it and paid little attention to their appearance.

Of course, there was no way we could escape from math class. If we ever ran away from a lesson, it was usually a singing lesson.

All this lasts for several seconds, and in the end the student, awkwardly squeezing through the door, staggers to his place.

Kharlampy Diogenovich looks after him and says something magnificent. For example:

Prince of Wales.

That’s why we laughed, realizing that our student could not possibly be a prince, especially some kind of Welsh one.

But then Kharlampy Diogenovich sits down. The class instantly falls silent. The lesson begins.

It was almost useless to copy from him, because he immediately recognized the work he had copied and began to ridicule it. So we wrote it off only as a last resort, if there was no other way out.

It happened that during a test he would look up from his rosary or book and say:

Sakharov, please change seats with Avdeenko.

Sakharov stands up and looks at Kharlampy Diogenovich questioningly. He does not understand why he, an excellent student, should change seats with Avdeenko, who is a poor student.

Have pity on Avdeenko, he can break his neck.

Avdeenko looks blankly at Kharlampy Diogenovich, as if not understanding, and perhaps not really understanding, why he could break his neck.

Sakharov sits down.

Shurik Avdeenko sits, furiously bending over his notebook, showing the powerful efforts of mind and will thrown into solving the problem.

It must be said that Kharlampy Diogenovich did not give anyone privileges. Anyone could be funny. Of course, I also did not escape the common fate.

But I still had some doubts. Pests are pests, but, as they say, don’t be a bad person either.

And now we enter the class. Having barely caught my breath, just in case I ask the excellent student Sakharov:

Well, how's the task?

Nothing, he says, he decided. At the same time, he briefly and significantly nodded his head in the sense that there were difficulties, but we overcame them.

How did you decide, because the answer is wrong?

Kharlampy Diogenovich walked to the place.

I liked to talk, and he liked to sit quietly. We were put together so that we could influence each other, but, in my opinion, nothing came of it. Everyone remained the same.

“Hitler is kaput,” I whispered in his direction. He, of course, didn’t answer anything, but at least he removed his hands from the blotting cloth, and it became easier.

But then he noted those who were absent and began to look around the class, choosing a victim. I held my breath.

Who's on duty? - he asked unexpectedly. I sighed, grateful for the break.

There was no duty officer, and Kharlampy Diogenovich forced the headman himself to erase from the board. While he was washing, Kharlampy Diogenovich impressed upon him what the headman should do when there was no duty officer. I hoped that he would tell about this some parable from his school life, or Aesop's fable, or something from Greek mythology. But he began to tell nothing, because the creak of a dry rag on the board was unpleasant, and he waited for the headman to quickly finish his tedious wiping. Finally the elder sat down.

The class froze. But at that moment the door opened and a doctor and a nurse appeared in the doorway.

Excuse me, is this the fifth "A"? - asked the doctor.

Sorry,” the doctor said again and, for some reason, hesitantly hesitated and closed the door.

I knew that they were going to give injections against typhus. In some classes they already did. Injections were never announced in advance, so that no one could sneak out or pretend to be sick and stay home.