Read short stories by Panteleev. What kind of stories did Panteleev write - artistic, scientific, educational, fantastic?

The author is famous in Soviet years the story “Republic of Shkid”, L. Panteleev bequeathed to publish after his death a work that deeply shocked readers. The story “I Believe...” – confession strong man, who retained his faith under the Soviet regime, during the years of war and difficult trials. Strength of spirit, honesty and love for others are the main themes of Panteleev’s other works presented in this collection.

A series: Classics of Russian spiritual prose

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Given introductory fragment books Novels and short stories (Leonid Panteleev) provided by our book partner - the company liters.

Preface

“Professing Christianity all my life, I was a bad Christian. Of course, it would not have been difficult to guess this before, but perhaps for the first time I understood this with all sad clarity only on the day when I heard from someone or read somewhere the words of N. Ogarev that unspoken beliefs – there are no beliefs. But I have spent almost my entire life (excluding years early childhood) had to hide his views." These words begin L. Panteleev’s story “I Believe.” The penitential book of confession, which saw the light (as the author bequeathed) three years after his death, excited literary world that time. The same Leonid Panteleev, author of the well-known book “Republic of Shkid”! The author of whom Soviet literature was proud: yesterday's street child who became famous writer. They were proud of him, they looked up to him, they used him as an example! “Such” a person is suddenly a Christian. This came as a surprise to everyone, except perhaps people from the writer’s closest circle. All his life Panteleev hid his faith, and this, as can be seen from the book “I Believe,” greatly depressed him. What, in this case, forced the writer to remain silent? This question is not difficult to answer if you remember what time he happened to live in.

Alexey Eremeev (real name of the writer) was born in 1908. His father, contrary to popular belief, did not die in the First World War. This version of the death of our father is known to us from the works of Panteleev, who could not Soviet time write the truth about his death. The writer's father was an officer in the tsarist army and a participant in the Russo-Japanese War. For his good service, the tsar awarded him the Order of St. Vladimir, which gave the officer the status of a hereditary nobleman. In his memoirs about his father, Panteleev noted that although he believed in God’s Providence, was baptized before bed, before meals and after meals, wore a cross on his body, went to confession and communion, he was not a deeply religious person. But Alyosha’s mother, according to the writer, was his “first friend and mentor in the faith.” She treated with reverence church service and she passed on this love for worship to her son. “It was she, my mother, who taught me Christianity - living, active, active and, I would say, cheerful, considering all despondency as sin.” Mom always took little Alyosha with her to church, and at home she told him different Bible stories. “But even, perhaps, it was not with these lesson conversations that our mother taught and raised us primarily. She taught every day and every hour, good example, by her own actions, by everything she did and what she said,” Panteleev recalled.

In 1916, Alexey entered the Second Petrograd Real School, from which he was not destined to graduate. In 1919, the Cheka arrested Eremeev’s father. He was kept in the Kholmogory detention center and was apparently shot there. Alexei's mother took her three children from Petrograd to the Yaroslavl province. The family lived very poorly, from hand to mouth. The teenager simply ran away from this grey, hopeless, dull and hungry life. Wandering, searching make quick money learned to steal. Subsequently, with burning shame, he will remember his first theft - from nuns.

It is not surprising that he eventually attracted the attention of investigative authorities and ended up - with his mother still alive - in a colony for street orphans. It was the Dostoevsky School of Social-Individual Education for the Difficult to Educate, or “Shkid” for short. It was during these years that the nickname appeared, which later became the basis of the writer’s pseudonym - Lenka Panteleev. Thus, in comparison with the famous St. Petersburg raider, Alexey was nicknamed by his peers. It must be said that in the 20s, bearing the name of a bandit was much safer than revealing that your father was a Cossack officer and your mother was from a merchant family. Memories of those times will later be reflected in many of the writer’s works, such as “Lenka Panteleev”, “Clocks”, etc.

It was in Shkida that Eremeev-Panteleev met Grisha Belykh, the future co-author of the famous “Republic of Shkid”. Later they wrote several more works together. The friends maintained a warm relationship for the rest of their lives.

In 1936, Grigory Belykh was arrested following a denunciation by his sister’s husband. Belykh owed him rent for an apartment, and a relative decided to punish the debtor: he handed over a notebook with his poems to the NKVD. At that time, solving everyday problems in this way was not so uncommon. Whites were imprisoned for three years. He is survived by his wife and two-year-old daughter. Panteleev worked for a long time, but, unfortunately, unsuccessfully for his comrade, even wrote telegrams to Stalin himself. He sent money and parcels to the prison. The friends corresponded throughout the three years of Belykh’s imprisonment. But they could not meet again: Gregory died in prison. He was never acquitted, and in subsequent years Alexey Ivanovich could not republish “The Shkid Republic,” written together with the “enemy of the people.” He was offered many times to republish the book without the name of the co-author, but he invariably refused. Because of this, his name was also not mentioned anywhere else for a long time.

After a period of “violent, militant atheism,” through which Panteleev went through in his youth, succumbing to the mood of the times, faith returned to his soul again. But being a Christian in those years was not only considered shameful, it was simply dangerous. A pectoral cross, noticed by the watchful eye of “conscious comrades,” could become the basis for a severe reprimand, dismissal, and even a summons to the authorities. And what about going to church? “You come out of the vestibule into the church,” Panteleev recalled, “and your eyes begin to squint of their own accord: to the right - to the left. Who's here from there? And suddenly it becomes embarrassing. You cross yourself and kneel down. And then grace already descends on you, and you think (or almost don’t think) about those who are nearby or behind you. You pray, you are with God, and you don’t care what happens: they call you, they inform you, they put you in prison... Many times I noticed that some guy was looking at me warily. But now it becomes unbearable for him. Not wanting to know about my presence, he kneels down and prays..."

They watched him, sent provocateurs, he waited, like many in those years, for a night telephone call or a knock on the door, he was afraid one day to see a headline in the newspaper like “ Children's writer in a cassock." But for some reason they never touched it, perhaps because, as Panteleev wrote in his confession book, he “did not put the candle on the candlestick; I prayed, but did not preach the word of God.” The 1937 census was a particularly difficult test for Christians, when questionnaires included the column “Religion”. “To be honest, I was not only worried, but also cowardly. How worried and cowardly millions of others were Soviet people. But loudly, and even, perhaps, with excessive swagger, he answered: Orthodox.” They were worried, as it later turned out, not in vain: after this survey, tens of thousands of believers were sent to camps.

Alexey Ivanovich returned to literature only in 1941. The editor of Bonfire magazine asked him to write a story “on a moral theme”: about honesty. “I thought,” Eremeev later wrote, “that nothing worthwhile would be invented or written. But on the same day, or even an hour, on the way home, I began to imagine something: the wide, squat dome of the Church of the Intercession in Kolomna, St. Petersburg, the garden behind this church... I remembered how, as a boy, I walked with my nanny in this garden and how older boys ran up to me They offered me to play “war” with them. They said that I was a sentry, put me at a post near some guardhouse, took my word that I would not leave, but they themselves left and forgot about me. And the sentry continued to stand because he gave his “word of honor.” He stood and cried and suffered until the frightened nanny found him and took him home.” Many people are familiar with the plot of the story “Honestly”, born from these memories. The work was greeted with caution: it seemed to the guardians of communist morality that the hero, in his ideas about what is good and what is bad, relies on his own understanding of honor and honesty, and not on how they are interpreted in communist ideology. The story was eventually published, but these suspicions were not accidental. Panteleev, afraid to express his beliefs out loud, found an opportunity to express what was in his soul using Aesopian language. This was his way, albeit indirectly, behind a screen, of “putting a candle on a candlestick.” In many of his stories and stories published during the Soviet era, one could see Christian motives. True, only those who professed the same faith could notice this.

Remaining in besieged Leningrad, Panteleev almost died. Repeatedly he found himself on the brink of death, and every time the situation seemed completely hopeless, prayer saved him. One day he was detained on the street by a man “from the authorities” and taken to the police station, and then, taking him around the corner, he suddenly released him. Another time, when he could not move from hunger and with great difficulty made it out of the apartment onto the stairwell, suddenly an unfamiliar woman came to the rescue. There are many such cases in Panteleev’s memoirs.

One of his “siege” records from 1941 contains the following lines: “It seems that for the first time in the history of Russian Orthodox Church This winter, no liturgy was served in Leningrad due to lack of flour for prosphora. They served lunch. I don’t know what it is.” Judging by this entry, the writer, barely able to stand on his feet from hunger, found the strength to go to church. Which at this time and in this place was in itself a real Christian feat.

The writer Panteleev himself considered himself a bad Christian and reproached himself for not bringing the light of faith into the world. But isn't his very life evidence to the contrary? Having passed, like the first Christians, persecuted and persecuted, forced to hide and identify each other by secret signs, a difficult path full of trials, he survived. He did not retreat, did not evade, did not turn, choosing an easier and safer road. Refusing to betray the memory of a friend in order to remove suspicion from himself; continuing to wear pectoral cross, which was in itself a sentence at that time; Realizing the danger of the impudent word “Orthodox” in the “religion” column, he, like the little sentry from his story, remained at his post. Because he gave his word.

Tatiana Klapchuk

This book, written by the author of the famous "Republic of Shkid", includes stories about children: "Honestly", "New Girl", " Chief Engineer", "The First Feat", "The Letter "You" and others, as well as poems and fairy tales. All of them have long become classics and are rightfully included in the golden fund of children's literature.

L. Panteleev's article "How I became a children's writer" is published in abbreviation.

For middle school age.

Leonid Panteleev
Honestly
Stories, poems, fairy tales

1908–1987

Comes from childhood
(Foreword from the editor)

2008 marks the 100th anniversary of the birth of the remarkable Russian writer Alexei Ivanovich Eremeev, who wrote his works under the pseudonym L. Panteleev. All his books have long become classics and are rightfully included in the golden fund of children's literature.

L. Panteleev wrote his first book as a very young man - he was only seventeen years old. Then he wrote stories for children - they became the main ones in his work. These stories were written a long time ago - in the thirties and forties of the last century, but they are still relevant today, because they talk about the eternal moral values- honesty, dignity, courage. L. Panteleev educates readers not with moral teachings, but with the personal example of his heroes. In each of them, regardless of age, he sees an individual and treats her with unconditional respect. And trust and respect always evoke a sincere response.

When L. Panteleev was asked if there was a theme that was most important to him in his work, he replied that “most likely it is the theme of conscience.” In all his books, the writer affirms a very important idea for him: in any life situations a person must show the best spiritual qualities.

Alexey Ivanovich Eremeev was born in 1908, in St. Petersburg, in a house on the Fontanka, not far from the Egyptian Bridge.

His father, Ivan Afanasyevich, was a military man, serving in the Vladimir Dragoon Regiment. Behind military merits and military valor demonstrated during the Russo-Japanese War, he received the Order of Vladimir with swords and bow and hereditary nobility. In 1912 he retired, and in 1914 - when the First World War began. World War- was drafted into the army and then disappeared without a trace. For Alyosha, his father always remained an example of courage, honor, and military duty.

From early childhood, Alyosha Eremeev loved to read. I read a lot, voraciously. Brother Vasya and sister Lyalya even nicknamed it “the bookcase.” He read Andersen's fairy tales, books by Lydia Charskaya, Mark Twain, Dickens, and Conan Doyle. Alyosha's mother, Alexandra Vasilievna, subscribed to the magazine " Golden childhood", which they all read with pleasure. Little by little the boy became addicted to adult literature- works by Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Pisemsky, Merezhkovsky, Leonid Andreev, Maupassant.

As a child, he began to compose: he wrote poems, plays, adventure stories, even an adventure novel.

At the age of eight, Alyosha entered a real school, but studied there for only one year - a revolution began and upended the usual way of life.

During the Civil War, the family left hungry Petrograd for the Yaroslavl province. Then she moved from city to city. When there was nothing left to live on, Alyosha and his younger brother Vasya was sent to a farm, where they had to earn their own food. The writer spoke about this period of his life, when he lost his family, wandered around Russia, ending up in orphanages and colonies, and became a homeless child, in his autobiographical story “Lyonka Panteleev.”

In 1920, Alyosha ended up in the Petrograd “School of Social-Individual Education named after Dostoevsky,” where street children from various orphanages and colonies were gathered. The guys shortened the long and difficult name of the school to the short “Shkid”. Here Alyosha met Grisha Belykh, who became his best friend and with whom they went to Baku in 1924 to become film actors and star in the film “The Little Red Devils”. But they only reached Kharkov and were forced to return back to Petrograd.

In 1926, friends came up with the idea of ​​writing a book about Shkida. They were advised to show the manuscript of the book that they wrote in three months to S. Marshak and E. Schwartz, who worked in the editorial office of the children's magazines "Hedgehog" and "Chizh", where K. Chukovsky, B. Zhitkov, M. Zoshchenko, D. Kharms, A. Gaidar. With the blessing of Evgeniy Lvovich Schwartz, who was the official editor of the book, the famous “Republic of Shkid” was published in 1927. It immediately became very popular, it was sold in great demand in libraries, and was a huge success among readers. This is how yesterday’s orphanages Alexey Eremeev and Grigory Belykh became writers. Alyosha came up with a pseudonym for himself - L. Panteleev, in memory of his Skidsky nickname Lyonka Panteleev. True, the letter "L" in its literary name he never deciphered.

After “Republic of Shkid” L. Panteleev wrote stories for children, which he combined into several cycles: “Skid Stories”, “Stories about a Feat”, “Stories for Little Ones”, “Little Stories”, “Stories about Children”. For several years (1938–1952) he wrote autobiographical story"Lyonka Panteleev."

When the Great Patriotic War began, Alexey Ivanovich lived in Leningrad. Twice he tried to join the army in order to defend his homeland with arms in hand, and twice the medical commission did not let him through - just before the war he underwent a serious operation. Then Panteleev joined the air defense detachment.

In 1942, he, seriously ill, was evacuated from besieged Leningrad to Moscow.

In the hospital, he wrote stories about the heroism and courage of Leningrad children, who, like adults, defended their city: they were on duty on the roofs, putting out lighters. “The presence of children,” wrote L. Panteleev, “emphasized the great human meaning our struggle."

After leaving the hospital, he again writes a statement asking to be drafted into the army. In 1943 he was sent to the Military Engineering School, then to engineering troops, where he was editor of the battalion newspaper.

After the war, in 1947, L. Panteleev, with the rank of reserve captain, returned to his native Leningrad, where he lived and worked until his last day.

In the seventies, he wrote a series of autobiographical stories, “The House at the Egyptian Bridge,” in which he described his early childhood years, when the child’s character and the foundations of his personality are formed.

My last book L. Panteleev called “The Ajar Door...”. In it, he summed up a kind of summary of his entire writing life.

Alexey Ivanovich Eremeev-Panteleev died in 1987, leaving us his wonderful books worthy of his intelligent, discerning talent.

Stories, poems, fairy tales

Chapters from the book

On the sea

One mother had two girls.

One girl was small, and the other was bigger. The little one was white, and the bigger one was black. The little white one was called Belochka, and the little black one was Tamara.

These girls were very naughty.

In the summer they lived in the country. So they come and say:

- Mom, mom, can we go to the sea and swim?

And mom answers them:

- Who will you go with, daughters? I can't go. I'm busy. I need to cook lunch.

“And we,” they say, “will go alone.”

- How are they alone?

- Yes, yes. Let's hold hands and let's go.

- Aren’t you going to get lost?

- No, no, we won’t get lost, don’t be afraid. We all know the streets.

“Well, okay, go,” says mom. - But just look, I forbid you to swim. You can walk barefoot on water. Playing in the sand is welcome. But swimming is a no-no.

The girls promised her that they would not swim.

They took a spatula, molds and a small lace umbrella with them and went to the sea.

And they had very elegant dresses. Belochka had a pink dress with a blue bow, and Tamarochka had a pink dress, and a pink bow. But they both had exactly the same blue Spanish caps with red tassels.

As they walked down the street, everyone stopped and said:

- Look what beautiful young ladies are coming!

And the girls enjoy it. They also opened an umbrella over their heads to make it even more beautiful.

So they came to the sea. First they started playing in the sand. They began to dig wells, cook sand pies, build sand houses, sculpt sand men...

They played and played - and they became very hot.

Tamara says:

- You know what, Squirrel? Let's go for a swim!

And Squirrel says:

- Well, what are you talking about! After all, my mother didn’t let us.

“Nothing,” says Tamarochka. - We are going slowly. Mom won't even know.

The girls were very naughty.

So they quickly undressed, folded their clothes under a tree and ran into the water.

While they were swimming there, a thief came and stole all their clothes. He stole a dress, and stole pants, and shirts, and sandals, and even stole Spanish caps with red tassels. He left only a small lace umbrella and molds. He doesn’t need an umbrella - he’s a thief, not a young lady, and he simply didn’t notice the mold. They were lying to the side - under a tree.

But the girls didn’t see anything.

They swam there - ran, splashed, swam, dived...

And at that time the thief was dragging their laundry.

The girls jumped out of the water and ran to get dressed. They come running and see - there is nothing: no dresses, no pants, no shirts. Even the Spanish caps with red tassels were gone.

Girls think:

“Maybe we came to the wrong place? Maybe we were undressing under another tree?”

But no. They see - the umbrella is here, and the molds are here.

So they undressed here, under this tree.

And then they realized that their clothes had been stolen.

They sat down under a tree on the sand and began to sob loudly.

Squirrel says:

- Tamarochka! Darling! Why didn't we listen to mommy? Why did we go swimming? How will you and I get home now?

But Tamarochka herself doesn’t know. After all, they don’t even have panties left.

Do they really have to go home naked?

And it was already evening. It has become too cold. The wind began to blow.

The girls see that there is nothing to do, they have to go. The girls were cold, blue, and trembling.

They thought, sat, cried and went home.

But their house was far away. It was necessary to go through three streets.

People see: two girls are walking down the street. One girl is small, and the other is bigger. The little girl is white, and the bigger one is black.

The little white one is carrying an umbrella, and the little black one is holding a net with molds.

And both girls go completely naked.

And everyone looks at them, everyone is surprised, they point fingers.

“Look,” they say, “what funny girls are coming!”

And this is unpleasant for girls. Isn’t it nice when everyone points fingers at you?!

Suddenly they see a policeman standing on the corner. His cap is white, his shirt is white, and even the gloves on his hands are also white.

He sees a crowd coming.

He takes out his whistle and whistles. Then everyone stops. And the girls stop. And the policeman asks:

- What happened, comrades?

And they answer him:

- Do you know what happened? Naked girls walk the streets.

He says:

- What is this? A?! Who allowed you, citizens, to run naked through the streets?

And the girls were so scared that they couldn’t say anything. They stand and sniffle as if they have a runny nose.

The policeman says:

“Don’t you know that you can’t run naked in the streets?” A?! Do you want me to take you to the police now for this? A?

And the girls got even more scared and said:

- No, we don’t want to. Do not do it, Please. It's not our fault. We were robbed.

- Who robbed you?

Girls say:

- We do not know. We were swimming in the sea, and he came and stole all our clothes.

- Oh, that's how it is! - said the policeman.

Then he thought, put the whistle back and said:

— Where do you live, girls? They say:

“We’re just around that corner—we live in a little green dacha.”

“Well, that’s it,” said the policeman. - Then run quickly to your little green dacha. Put on something warm. And never run naked through the streets again...

The girls were so happy that they didn’t say anything and ran home. Meanwhile, their mother was setting the table in the garden. And suddenly she sees her girls running: Belochka and Tamara. And both of them are completely naked.

Mom was so scared that she even dropped the deep plate. Mom says:

- Girls! What's wrong with you? Why are you naked? And Squirrel shouts to her:

- Mommy! You know, we were robbed!!!

— How were you robbed? Who stripped you?

- We undressed ourselves.

- Why did you undress? - asks mom. But the girls can’t even say anything. They stand and sniffle.

- What are you doing? - says mom. - So you were swimming?

“Yes,” the girls say. — We swam a little. Mom got angry and said:

- Oh, you such scoundrels! Oh you naughty girls! What am I going to dress you in now? After all, all my dresses are in the wash...

Then he says:

- OK then! As punishment, you will now walk like this with me for the rest of your life.

The girls got scared and said:

- What if it rains?

“It’s okay,” says mom, “you have an umbrella.”

- And in winter?

- And in winter you walk like this. The squirrel cried and said:

- Mommy! Where am I going to put my handkerchief? I don't have a single pocket left.

Suddenly the gate opens and a policeman enters. And he’s carrying some kind of white bundle. He says:

“Are these the girls who live here and run around the streets naked?”

Mom says:

- Yes, yes, comrade policeman. Here they are, these naughty girls.

The policeman says:

- Then that's it. Then get your things quickly. I caught the thief.

The policeman untied the knot, and then - what do you think? All their things are there: a blue dress with a pink bow, and a pink dress with a blue bow, and sandals, and stockings, and panties. And even handkerchiefs are in the pockets.

-Where are the Spanish caps? - asks Squirrel.

“I won’t give you the Spanish caps,” says the policeman.

- And why?

“And because,” says the policeman, “only very good children can wear such hats... And you, as I see, are not very good...”

“Yes, yes,” says mom. “Please don’t give them these hats until they obey their mother.”

- Will you listen to your mother? - asks the policeman.

- We will, we will! - Squirrel and Tamarochka shouted.

“Well, look,” said the policeman. - I'll come tomorrow... I'll find out.

So he left. And he took away the hats.

What happened tomorrow is still unknown. After all, tomorrow hasn’t happened yet. Tomorrow - it will be tomorrow.

Spanish caps

And the next day Belochka and Tamarochka woke up and didn’t remember anything. It's as if nothing happened yesterday. It was as if they didn’t go swimming without asking, and didn’t run naked through the streets—they forgot about the thief, and about the policeman, and about everything in the world.

They woke up very late that day and let’s, as always, tinker in their cribs, let’s throw pillows, let’s make noise, sing, and tumble.

Mom comes and says:

- Girls! What's wrong with you? Shame on you! Why are you taking so long to dig around? You need to have breakfast!

And the girls tell her:

- We don't want to have breakfast.

- How can you not want it? Don't you remember what you promised the policeman yesterday?

- And what? - the girls say.

“You promised him to behave well, to obey his mother, not to be capricious, not to make noise, not to shout, not to quarrel, not to be disgraceful.”

The girls remembered and said:

- Oh, really, really! After all, he promised to bring us our Spanish caps. Mommy, hasn't he come yet?

“No,” says mom. - He will come in the evening.

- Why in the evening?

- But because he is currently at his post.

- What is he doing there - at his post?

“Hurry up and get dressed,” says Mom, “then I’ll tell you what he’s doing there.”

The girls began to get dressed, and mother sat down on the windowsill and said:

“A policeman,” she says, “stands on duty and protects our street from thieves, from robbers, from hooligans.” He makes sure that no one makes noise or rows. To prevent children from getting hit by cars. So that no one can get lost. So that all people can live and work in peace.

Squirrel says:

“And, probably, so that no one goes swimming without asking.”

“Here, here,” says mom. - In general, he keeps order. So that all people behave well.

- Who behaves badly?

- He punishes those.

Squirrel says:

— And punishes adults?

“Yes,” says mom, “he punishes adults too.”

Squirrel says:

- And he takes away everyone’s hats?

“No,” says mom, “not for everyone.” He only takes away Spanish hats, and only from naughty children.

- What about the obedient ones?

- But he doesn’t take it away from the obedient.

“So keep in mind,” says mom, “if you behave badly today, the policeman won’t come and won’t bring you a hat.” It won't bring anything. You'll see.

- No no! - the girls shouted. “You’ll see: we’ll behave well.”

“Well, okay,” said mom. - Let's see.

And so, before mom had time to leave the room, before she had time to slam the door, the girls were unrecognizable: one was better than the other. They got dressed quickly. Washed clean. Wiped yourself dry. The beds themselves were removed. They braided each other's hair. And before their mother had time to call them, they were ready - they sat down at the table to have breakfast.

They are always capricious at the table, you always have to hurry them - they dig around, nod, but today they are like other girls. They eat so quickly, as if they haven’t been fed for ten days. Mom doesn’t even have time to spread the sandwiches: one sandwich is for Belochka, another is for Tamara, the third is again for Belochka, the fourth is again for Tamara. And then pour coffee, cut bread, add sugar. Even my mother’s hand was tired.

The squirrel alone drank five cups of coffee. She drank, thought, and said:

- Come on, mommy, please pour me another half a cup.

But even my mother couldn’t stand it.

“Well, no,” he says, “that’s enough, my dear!” Even if you burst on me, what am I going to do with you then?!

The girls had breakfast and thought: “What should we do now? What better idea could you come up with? Come on, they think, “let’s help mom clear the dishes from the table.” Mom washes the dishes, and the girls dry them and put them on the shelf in the cupboard. They place it quietly, carefully. Each cup and each saucer is carried with two hands so as not to accidentally break. And they walk on tiptoe all the time. They talk to each other almost in a whisper. They don’t quarrel with each other, they don’t bicker. Tamara accidentally stepped on Squirrel's foot.

- I'm sorry, Squirrel. I stepped on your foot.

And although Squirrel is in pain, even though she is all wrinkled, she says:

- Nothing, Tamara. Come on, come on please...

They became polite, well-mannered, and my mother looked at her and couldn’t stop looking at her.

“That’s how girls are,” he thinks. “If only they were always like this!”

Belochka and Tamarochka didn’t go anywhere all day, they all stayed at home. Even though they really wanted to run around in the kindergarten or play with the kids on the street, “no,” they thought, “we still won’t go, it’s not worth it.” If you go out into the street, you never know what’s there. You might end up fighting with someone there or accidentally tearing your dress... No, they think, it’s better if we stay at home. It’s somehow calmer at home...”

Almost until the evening the girls sat at home - playing with dolls, drawing, looking at pictures in books... And in the evening mother comes and says:

- Why are you, daughters, sitting in your rooms all day without air? We need to breathe air. Go outside and take a walk. Otherwise, I need to wash the floor now - you will interfere with me.

Girls think:

“Well, if mom tells you to breathe air, there’s nothing you can do, let’s go and get some air.”

So they went out into the garden and stood at the very gate. They stand and breathe air with all their might. And then at this time the neighbor’s girl Valya comes up to them.

She tells them:

- Girls, let's go play tag.

Squirrel and Tamarochka say:

- No, we don’t want to.

- And why? - asks Valya.

They say:

- We're not feeling well.

Then the children came up. They started calling them out onto the street

And Belochka and Tamarochka say:

- No, no, and don’t ask, please. We won't go anyway. We are sick today.

Neighbor Valya says:

- What hurts you, girls?

They say:

“It’s impossible that our heads hurt so much.”

Valya asks them:

“Then why do you walk around with your heads bare?”

The girls blushed, were offended and said:

- How is it with naked people? And not with naked people at all. We have hair on our heads.

Valya says:

-Where are your Spanish caps?

The girls are ashamed to say that the policeman took away their hats, they say:

- We have them in the wash.

And at this time their mother was just walking through the garden to get water. She heard that the girls were telling a lie, stopped and said:

- Girls, why are you telling lies?!

Then they got scared and said:

- No, no, not in the wash.

Then they say:

“Yesterday a policeman took them away from us because we were disobedient.”

Everyone was surprised and said:

- How? Does a policeman take away hats?

Girls say:

- Yes! Takes away!

Then they say:

— From whom it takes away, and from whom it does not take away.

Here one little boy in a gray cap asks:

— Tell me, does he also take away the caps?

Tamara says:

- Here's another. He really needs your cap. He only takes away Spanish hats.

Squirrel says:

— Which only have tassels.

Tamara says:

- Which only very good children can wear.

Neighbor Valya was delighted and said:

- Yeah! That means you are bad. Yeah! That means you are bad. Yeah!..

The girls have nothing to say. They blushed, became embarrassed and thought: “What would be a better answer?”

And they can’t come up with anything.

But then, fortunately for them, another boy appeared on the street. None of the guys knew this boy. It was some new boy. He probably just arrived at the dacha. He was not alone, but was leading a huge, black, big-eyed dog behind him on a rope. This dog was so scary that not only the girls, but even the bravest boys, when they saw it, screamed and rushed towards different sides. And the unfamiliar boy stopped, laughed and said:

- Don't be afraid, she won't bite. She already ate from me today.

Here someone says:

- Yes. Or maybe she hasn't had enough yet.

The boy with the dog came closer and said:

- Oh, you cowards. They were scared of such a dog. In! — did you see?

He turned his back to the dog and sat on it, like on some plush sofa. And he even crossed his legs. The dog wiggled its ears, bared its teeth, but said nothing. Then those who were braver came closer... And the boy in the gray cap - so he came very close and even said:

- Pussy! Pusik!

Then he cleared his throat and asked:

— Tell me, please, where did you get such a dog?

“My uncle gave it to me,” said the boy who was sitting on the dog.

“That’s a present,” said a boy.

And the girl, who stood behind the tree and was afraid to come out, said in a crying voice:

- It would be better if he gave you a tiger. And it wouldn't be so scary...

Squirrel and Tamara were standing behind their fence at that time. When the boy and the dog appeared, they ran towards the house, but then returned and even climbed onto the crossbar of the gate to get a better look.

Almost all the guys had already become brave and surrounded the boy with the dog.

- Guys, move away, I can't see you! - Tamara shouted.

- Tell! - said neighbor Valya. - This is not a circus for you. If you want to watch, go outside.

“If I want to, I’ll go out,” said Tamarochka.

“Tamara, don’t,” whispered Belochka. - But what if...

- What suddenly? Nothing suddenly...

And Tamarochka was the first to go out into the street, followed by Belochka.

At this time someone asked the boy:

- It's a boy, it's a boy. What's your dog's name?

“No way,” said the boy.

- How can that be! Is that what they call Nikak?

“Yeah,” said the boy. - That’s what they call Nikak.

- That's the name! - neighbor Valya laughed.

And the boy in the gray cap coughed and said:

- Call it better - do you know what? Call her - Black Pirate!

“Well, here’s another thing,” said the boy.

“No, you know, boy, what to call her,” said Tamara. - Call her Barmalya.

“No, you better know how,” said the little girl who stood behind the tree and was still afraid to leave there. - Call her Tigir.

Then all the guys began vying with each other to offer the boy names for the dog.

One says:

- Call her Scarecrow.

Another says:

- Scarecrow.

The third says:

- Robber!

Others say:

- Bandit.

- Fascist!

- Ogre...

And the dog listened and listened, and probably didn’t like being called such an ugly name. She suddenly growled and jumped up, so that even the boy who was sitting on her could not resist and flew to the ground. And the rest of the guys rushed in different directions. The girl who was standing behind the tree tripped and fell. Valya ran into her and also fell. The boy in the gray cap dropped his gray cap. Some girl started shouting: “Mom!”

Another girl started shouting: “Daddy!” And Belochka and Tamarochka, of course, go straight to their gate. They open the gate and suddenly see a dog running towards them. Then they too began to shout: “Mom!” And suddenly they hear someone whistling. We looked around and saw a policeman walking down the street. He is wearing a white cap, a white shirt, and white gloves on his hands, and on his side is a yellow leather bag with an iron buckle.

A policeman is coming big steps down the street and blows the whistle.

And immediately the street became quiet, calm. The girls stopped screaming.

“Dad” and “Mom” stopped shouting. Those who fell rose. Those who were running stopped. And even the dog - and it closed its mouth and sat down on hind legs and wagged her tail.

And the policeman stopped and asked:

- Who was making noise here? Who is breaking the order here?

The boy in the gray cap put on his gray cap and said:

“It’s not us, comrade policeman.” This dog is disrupting the order.

- Oh, a dog? - said the policeman. “But now we’ll take her to the police for this.”

- Take it, take it! - the girls began to ask.

- Or maybe it wasn’t she who screamed? - says the policeman.

- She, she! - the girls shouted.

- Who was that “dad” and “mama” who was shouting now? She too?

At this time, Belochkina and Tamarochkina’s mother runs out into the street. She says:

- Hello! What's happened? Who called me? Who shouted "Mom"?

The policeman says:

- Hello! True, it wasn’t me who shouted “mom.” But you are exactly what I need. I came to see how your girls behaved today.

Mom says:

“They behaved very well.” They only breathed little air; they sat in their rooms all day. Nothing at all, they behaved well.

“Well, if so,” says the policeman, “then please get it.”

He unzips his leather bag and takes out Spanish caps.

The girls looked and gasped. They see that everything on the Spanish caps is as it should be: the tassels hang, and the edges are on the edges, and in front, under the tassels, there are also red Red Army stars attached, and on each star there is a small sickle and a small hammer. The policeman probably did this himself.

Belochka and Tamarochka were delighted, began to thank the policeman, and the policeman zipped up his bag and said:

- Well, goodbye, I'm off, I don't have time. Look at me - behave better next time.

The girls were surprised and said:

- Which is better? We behaved well anyway. It couldn't be better.

The policeman says:

- No, you can. You, my mother says, have been sitting in your rooms all day, and this is not good, this is harmful. You need to be outside, take a walk in the kindergarten...

Girls say:

- Yes. And if you go out into the garden, then you’ll want to go outside.

“Well, well,” says the policeman. - And you can walk outside.

“Yes,” the girls say, “but if you go outside, then you’ll want to play and run.”

The policeman says:

- Playing and running are also not prohibited. On the contrary, children are supposed to play. There is even such a law in our Soviet country: all children should frolic, have fun, never hang their noses and never cry.

Squirrel says:

- What if the dog bites?

The policeman says:

- If you don't tease a dog, it won't bite. And there is no need to be afraid. Why be afraid of her? Look what a nice little dog he is. Oh, what a wonderful doggie! His name is probably Sharik.

And the dog sits, listens and wags its tail. As if she understands that they are talking about her. And she’s not scary at all - funny, shaggy, bug-eyed...

The policeman squatted down in front of her and said:

- Come on, Sharik, give me your paw.

The dog thought a little and gave her paw.

Everyone was surprised, of course, and Squirrel suddenly came up, squatted down and said:

The dog looked at her and gave her a paw too.

Then Tamarochka came up. And other guys. And everyone began vying with each other to ask:

- Sharik, give me your paw!

And while they were here greeting the dog and saying goodbye, the policeman slowly got up and walked down the street - to his police post.

Squirrel and Tamarochka looked around: oh, where is the policeman?

And he’s not there. Only the white cap flashes.

Big Wash

One day my mother went to the market to buy meat. And the girls were left alone at home.

When leaving, mom told them to behave well, not to touch anything, not to play with matches, not to climb on window sills, not to go on the stairs, not to torture the kitten. And she promised to bring them each an orange.

The girls chained the door behind their mother and thought: “What should we do?” They think: “The best thing is to sit down and draw.” They took out their notebooks and colored pencils, sat down at the table and drew. And more and more oranges are being drawn. After all, you know, it’s very easy to draw them: I smeared some potatoes, painted them with a red pencil and - the job is done - an orange.

Then Tamara got tired of drawing, she said:

- You know, let's write better. Do you want me to write the word “orange”?

“Write,” says Squirrel.

Tamarochka thought, tilted her head a little, drooled on her pencil and - done - wrote:

And Squirrel also scratched two or three letters that she could.

Then Tamarochka says:

“And I can write not only with a pencil, but also with ink.” Do not believe? Do you want me to write?

Squirrel says:

-Where will you get the ink?

- And on dad’s table - as much as you want. A whole jar.

“Yes,” says Squirrel, “but mom didn’t allow us to touch it on the table.”

Tamara says:

- Just think! She didn't say anything about ink. These aren't matches, they're ink.

And Tamara ran to her father’s room and brought ink and a pen. And she began to write. And although she knew how to write, she wasn’t very good. She began to dip the feather into the bottle and knocked the bottle over. And all the ink spilled onto the tablecloth. And the tablecloth was clean, white, just laid.

The girls gasped.

The squirrel almost fell from the chair to the floor.

“Oh,” he says, “oh... oh... what a spot!”

And the spot is getting bigger and bigger, growing and growing. They almost put a blot on the floor of the tablecloth.

The squirrel turned pale and said:

- Oh, Tamarochka, we’ll have a blast!

And Tamarochka herself knows that she will get there. She is also standing, almost crying.

Then she thought, scratched her nose and said:

- You know, let's say that it was the cat who knocked over the ink!

Squirrel says:

- Yes, but it’s not good to lie, Tamara.

“I myself know that it’s not good.” What should we do then?

Squirrel says:

- You know? Let's better wash the tablecloth!

Tamara even liked it. She says:

- Let's. But what should I wash it with?

Squirrel says:

- Come on, you know, in a doll bath.

- Stupid. Will a tablecloth fit into a doll's bath? Well, bring the trough here!

- The present?..

- Well, of course, it’s real. The squirrel was scared. Speaks:

- Tamarochka, my mother didn’t allow us... Tamarochka says:

“She didn’t say anything about the trough.” A trough is not matches. Come on, come quickly...

The girls ran to the kitchen, took the trough off the nail, poured water into it from the tap and dragged it into the room. They brought a stool. They placed the trough on a stool. The squirrel is tired - she can barely breathe. But Tamarochka doesn’t let her rest.

“Well,” he says, “get the soap quickly!” Squirrel ran. Brings soap.

- We still need blueing. Well, bring the blue!

Squirrel ran to look for the blue. Can't find it anywhere. Comes running:

- No blue.

And Tamarochka has already taken the tablecloth off the table and is lowering it into the water. It’s scary to put a dry tablecloth into wet water. I dropped it anyway. Then he says:

- No need for bluing.

Squirrel looked, and the water in the trough was blue. Tamara says:

“You see, it’s even good that they put the spot on.” Can be washed without bluing.

Then he says:

- Oh, Squirrel!

- What? - says Squirrel.

- The water is cold.

- So what?

— You can’t wash clothes in cold water. When cold, just rinse.

Squirrel says:

- Well, nothing, let's rinse then.

Squirrel was scared: suddenly Tamarochka would force her to boil the water.

Tamara began to lather the tablecloth with soap. Then she began to squeeze her as expected. And the water is getting darker and darker.

Squirrel says:

- Well, you can probably squeeze it out already.

“Well, let’s see,” says Tamarochka.

The girls pulled the tablecloth out of the trough. And there are only two small white spots on the tablecloth. And the whole tablecloth is blue.

“Oh,” says Tamarochka. - We need to change the water. Bring clean water quickly.

Squirrel says:

- No, now you drag it. I also want to do the laundry.

Tamara says:

- What else! I put a stain on it, and I’ll wash it off.

Squirrel says:

- No, now I will.

- No, you won’t!

- No, I will!..

Squirrel began to cry and grabbed the trough with both hands. And Tamarochka grabbed the other end. And their trough swayed like a cradle or a swing.

“You better go away,” Tamarochka shouted. “Go away, honestly, otherwise I’ll throw water at you.”

The squirrel was probably afraid that it would actually splash - it jumped back, let go of the trough, and at that time Tamarochka pulled it - it tumbled, off the stool - and onto the floor. And, of course, water from it also ends up on the floor. And it flowed in all directions.

This is where the girls really got scared.

The squirrel even stopped crying out of fear.

And there is water all over the room - under the table, and under the closet, and under the piano, and under the chairs, and under the sofa, and under the bookcase, and wherever possible. Small streams even ran into the next room.

The girls came to their senses, ran around, began to fuss:

Oh! Oh! Oh!..

And in the next room at that time the kitten Fluffy was sleeping on the floor. When he saw that water was flowing under him, he jumped up, meowed, and started running around the apartment like crazy:

- Meow! Meow! Meow!

The girls are running and the kitten is running. The girls scream and the kitten screams.

The girls don't know what to do, and the kitten doesn't know what to do either. Tamara climbed onto a stool and shouted:

- Squirrel! Get on the chair! Quicker! You'll get wet.

And Squirrel was so scared that she couldn’t even climb onto the chair. She stands there like a chicken, cowering and just know, shaking her head:

- Oh! Oh! Oh!

And suddenly the girls hear a call. Tamara turned pale and said:

- Mom is coming.

And Squirrel hears it herself. She shrank even more, looked at Tamara and said:

- Well, now it will be for us... And in the hallway again: “Jingle!”

And again: “Ding! Ding!” Tamara says:

- Squirrel, dear, open it, please.

“Yes, thank you,” says Squirrel. - Why should I?

- Well, Squirrel, well, dear, well, you’re still standing closer. I’m on a stool, and you’re still on the floor.

Squirrel says:

- I can climb onto a chair too.

Then Tamarochka saw that she still had to go open it, she jumped off the stool and said:

- You know? Let's say that it was the cat who knocked over the trough! Squirrel says:

- No, it’s better, you know, let’s wipe the floor quickly! Tamara thought and said:

- Well... Let's try. Maybe mom won’t notice... And then the girls ran in again. Tamara grabbed the wet tablecloth and let it crawl across the floor. And Squirrel runs after her like a tail, fussing and just know to yourself:

- Oh! Oh! Oh! Tamara says to her:

“You better not groan, but rather quickly drag the trough to the kitchen.” The poor squirrel dragged the trough. And Tamara to her:

- And take the soap at the same time.

-Where is the soap?

- What don’t you see? There it is floating under the piano.

And the call again:

“Dz-z-zin!..”

“Well,” says Tamarochka. - We should probably go. I’ll go open it, and you, Squirrel, quickly wipe the floor. Make sure that not a single spot remains.

Squirrel says:

- Tamarochka, where does the tablecloth go next? On the table?

- Stupid. Why is it on the table? Shove it - do you know where? Shove it further under the sofa. When it dries, we iron it and lay it out.

And so Tamarochka went to open it. She doesn't want to go. Her legs are shaking, her hands are trembling. She stopped at the door, stood, listened, sighed and asked in a thin voice:

- Mommy, is that you?

Mom comes in and says:

- Lord, what happened?

Tamara says:

- Nothing happened.

- So what’s taking you so long?.. I’ve probably been calling and knocking for twenty minutes.

“I didn’t hear,” says Tamarochka.

Mom says:

“God knows what I was thinking... I thought the thieves got in or the wolves ate you.”

“No,” says Tamarochka, “nobody ate us.”

Mom took the net with meat into the kitchen, then returned and asked:

- Where is Squirrel?

Tamara says:

- Squirrel? And Squirrel... I don’t know, somewhere there, it seems... in a large room... doing something there, I don’t know...

Mom looked at Tamara in surprise and said:

- Listen, Tamara, why are your hands so dirty? And there are some spots on the face!

Tamara touched her nose and said:

- And we drew this.

- What did you draw with charcoal or mud?

“No,” says Tamarochka, “we drew with pencils.”

And mom has already undressed and goes into the large room. He enters and sees: all the furniture in the room has been moved, turned over, you can’t understand where the table is, where the chair is, where the sofa is, where the bookcase is... And under the piano Squirrel is crawling on her haunches and doing something there and crying at the top of her voice. Mom stopped at the door and said:

- Squirrel! Daughter! What are you doing there? A squirrel leaned out from under the piano and said: “Me?”

But she herself is dirty, very dirty, and her face is dirty, and there are even stains on her nose.

Tamara didn’t let her answer. Speaks:

- And this is what we wanted, mommy, to help you - to wash the floor. Mom was happy and said:

- Well, thank you!..

Then she approached Belochka, leaned over and asked:

- What is it, I wonder, that my daughter washes the floor with? She looked and grabbed her head:

- Oh my God! - speaks. - Just look! After all, she washes the floor with a handkerchief!

Tamara says:

- Ugh, how stupid! And mom says:

- Yes, it’s really called helping me.

And Squirrel cried even louder under her piano and said:

- It's not true, mommy. We are not helping you at all. We overturned the trough.

Mom sat down on a stool and said:

- This was still missing. What trough? Squirrel says:

- The real one... Iron.

- I wonder how it got here - the trough? Squirrel says:

— We washed the tablecloth.

- What tablecloth? Where is she? Why did you wash it? After all, it was clean, it was only washed yesterday.

“And we accidentally spilled ink on it.”

- It’s not even easier. What kind of ink? Where did you get them? Squirrel looked at Tamara and said:

“We brought it from dad’s room.”

- Who gave you permission?

The girls looked at each other and were silent.

Mom sat, thought, frowned and said:

- Well, what should I do with you now?

The girls both cried and said:

- Punish us.

Mom says:

- Do you really want me to punish you?

Girls say:

- Not, no so much.

- Why do you think I should punish you?

- And because, probably, we washed the floor.

“No,” says mom, “I won’t punish you for this.”

- Well, then for washing the clothes.

“No,” says mom. “And I won’t punish you for that either.” And I won’t do it for spilling ink either. And I won’t say anything about writing in ink either. But for taking an inkwell from dad’s room without asking, you really should be punished for that. After all, if you were obedient girls and didn’t go into daddy’s room, you wouldn’t have to wash the floor, wash the clothes, or overturn the trough. And at the same time, you wouldn’t have to lie. After all, in fact, Tamara, don’t you know why your nose is dirty?

Tamara says:

- I know of course.

- So why didn’t you tell me right away?

Tamara says:

- I was afraid.

“But this is bad,” says mom. - If you manage to cause trouble, you will also be able to answer for your sins. If you made a mistake, don’t run away with your tail between your legs, but correct it.

“We wanted to fix it,” says Tamarochka.

“We wanted to, but we couldn’t,” says mom.

Then she looked and said:

- And where, I don’t see, is the tablecloth?

Squirrel says:

— It’s under the sofa.

- What is she doing there - under the sofa?

“She’s drying there with us.”

Mom pulled out the tablecloth from under the sofa and sat down on the stool again.

- God! - speaks. - My God! It was such a cute tablecloth! And look what it has become. After all, this is not a tablecloth, but some kind of doormat.

The girls cried even louder, and mom said:

- Yes, my dear daughters, you have caused me trouble. I was tired, I thought I’d rest, I was just planning on next Saturday big wash do, but apparently we’ll have to take care of this matter now. Come on, failed laundresses, take off your dresses!

The girls were scared.

- For what? And then, they don’t wash clothes in clean dresses, don’t wash floors, and don’t do any work at all. Put on your dressing gowns and quickly follow me to the kitchen...

While the girls were changing clothes, mom managed to light the gas in the kitchen and put three large pots on the stove: in one there was water to wash the floor, in the second there was boiling laundry, and in the third, separately, there was a tablecloth.

Girls say:

- Why did you put it separately? It's not her fault that she got dirty.

Mom says:

- Yes, of course, it’s not her fault, but you still have to wash it alone. Otherwise all our underwear will be blue. And in general, I think that this tablecloth can no longer be washed. I'll probably have to paint it blue.

Girls say:

- Oh, how beautiful it will be!

“No,” says mom, “I think it won’t be very beautiful.” If it were really beautiful, then people would probably put blots on the tablecloth every day.

Then he says:

- Well, enough chatting, take a rag each and let's go wash the floor.

Girls say:

- For real?

Mom says:

- What did you think? You've already washed it like a toy, now let's do it for real.

And so the girls began to really clean the floor.

Mom gave them each a corner and said:

- Watch how I wash, and you wash it the same way. Where you have washed it, do not walk around clean... Do not leave puddles on the floor, but wipe them dry. Well, one or two - let's start!..

Mom rolled up her sleeves, tucked in the hem and went to plow with a wet rag.

Yes, so cleverly, so quickly that the girls can barely keep up with her. And of course, they don’t do it as well as their mother. But still they try. The squirrel even got up on her knees to make it more comfortable.

Mom tells her:

- Squirrel, you should lie down on your stomach. If you get so dirty, then we will have to wash you in the trough later.

Then he says:

- Well, please run to the kitchen and see if the water in the laundry bin is boiling.

Squirrel says:

- How can you tell whether it is boiling or not?

Mom says:

- If it gurgles, it means it’s boiling; If it doesn’t gurgle, it means it hasn’t boiled yet.

The squirrel ran into the kitchen and came running:

- Mommy, gurgling, gurgling!

Mom says:

“It’s not mommy who’s gurgling, but the water is probably gurgling?”

Then mom came out of the room to get something, Squirrel to Tamara and said:

- You know? And I saw oranges!

Tamara says:

- In a net in which the meat hangs. Do you know how much? As many as three.

Tamara says:

- Yes. Now we'll have oranges. Wait.

Then mom comes and says:

- Well, scrubbers, take the buckets and rags - let's go to the kitchen to wash the clothes.

Girls say:

- For real?

Mom says:

- Now you will do everything for real.

And the girls, together with their mother, actually washed the clothes. Then they really rinsed it. They really squeezed it out. And they actually hung him in the attic on ropes to dry.

And when they finished working and returned home, their mother fed them lunch. And never in their lives had they eaten with such pleasure as on this day. They ate soup, porridge, and black bread sprinkled with salt.

And when they had dinner, mom brought a net from the kitchen and said:

- Well, now you can probably each get an orange.

Girls say:

- Who wants the third one?

Mom says:

- Oh, how’s that? Do you already know that there is a third one?

Girls say:

- Atretii, mommy, do you know who? The third - the biggest - is for you.

“No, daughters,” said the mother. - Thank you. Perhaps even the smallest one is enough for me. After all, today you worked twice as hard as I did. Is not it? And the floor was washed twice. And the tablecloth was washed twice...

Squirrel says:

“But the ink was spilled only once.”

Mom says:

- Well, you know, if you had spilled ink twice, I would have punished you like that...

1908–1987

Comes from childhood
(Foreword from the editor)

2008 marks the 100th anniversary of the birth of the remarkable Russian writer Alexei Ivanovich Eremeev, who wrote his works under the pseudonym L. Panteleev. All his books have long become classics and are rightfully included in the golden fund of children's literature.

L. Panteleev wrote his first book as a very young man - he was only seventeen years old. Then he wrote stories for children - they became the main ones in his work. These stories were written a long time ago - in the thirties and forties of the last century, but they are still relevant today, because they talk about enduring moral values ​​- honesty, dignity, courage. L. Panteleev educates readers not with moral teachings, but with the personal example of his heroes. In each of them, regardless of age, he sees an individual and treats her with unconditional respect. And trust and respect always evoke a sincere response.

When L. Panteleev was asked if there was a theme that was most important to him in his work, he replied that “most likely it is the theme of conscience.” In all his books, the writer affirms a very important idea for him: in any life situations, a person must show the best spiritual qualities.

Alexey Ivanovich Eremeev was born in 1908, in St. Petersburg, in a house on the Fontanka, not far from the Egyptian Bridge.

His father, Ivan Afanasyevich, was a military man, serving in the Vladimir Dragoon Regiment. For military merits and military valor shown during the Russo-Japanese War, he received the Order of Vladimir with swords and bow and hereditary nobility. In 1912 he retired, and in 1914 - when the First World War began - he was drafted into the army and then disappeared. For Alyosha, his father always remained an example of courage, honor, and military duty.

From early childhood, Alyosha Eremeev loved to read. I read a lot, voraciously. Brother Vasya and sister Lyalya even nicknamed it “the bookcase.” He read Andersen's fairy tales, books by Lydia Charskaya, Mark Twain, Dickens, and Conan Doyle. Alyosha’s mother, Alexandra Vasilievna, subscribed to the magazine “Golden Childhood” for the children, which they all read with pleasure. Little by little, the boy became addicted to adult literature - the works of Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Pisemsky, Merezhkovsky, Leonid Andreev, Maupassant.

As a child, he began to compose: he wrote poems, plays, adventure stories, even an adventure novel.

At the age of eight, Alyosha entered a real school, but studied there for only one year - the revolution began and upended the usual way of life.

During the Civil War, the family left hungry Petrograd for the Yaroslavl province. Then she moved from city to city. When there was nothing left to live on, Alyosha and his younger brother Vasya were sent to a farm, where they had to earn their own food. The writer spoke about this period of his life, when he lost his family, wandered around Russia, ending up in orphanages and colonies, and became a homeless child, in his autobiographical story “Lyonka Panteleev.”

In 1920, Alyosha ended up in the Petrograd “School of Social-Individual Education named after Dostoevsky,” where street children from various orphanages and colonies were gathered. The guys shortened the long and difficult name of the school to the short “Shkid”. Here Alyosha met Grisha Belykh, who became his best friend and with whom they went to Baku in 1924 to become film actors and star in the film “The Little Red Devils.” But they only reached Kharkov and were forced to return back to Petrograd.

To live, I had to do my own thing various jobs– Alyosha was a projectionist’s apprentice, a cook, sold newspapers, studied at film acting courses, was a freelance film reporter, and published in magazines.

In 1926, friends came up with the idea of ​​writing a book about Shkida. They were advised to show the manuscript of the book that they wrote in three months to S. Marshak and E. Schwartz, who worked in the editorial office of the children's magazines "Yozh" and "Chizh", where K. Chukovsky, B. Zhitkov, M. Zoshchenko, D. Kharms, A. Gaidar. With the blessing of Evgeniy Lvovich Schwartz, who was the official editor of the book, the famous “Republic of Shkid” was published in 1927. It immediately became very popular, it was sold in great demand in libraries, and was a huge success among readers. This is how yesterday’s orphanages Alexey Eremeev and Grigory Belykh became writers. Alyosha came up with a pseudonym for himself - L. Panteleev, in memory of his Skidsky nickname Lyonka Panteleev. True, he never deciphered the letter “L” in his literary name.

After “Republic of Shkid,” L. Panteleev wrote stories for children, which he combined into several cycles: “Shkid Stories,” “Stories about a Feat,” “Stories for Little Ones,” “Little Stories,” “Stories about Children.” For several years (1938–1952) he wrote the autobiographical story “Lyonka Panteleev.”

When the Great Patriotic War began, Alexey Ivanovich lived in Leningrad. Twice he tried to join the army in order to defend his homeland with arms in hand, and twice the medical commission did not let him through - just before the war he underwent a serious operation. Then Panteleev joined the air defense detachment.

In 1942, he, seriously ill, was evacuated from besieged Leningrad to Moscow.

In the hospital, he wrote stories about the heroism and courage of Leningrad children, who, like adults, defended their city: they were on duty on the roofs, putting out lighters. “The presence of children,” wrote L. Panteleev, “emphasized the great human meaning of our struggle.”

After leaving the hospital, he again writes a statement asking to be drafted into the army. In 1943, he was sent to the Military Engineering School, then to the Engineering Troops, where he was editor of the battalion newspaper.

After the war, in 1947, L. Panteleev, with the rank of reserve captain, returned to his native Leningrad, where he lived and worked until his last day.

In the seventies, he wrote a series of autobiographical stories, “The House at the Egyptian Bridge,” in which he described his early childhood years, when the child’s character and the foundations of his personality are formed.

L. Panteleev called his last book “The Ajar Door...”. In it, he summed up a kind of summary of his entire writing life.

Alexey Ivanovich Eremeev-Panteleev died in 1987, leaving us his wonderful books worthy of his intelligent, discerning talent.

Stories, poems, fairy tales

Fun tram

Bring the chairs here
Bring a stool
Find the bell
Give me some ribbon!..
Today there are three of us,
Let's arrange
Very real
Ringing,
Thundering,
Very real
Moscow
Tram.

I will be the conductor
He will be a counselor,
And you are a stowaway for now
Passenger.
Put your foot down
On this bandwagon
Get on the platform
So tell me:

- Comrade conductor,
I'm going on business
On an urgent matter
To the Supreme Council.
Take a coin
And give me for it
The best one for me
Tram
Ticket.

I'll give you a piece of paper
And you give me a piece of paper,
I'll pull the ribbon
I'll say:
- Go!..

Pedal leader
He will press at the piano,
And slowly
Will start moving
Our real one
Like the sun shining,
Like a thundering storm,
Very real
Moscow
Tram.

Two frogs
Fairy tale

Once upon a time there were two frogs. They were friends and lived in the same ditch. But only one of them was a real forest frog - brave, strong, cheerful, and the other was neither this nor that: she was a coward, a lazy woman, a sleepyhead. They even said about her that she was born not in the forest, but somewhere in a city park.

But still they lived together, these frogs.

And then one night they went for a walk.

They are walking along a forest road and suddenly they see a house standing there. And near the house there is a cellar. And the smell from this cellar is very tasty: it smells of mold, dampness, moss, mushrooms. And this is exactly what frogs love.

So they quickly climbed into the cellar and began to run and jump there. They jumped and jumped and accidentally fell into a pot of sour cream.

And they began to drown.

And of course, they don’t want to drown.

Then they began to flounder, began to swim. But this clay pot had very high, slippery walls. And the frogs can’t get out of there. That frog that was lazy swam a little, flopped around and thought: “I still can’t get out of here. Why should I flounder in vain? It's just a waste of time to fray your nerves. I’d rather drown right away.”

She thought so, stopped floundering - and drowned.

But the second frog was not like that. She thinks: “No, brothers, I will always have time to drown. This won't get away from me. Better yet, I’ll flounder and swim some more. Who knows, maybe something will work out for me.”

But no, nothing comes of it. No matter how you swim, you won’t get far. The pot is narrow, the walls are slippery - it’s impossible for a frog to get out of the sour cream.

But still she does not give up, does not lose heart.

“Nothing,” he thinks, “as long as I have the strength, I’ll flounder. I’m still alive, which means I have to live. And then – what will happen.”

And so, with the last of her strength, our brave frog fights his frog death. Now she began to lose consciousness. I'm already choking. Now she is being pulled to the bottom. And she doesn’t give up here either. Know that he works with his paws. He shakes his paws and thinks: “No! I won't give up! You're being naughty, frog death..."

And suddenly - what is it? Suddenly our frog feels that under his feet there is no longer sour cream, but something solid, something strong, reliable, like earth. The frog was surprised, looked and saw: there was no sour cream in the pot anymore, but it was standing on a lump of butter.

"What's happened? - the frog thinks. “Where did the oil come from here?”

She was surprised, and then realized: after all, it was she herself who churned solid butter out of liquid sour cream with her paws.

“Well,” the frog thinks, “that means I did well not to drown right away.”

She thought so, jumped out of the pot, rested and galloped to her home - into the forest.

And the second frog remained in the pot.

And she, my dear, never saw again white light, and never jumped, and never croaked.

Well. To tell the truth, it’s you, the frog, who is to blame. Do not lose hope! Don't die before you die...

Scatter

Once upon a time, scatter it wherever you want, throw it there: if you want - to the right, if you want - to the left, if you want - down, if you want - up, but if you want - so wherever you want.

If you put it on the table, it will lie on the table. If you sit him on a chair, he will sit on the chair. And if you throw it on the floor, it will settle on the floor too. Here he is, tell me, - flexible...

There was only one thing he didn’t like: he didn’t like being thrown into the water. He was afraid of water.

But still, poor guy, he got caught.

We bought it for one girl. The girl's name was Mila. She went for a walk with her mother. And at this time the seller was selling scattered items.

“But,” he says, “to whom?” For sale, scatter wherever you want, throw it there: if you want - to the right, if you want - to the left, if you want - up, if you want - down, but if you want - so wherever you want!

The girl heard and said:

- Oh, oh, what a scatterer! Jumps like a bunny!

And the seller says:

- No, citizen, take it higher. He jumps over my roofs. But the bunny doesn’t know how to do this.

So the girl asked, her mother bought her a spreader.

The girl brought it home and went into the yard to play.

Throw to the right - throw it, jump to the right, throw to the left - throw it, jump to the left, throw it down - it flies down, and throw it up - so it almost goes all the way blue sky jumps.

That’s what he is, tell me, a young pilot.

The girl ran and ran, played and played, she finally got tired of the scattering, she took it, stupid, and threw it away. The scatter rolled and fell straight into a dirty puddle.

But the girl doesn’t even see. She went home.

In the evening he comes running:

- Ay, ay, where is the scatterer Where-you-want-to-throw it?

He sees that there is no thrower where you want it. Floating in the puddle were colored pieces of paper, curled strings, and wet sawdust with which the scattered belly was filled.

That's all that's left of the scattering.

The girl cried and said:

- Oh, throw it wherever you want! What have I done?! You jumped to the right, and to the left, and up, and down... And now - where are you going to throw you like that? Just in the trash...

Fenka

It was in the evening. I was lying on the sofa, smoking and reading the newspaper. There was no one in the room except me. And suddenly I hear someone scratching. Someone is barely audible, quietly knocking on the window glass: tick-tick, tick-tock.

“What,” I think, “is this? Fly? No, not a fly. Cockroach? No, not a cockroach. Maybe it's raining? No, no matter how rainy it is, it doesn’t even smell like rain...”

I turned my head and looked - nothing was visible. He stood up on his elbow and was also not visible. I listened - it seemed quiet.

I lay down. And suddenly again: tick-tick, tick-tock.

“Ugh,” I think, “what is it?”

I got tired of it, I got up, threw the newspaper, went to the window - and widened my eyes. I think: fathers, am I dreaming about this, or what? I see - outside the window, on a narrow iron cornice, standing - who do you think? The girl is standing. Yes, such a girl, the likes of which you have never read in fairy tales.

She will be smaller in height little boy from your finger. Her feet are bare, her dress is all torn; She herself is plump, pot-bellied, with a button nose, somewhat protruding lips, and the hair on her head is red and sticks out in different directions, like on a shoe brush.

I didn’t even immediately believe that it was a girl. At first I thought it was some kind of animal. Because I've never seen such little girls before.

And the girl stands, looks at me and drums on the glass with all her might: tick-tick, tick-tock.

I ask her through the glass:

- Girl! What do you need?

But she doesn’t hear me, doesn’t answer and just points with her finger: they say, open it, please, but open it quickly!

Then I pulled back the bolt, opened the window and let her into the room.

I speak:

- Why are you climbing out the window, silly? After all, my door is open.

- I don’t know how to walk through the door.

- How can you not?! You know how to go through a window, but you can’t go through a door?

“Yes,” he says, “I can’t.”

“That’s it,” I think, “a miracle came to me!”

I was surprised, took her in my arms, I saw that she was trembling all over. I see he’s afraid of something. He looks around, looking at the window. Her face is all tear-stained, her teeth are chattering, and tears are still sparkling in her eyes.

I ask her:

- Who are you?

“I am,” he says, “Fenka.”

-Who is Fenka?

- This is... Fenka.

- And where do you live?

- Don't know.

-Where are your mom and dad?

- Don't know.

“Well,” I say, “where did you come from?” Why are you shaking? Cold?

“No,” he says, “it’s not cold.” Hot. And I’m trembling because dogs were now chasing me down the street.

– What dogs?

And she told me again:

- Don't know.

At this point I couldn’t stand it, I got angry and said:

- I don’t know, I don’t know!.. What do you know then?

She says:

- I want to eat.

- Oh, that's how it is! Do you know this?

Well, what can you do with her? I sat her down on the sofa, sit, I said, and I went to the kitchen to look for something edible. I think: the only question is, what to feed her, such a monster? He poured boiled milk onto her saucer, cut the bread into small pieces, and crumbled a cold cutlet.

I come into the room and look - where is Fenka? I see that there is no one on the sofa. I was surprised and started shouting:

- Fenya! Fenya!

Nobody is answering.

- Fenya! And Fenya?

And suddenly I hear from somewhere:

I bent down and she was sitting under the sofa.

I got angry.

“What kind of tricks are these,” I say?! Why aren't you sitting on the sofa?

“But I,” he says, “can’t.”

- What? You can do it under the sofa, but you can’t do it on the sofa? Oh, you are so-and-so! Perhaps you don’t even know how to sit at the dinner table?

“No,” he says, “I can do that.”

“Well, sit down,” I say.

He sat her down at the table. He put a chair for her. He piled a whole mountain of books on the chair to make it higher. Instead of an apron, he tied a handkerchief.

“Eat,” I say.

I just see that he’s not eating. I see him sitting, poking around, sniffling.

- What? - I say. - What's the matter?

He is silent and does not answer.

I speak:

- You asked for food. Here, eat, please.

And she blushed all over and suddenly said:

– Don’t you have anything tastier?

- Which is tastier? Oh, you, I say, ungrateful! Well, you need some sweets, don't you?

“Oh no,” he says, “what are you, what are you... This is also tasteless.”

- So what do you want? Ice cream?

- No, and the ice cream is not tasty.

- And the ice cream is not tasty? Here you go! So what do you want, please tell me?

She paused, sniffled and said:

- Do you have a few carnations?

- What kind of carnations?

“Well,” he says, “ordinary carnations.” Zheleznenkikh.

Even my hands shook with fear.

I speak:

- So what do you mean, you eat nails?

“Yes,” he says, “I really like carnations.”

- Well, what else do you like?

“And also,” he says, “I love kerosene, soap, paper, sand... just not sugar.” I love cotton wool, tooth powder, shoe polish, matches...

“Fathers! Is she really telling the truth? Does she really eat nails? Okay, I think. - Let's check".

He pulled out a large rusty nail from the wall and cleaned it a little.

“Here,” I say, “eat, please!”

I thought she wouldn't eat. I thought she was just playing tricks, pretending. But before I had time to look back, she - once, crunch, crunch - chewed the entire nail. She licked her lips and said:

I speak:

- No, my dear, I’m sorry, I don’t have any more nails for you. Here, if you want, I can give you the papers, please.

“Come on,” he says.

I gave her the paper and she ate the paper too. He gave me a whole box of matches - she ate the matches in no time. He poured kerosene on a saucer and she lapped up the kerosene too.

I just look and shake my head. “That’s the girl,” I think. “Such a girl will probably eat you up in no time.” No, I think, we need to drive her in the neck, definitely drive her. Why do I need such a monster, such a cannibal!!”

And she drank the kerosene, licked the saucer, sits, yawns, nods: that means she wants to sleep.

And then, you know, I felt kind of sorry for her. She sits like a sparrow - shrunk, ruffled, where, I think, to drive her so small at night. After all, such a little birdie can actually be chewed to death by dogs. I think: “Okay, so be it, I’ll kick you out tomorrow. Let him sleep with me, rest, and tomorrow morning - goodbye, go where you came from!..”

I thought so and began to prepare her bed. He put a pillow on the chair, and on the pillow - another small pillow, the kind I had for pins. Then he laid Fenka down and covered her with a napkin instead of a blanket.

“Sleep,” I say. - Good night!

She immediately started snoring.

And I sat for a while, read, and also went to bed.

In the morning, as soon as I woke up, I went to see how my Fenka was doing. I come and look - there is nothing on the chair. There is no Fenya, no pillow, no napkin... I see my Fenya lying under the chair, the pillow under her feet, her head on the floor, and the napkin is not visible at all.

I woke her up and said:

-Where is the napkin?

She says:

-What napkin?

I speak:

- Such a napkin. Which I gave you just now instead of a blanket.

She says:

- Don't know.

- How do you not know this?

- Honestly, I don’t know.

They started looking. I'm looking, and Fenka helps me. We search and search - there is no napkin.

Suddenly Fenka says to me:

– Listen, don’t look, okay. I have remembered.

“What,” I say, “did you remember?”

“I remembered where the napkin is.”

- So where?

- I accidentally ate it.

Oh, I got angry, screamed, stamped my feet.

“You’re such a glutton,” I say, “you’re an insatiable womb!” After all, you’ll eat up my whole house this way.

She says:

- I did not mean to.

- How is this not on purpose? Did you accidentally eat a napkin? Yes?

She says:

“I woke up at night, I was hungry, and you left me nothing.” It's their own fault.

Well, of course, I didn’t argue with her, I spat and went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. I made scrambled eggs for myself, made coffee, and made some sandwiches. And Fenke cut up newspaper paper, crumbled toilet soap and poured kerosene on top of it all. I bring this vinaigrette into the room and see my Fenka wiping her face with a towel. I was scared, it seemed to me that she was eating a towel. Then I see - no, he’s wiping his face.

I ask her:

-Where did you get the water?

She says:

– What kind of water?

I speak:

- Such water. In a word, where did you wash?

She says:

– I haven’t washed yet.

- Why haven’t you washed? So why are you wiping yourself then?

“And I,” he says, “are always like this.” I'll dry myself first and then wash myself.

I just waved my hand.

“Well,” I say, “okay, sit down, eat quickly, and goodbye!”

She says:

- How do you mean “goodbye”?

“Yes,” I say. - Very simple. Goodbye. I'm tired of you, my dear. Hurry up and leave where you came from.

And suddenly I see my Fenya trembling, shaking. She rushed towards me, grabbed me by the leg, hugged me, kissed me, and tears just flowed from her little eyes.

“Don’t drive me away,” he says, “please!” I'll be good. Please! I ask you to! If you feed me, I will never eat anything - not a single clove, not a single button - without asking.

Well, in a word, I felt sorry for her again.

I didn't have children then. I lived alone. So I thought: “Well, this pig won’t eat me. Let him, I think, stay with me for a little while. And then we’ll see.”

“Okay,” I say, “so be it.” IN last time I forgive you. But just look at me...

She immediately became cheerful, jumped up and purred.

Then I left for work. And before leaving for work, I went to the market and bought half a kilo of small shoe nails. I left ten of them to Fenka, and put the rest in a box and locked the box.

At work I thought about Fenka all the time. Worried. How is she doing? What is he doing? Did she do something?

I come home and Fenka is sitting on the window, catching flies. She saw me, was delighted, and clapped her hands.

“Oh,” he says, “finally!” I am so glad!

- And what? - I say. - It was boring?

- Oh, how boring! I just can’t, it’s so boring!

He took her in his arms. I say:

- You probably want some?

“No,” he says. - Not a bit. I still have three nails left from breakfast.

“Well,” I think, “if there are three nails left, then everything is in order, it means she didn’t eat anything extra.”

I praised her for good behavior, played with her a little, then went about his business.

I needed to write several letters. I sit down at my desk, open the inkwell, and look - my inkwell is empty. What's happened? After all, it was only three days ago that I poured ink into it.

“Well,” I say, “Fenka!” Come here!

She comes running.

- Yes? - speaks.

I speak:

“Do you know where my ink went?”

- Never mind. Do you know or don't you know?

She says:

- If you don’t swear, then I’ll tell you.

-Won't you swear?

- Well, I won’t.

- I drank them.

- How did you drink?! You, I say, promised me...

She says:

- I promised you not to eat anything. I didn’t promise not to drink. And you, he says, are again to blame. Why did you buy me such salty nails? They make me want to drink.

Well, talk to her! It's my fault again. I think: what should I do? Swear? No, cursing won’t help matters here. I think: she needs to find some kind of work, some kind of occupation. It is she who does stupid things out of idleness. And when I force her to work, she will have no time to fool around.

And the next day in the morning I give her the broom and say:

“Here, Fenya, I’m leaving for work, and in the meantime you get busy: tidy up the room, sweep the floor, wipe off the dust.” Can you do it?

She even laughed.

“Eva,” he says, “unprecedented.” Why not be able to do that? Of course I can.

In the evening I come and look: there is dust, dirt in the room, pieces of paper are lying on the floor.

- Hey, Fenka! - I shout.

She crawls out from under the bed.

- Yes? - speaks. - What's the matter?

- Why didn’t you sweep the floor?

- How is this why?

- Exactly: why?

“What should I use to sweep it?” he says?

- With a broom.

She says:

- There is no broom.

- How is it not?

– Very simple: no.

-Where did she go?

Silent. He sniffs through his nose. So, things are wrong.

I speak:

“Yes,” he says. - Ate it.

I fell into a chair like that. I even forgot to get angry.

I speak:

- Monster! How did you manage to eat the broom?

She says:

– I honestly don’t even know myself. Somehow imperceptibly, one twig at a time...

“Well,” I say, “what should I do now?” Should I order an iron broom for you?

“No,” he says.

- What is “no”?

“No,” he says, “I’ll eat the iron one.”

Then I thought a little and said:

- OK. I know what I will do to you. WITH tomorrow I will hide you in a suitcase. I hope you won’t eat the suitcase?

“No,” he says, “I won’t eat it.” It's dusty. Wash it and then I’ll eat it.

“Well, no,” I say. - Thank you. No need. It’s better to let it sit dusty.

And the next day I put Fenka in a small leather suitcase. She didn’t cry, didn’t squeak. She just asked me to drill a few holes for air.

I took scissors and made three holes. And since then Fenka has lived there, in my suitcase.

Of course, she grew a little during this time: she was with thumb, now - with the index finger. But she lives well. Even cozy. Now I made a window there, in her house. She sleeps on a small sofa. He dines at a small table. And there’s even a small, small TV set there.

So don’t feel sorry for her, Fenka. Better yet, come visit me sometime, and I will certainly introduce you to her.

Alexey Ivanovich Eremeev - this was the real name of the writer Leonid Panteleev, born on August 9 (22), 1908 in St. Petersburg.

His father, Ivan Andrianovich Eremeev, for distinction in Russian-Japanese war received the Order of St. Vladimir and nobility as a reward. Alexei's mother, Alexandra Sergeevna, also came from a merchant family. However, despite this, family life Things didn’t work out for Ivan and Alexandra, and they separated after the First World War.

The father left the family and went to Vladimir for logging. Poor Alexandra Sergeevna, left with three children, was forced to earn a living by teaching music.

Since 1916, Leonid Panteleev entered the 2nd Petrograd School, but revolutionary events in the country interfered with the boy’s normal studies. In October 1917, he became seriously ill and spent the entire October Revolution in a painful “fever.”

In 1918, fleeing hunger, the family was forced to move to Yaroslavl region. Later, Aunt Alexei and her daughter joined them.

At the beginning of 1919, Alexandra Sergeevna goes to Petrograd, but does not return.

Thus begins Leonid Panteleev’s wanderings around orphanages. Having escaped from another orphanage, the boy is trying to move to Petrograd. However, he does not succeed immediately.

He has to travel throughout the European part of Russia and Ukraine, until finally he returns to hometown to his family and enters the Herder gymnasium.

Panteleev tried to compose at the age of 8-9, and now, while studying at the gymnasium, he continued. Leonid Panteleev’s mother earned good money at that time and gave the boy some of the money for personal expenses. However, all his money was spent on books.

After being expelled from school and running out of money, Leonid begins unscrewing light bulbs in hallways and selling them at the market. He was caught doing this.

This is how Leonid Panteleev met with the School of Social-Individual Education named after. Dostoevsky.

At school he met Grigory Belykh and received the nickname Lenka Panteleev. In 1923, both friends left school and went to Kharkov for film acting courses. But this hobby does not captivate them for long, and soon they fall into the romance of wandering, or simply put, “vagrancy.”

At the end of 1925, they returned to Leningrad and co-wrote “The ShKID Republic.”

In 1933 Panteleev dedicated Civil War his story “The Package”.

After the Great Patriotic War he marries Eliko Semyonovna, and they have a daughter. In 1966, a kind of parental diary called “Our Masha” was published.

Alexey Ivanovich died on July 9, 1987, and three years later his daughter was buried next to her father.