I really wanted to catch the bear eating. Little Stories: The Musician

Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin (1873-1954) - Russian Soviet writer, author of works about nature, hunting stories, works for children.
Almost all Prishvin's works published during his lifetime are devoted to descriptions of his own impressions of encounters with nature, these descriptions are distinguished by the extraordinary beauty of the language. Konstantin Paustovsky called him "a singer of Russian nature", Gorky said that Prishvin had "a perfect ability to give almost physical tangibility to everything with a flexible combination of simple words."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki

"Old Mushroom"

Chit.N.Litvinov
recording 1978

It was towards autumn, when birches and aspens begin to pour down golden and red patches on young Christmas trees. The day was warm and even parky, when the mushrooms come up from the damp, warm earth. On such a day, it happens that you pick everything clean, and soon another mushroom picker will follow you and immediately, from the same place, he collects again: you take, and the mushrooms keep climbing and climbing. This was such a mushroom, parky day now. But this time I had no luck with mushrooms. I collected all sorts of rubbish in my basket: russula, redheads, boletus - and there were only two white mushrooms. If mushrooms were real mushrooms, I, an old man, would bend down for a black mushroom! But what to do, bow to the need and russula. It was very parko, and from my bows everything inside me caught fire and I wanted to drink to death. There are streams in our forests, paws diverge from the streams, urea from the paws, or even just sweaty places. I was so thirsty that, perhaps, I even tried wet earth. But the stream was very far away, and the rain cloud was even further away: legs would not lead to the stream, hands would not be enough to reach the cloud. And I hear somewhere behind a frequent spruce forest a gray bird squeaks: - Drink, drink! It happens, before the rain, a gray bird - a raincoat - asks for a drink: - Drink, drink! “Fool,” I said, “so the cloud will listen to you.” He looked at the sky, and where to wait for rain: a clear sky above us, and steam from the earth, like in a bathhouse. What to do here, how to be? And the bird also squeaks in its own way: - Drink, drink! Here I chuckled to myself that that's what an old man I am, I've lived so much, seen so much everything in the world, learned so much, and here it's just a bird, and we have one desire. “Come on,” I said to myself, “I’ll take a look at my comrade.” I advanced cautiously, noiselessly through the dense spruce forest, lifted one twig: well, hello there! Through this forest window, a clearing in the forest opened up to me, in the middle of it there are two birches, under the birches a stump and next to the stump in a green lingonberry, a red russula, such a huge one that I have never seen in my life. She was so old that the edges of her, as happens only with russula, wrapped up. And from this, the whole russula was exactly like a large deep plate, moreover, filled with water. It made my heart happy. Suddenly I see: a gray bird flies from a birch, sits on the edge of a russula and with its nose - a bale! - in water. And head up so that a drop in the throat passes. - Drink, drink! - another bird from the birch squeaks to her. There was a leaf on the water in a plate - small, dry, yellow. Here the bird will peck, the water will tremble, and the leaf will go on a spree. And then I see everything from the window and rejoice and do not hurry: how much does the bird need, let him get drunk, we have enough! One got drunk, flew to the birch. Another went down and also sat on the edge of the russula. And the one that got drunk is on top of her. - Drink, drink! I came out of the spruce forest so quietly that the birds were not very afraid of me, but only flew from one birch to another. But they began to squeak not calmly, as before, but with alarm, and I understood them so that I alone asked. - Will he drink? The other answered: - Do not drink! I understood that they were talking about me and one thought about a plate of forest water - "drink", the other argued - "won't drink." - I'll drink, I'll drink! I told them out loud. They squealed their “drink will drink” even more often. But it was not so easy for me to drink this plate of forest water. Of course, it could be done very simply, as everyone does who does not understand forest life and comes to the forest only to take something for himself. With such a mushroom knife, he would carefully cut the russula, lift it up to him, drink water, and he would immediately press the hat he did not need from the old mushroom on the tree. What a daring! And, in my opinion, it's just stupid. Think for yourself how I could do this if two birds got drunk from an old mushroom before my eyes, and you never know who drank without me, and now I myself, dying of thirst, will now get drunk, and after me it will rain again, and again everyone will drink. And there, seeds will ripen in the mushroom - spores, the wind will pick them up, scatter them through the forest for the future. Apparently, there is nothing to do. I grunted, grunted, sank down on my old knees and lay on my stomach. Out of necessity, I say, I bowed to the russula. And the birds! The birds are playing. Drink or not drink? “No, comrades,” I told them, “now don’t argue anymore, now I have reached and have a drink.” It happened so well that when I lay down on my stomach, my parched lips met just with the cold lips of the fungus. But just to take a sip, I see in front of me in a golden boat made of birch leaf, on its thin cobweb, a spider descends into a flexible saucer. Either he wanted to swim, or he needs to get drunk. - How many of you are here who want to! I told him. - Well, you. And in one breath he drank the whole forest bowl to the bottom.
http://www.prishvin.org.ru/ll-al-elbook-1464/

In the summer, as usual, I worked on a geological expedition in the remote Yakut taiga. From the base camp I was sent for two weeks to explore the headwaters of a small mountain stream twenty kilometers away.

Egor's assistant went with me, whose main duty was to dig pits. Egor was taken from local alcoholics, we hired them in the nearest town for the entire summer season. We had a “dry law”, and while working, they were undergoing, as it were, labor treatment. They worked well. In addition, they knew local customs, were well oriented in the forest, and were good hunters.

I examined rock outcrops near our river, found signs of copper. Yegor almost did not have to dig holes, he cooked food and gorged himself on berries. We lived in an old winter hut, cut down by hunters from thick larches a hundred years ago.

We also had neighbors - one or two families of bears. We saw them from afar, they did not let us close to them, they immediately left. But they left their traces everywhere in abundance: heavily rumpled grass and bushes, especially raspberries. The bears also broke snags, old stumps, decks and looked for something in the ground there. Berries bears sucked whole branches. In a word, the owners of the forest left behind a complete pogrom.

In the evenings, when the sun was setting and nature was quiet, I distinctly heard some strange sound: “Pbwa-a-a-m!” - and then fading rattling for 10-15 seconds. The sound arose every evening, and I asked Yegor:

What it is?
- Yes, it is clear that the bear is pampering.
- How does he pamper?
- Let's go and see.

We went to the taiga. About three hundred meters on a hillock, bad weather knocked down several larches. One of them broke, leaving long chips above the roots. Near them, on its hind legs, a one and a half year old bear stood with its back to us. He seemed to be completely absorbed in his work. It consisted in the fact that the bear with a clawed paw pulled one of the wood chips dried in the sun, because of which it made a characteristic sound, and the bear, bowing its head amusingly, listened. "Pbwa-a-a-m!" - carried in a quiet, evening taiga. The bear enjoyed his art.

I had a military-style rifled carbine (they don’t go in the taiga without a gun). But of course I didn't use it. It would be poaching, and it's a pity for the "musician". I shouted, the bear shuddered, sat down on its front paws and easily fled into the thicket. We did not see other bears nearby, which means that the music lover was alone. I remembered Shishkin's painting Morning in a Pine Forest. There, too, a splintered hundred-year-old pine was depicted. I constantly wonder if there was some kind of “bear love for forest music” plot here.

Several days passed, the forest music did not sound, apparently, we scared the bear. I felt kind of sane. But on the last evening before leaving for the base, we again heard: “Pbwa-a-a-m!” My heart became warm. So the bear returned to his "musical instrument" and continued to enjoy the sound. They also say that they are not musical. And they even came up with the expression: "The bear stepped on the ear."

Vsevolod Abramov

Made and sent by Anatoly Kaydalov.
_____________________

An old man lived with an old woman. They had two sons. The elder's name was Toivo-unsmiling. He was good, hard-working, but very gloomy. He will never laugh, he will never sing, he knows one thing - he smokes his pipe, puffs. He catches fish on the lake - he is silent, he makes skis - he is silent. That's what he was like, Toivo-unsmiling... And the youngest was called Matti the merry fellow. He was a good guy. Works - sings songs, talks - laughs merrily. He also knew how to play the guselka-kantele. As soon as the strings begin to pluck, as the dance begins to play - no one can resist, their legs go dancing by themselves. Here he was, Matti the merry fellow ...
Once Toivo-unsmiling went to the forest for firewood. He took the sleigh aside, chose a good pine and let's cut it. There was a knock and a crack through the forest. And near that pine there was a bear's lair. The owner-bear woke up.
- Who is knocking, does not let me sleep?
He got out of the den, looking: the guy was chopping a pine - chips were flying in all directions! Hat to the eyebrows, eyebrows with a bump, he himself is silent and puffs his pipe.
Wow, angry bear!
- Why are you knocking in my forest, do not let me sleep? Ugh, ugh - you spoil the forest air with tobacco! Out!
Yes, how enough of a guy with a paw. Only the jacket cracked.
Toivo dropped his ax, rolled across the snow, rolled over and fell right into the sled. The horse pulled, the sleigh rushed through the snowdrifts, over the stumps, through the clearings, and they took Toivo out of the forest.
That's how it was!
Unsmiling Toivo came home - no firewood, no ax, his jacket was torn and he himself was barely alive.
Well, what can you do?
But firewood is needed, there is nothing to heat the stove with. Here Matti the merry fellow went to the forest.
I picked up the kantele, got into the sleigh and drove off. Rides, plays and sings a song.
Matti the merry fellow comes to the forest and sees: there is a pine tree, all the bark is in wounds, and next to it lies an ax in the snow.
- Ege, it was here that Toivo chopped.
He took the sleigh aside, raised the ax, set his sights on chopping down a pine tree, and changed his mind.
- Let me play the kantele first - the work will go more fun.
Here he was, Matti the merry fellow!
Sat on a stump and played. The sound went through the forest.
The owner-bear woke up.
- Who is it ringing, tickling my ears?
He got out of the den, he sees: the guy is playing the kantele, the hat is on the back of his head, his eyebrows are round, his eyes are cheerful, he sings the song himself.
The legs were asked to dance.
The bear danced, roared:
- Wow, wow, wow, wow!
The kantele fell silent.
The bear took a breath and says:
- Hey boy, teach me how to play the kantele. If only my cubs would dance!
- You can, - says Matti the merry fellow, - why not teach.
He put a kantele in the bear's paws. And the bear's paws are thick, it beats the strings, oh, how badly it plays!
- No, - says Matti, - you play badly! You need to make your legs thinner.
He led the bear to a thick spruce, split it with an ax and inserted a wedge into the gap.
- Come on, master, put your paws in the gap and hold until I say.
The bear put his paws into the gap, and Matti hit the wedge with an ax. A wedge flew out, and the bear's paws were pinched. The bear roared, and Matti the merry fellow laughs:
- Be patient, be patient until the paws become thinner. There is no science without pain.
“I don’t want to play,” the bear roars. - Well, you with your kantele, let me go home!
- Are you going to scare people? Will you drive out of the forest? “I won’t,” the bear roars. - Let go!
Matti again drove the wedge into the gap, pulled the bear's paws and quickly home.
And Matti the merry fellow chopped up a sleigh full of pine wood, picked up a kantele and rode out of the forest. He goes and sings a song. Here he is, Matti the merry fellow!
Since then, people have been going to the forest for firewood without fear.