"Almost seriously." From the memoirs of Yuri Nikulin about life and war Bashny.Net

Yuri Nikulin is represented in the mass consciousness - gay actor and clown in the circus on the colored Boulevard, but not everyone knows that Yuri was two wars - the Finnish and the Great Patriotic War. < Website offers you the best excerpts from the memoirs of "Almost seriously" Yuri Nikulin.



Photo source: Diletant.mediaKogda I told my mother that I was going to write a book, she asked me:

- But please, nothing it does not lie. And in general, when you write, let me read.

I thought the book on himself to write, in general, it is quite simple. Because I know myself well enough, I have, I think, finally formed the character, habits and tastes. Without thinking, I list what I like and what I do not like. For example, like: read the book on the night, solitaire, go to visit, to drive ... I like witty people, songs (listen to and sing), jokes, holidays, dogs, illuminated by the setting sun the streets of Moscow, meatballs with pasta. I do not like: get up early to stand in line, walking ... I do not like (perhaps many do not like it), when I was molested on the streets when I cheat. I do not like fall.





Then came the first day of work on the book. He sat down at the table and sat for a long time, painfully searching for the first sentence. He came to the books, some of them opened. As soon as people began to write about myself! Right envy takes - what are all good, juicy, succinct words. But it's their phrase. And I need your first sentence.

I walk around the room, consider books, photographs (as I always do, inventing tricks for performances in the circus) and try to write the beginning. And then the hand itself. He writes: "I was born on December 18, 1921 in Demidov, former Porec, Smolensk province." Instantly surfaced in the memory of all the questionnaires that had to fill, and cross out "original" start. Again, trying to find salvation, looking at volumes of books: Arkady Averchenko, Mikhail Zoshchenko, Mikhail Svetlov ... That is because they talked about their lives clever, short, expressive and original. However, they are writers, they are supposed to write well, I - the clown. And, probably waiting for me something special, eccentric.

But funny is not remembered. Then I decided to start writing a book himself, it seems to me, a simple - with a story about how to pass my normal day

.



In a communal apartment at number one on the first floor and a single wooden, with peeling green paint the house, we took the penalty room.

Window with curtains, green wallpaper, a small square dining table in the corner, followed by the father worked, and I managed to do my homework. Near - bed of parents, there is a chest on which slept a frequent guest in our family. In all corners of the room were stacks of newspapers and magazines (father forbade them to throw). On the night of the corridor for me to bring a cot. It was wooden, folding bed, we sold the old lady neighbor in the yard. On her during the Russian - Japanese War, he was sleeping in the campaigns of her late husband, the colonel of the Russian army

.



I was proud of the bed. I even thought that she still smells of gunpowder. However, on the first night I fell on the floor: carnation that held burlap, rusted, and the material itself is rotten. Colonel clamshell repaired the next day, beat the new material, and I slept on it before graduation. Although I was born in December 1921, the school decided to send me in 1929, without waiting for the execution of eight years (at that time in the first class took eight years)

... Love began in the sixth grade. Short, slim girl with blond, neatly trimmed hair had not really attracted me. I studied with her from the first class. And the house she came to us often, a friend of Nina Kholmogorova.

And then at one of the lessons she looked at me so kindly for its green, like a lynx, eyes that I understood - in the world there is no better and more beautiful this girl. Since then, I began to think about her often and look at it on - to another. After some time, I decided to take her from school to home, though, and had to do decent hook. On the way, talking about favorite books: I - about Conan Doyle, it is - about Edgar Allan Poe. Since then began to exchange books.





See off from school to home soon stopped, afraid that boys begin to tease. But love it continued. Often I envision such a picture: it attacks someone, and I defend it. When she came to visit Nina, my heart began beating unusually. Then I climbed to the roof of the highest shed in our yard and waited patiently for her to come out of the house. It was from there I wanted to shout to her: "Good-bye" to turning, she saw how bravely I stand at the edge of the roof. And at the thought of how to confess his love to her and say how I like it, blushing. It seemed she had no idea about my feelings. He talks to me, just like all the other guys from our class.

I increasingly began to look at himself in the mirror and father terribly worried that my head some oblong, melons, like my mother said, and the nose is too big. So I felt like a thirteen years. Sometimes she accompanied her father to the school. It was a gloomy, taciturn man. He carries a daughter to the gate and, nodding her head stiffly, he went to work. And I thought: "That's what he did not even kiss. It's so nice it would be to kiss her! "In my dreams I've kissed her endlessly. Why - that kiss on the cheek or top of the head - where it converged little white hair. But then, upon learning that she and his father runs regularly train in rifle shooting, imbued with respect for him and he decided to enroll in the shooting circle. But after the first class I and a friend drove from the shooting range, because we are fired by light bulbs on the ceiling.





In the army I was drafted in 1939, when not yet eighteen years of age. Do not take "- I thought after the first visit to the military enlistment office, when I was called for a medical examination and immediately sent to the TB dispensary. I'm terribly worried, afraid that I will find something, and not called upon. Finally, after several medical examinations revealed that I was practically healthy. At the last in the military commission chairman, looked at me, said:

- You are very tall, in armored units not fit. We think the point you in the artillery. How agree?

- Well, - I said - artillery - too bad

. Proud to come home, I happily said:

- Called in artillery

!



They brought us to some railway station near the Krasnaya Presnya where we spent almost a day.

We all keep an eye on each other. I liked the guy, funny, cute, with the figure Okay, well sang songs, told estimated tirelessly history. Another boasted all what he had Gipsy world, how she loved him and how escorted to the recruiting station. Third, a person who always smile never left it, and he drew attention - remember my mother treated all the chocolates. Each of us told each other about themselves.

At the station we were taken to the bath. When I undressed, everyone started laughing.

- Well, you figure: worm fainted ... What, you have not fed Housing

? I must have looked really funny:. Skinny, round-shouldered and long





At night, we were taken to Leningrad. When we were told that we would be in Leningrad, all in unison shouted "Hurrah." Immediately, our ardor cooling, we were told:

- On the border with Finland tense situation, the city under martial law

. At first I was killing the word "rise". Seven in the morning. The street still dark. Winter has come. We are sleeping. And the whole barracks was a loud: "Rise!»

Get up do not want to, but it is necessary. No I could not learn how to quickly get dressed. Therefore it became operational almost the last.

Sergeant during ascent is always shouting:

- Well, get a move on you, oblomchik

! For a long time we are puzzled that the "oblomchik". Then it turned out that the foreman was comparing us with Oblomov of Goncharov's novel.

Everything that happened on the first day after getting up, shocked me deeply. Houses in cooler weather I was never allowed to leave the house without a coat, washed always just warm water, and here suddenly brought out into the frosty air in the bottom of the jacket with a towel tied around the belly and forced to run half a mile along the frozen, ringing under the boots mud road. After charging on the street washed with ice water. I washed and was horrified to think that now begins pneumonia.





In one of the first days of life all of us built a sergeant and asked:

- Well, who wants to see "Swan Lake»

? I am silent. I do not want to watch "Swan Lake", as seen on the eve of "Chapaev". And "Chapaev" turned out. The foreman asked:

- Wishes to see the "Chapaev" is

? "Another asks," - I thought, and took two steps forward. Behind me came a few more people.

- Well, follow me, cinema lovers - ordered the sergeant

. They brought us into the kitchen and we peel potatoes the night before. This is called playing "Chapaev". In the film, as you know, there's a scene with potatoes.

In the morning my friend Nick Borisov asked how, they say, "Chapaev»

? - Well, - I answered. - We still showed two newsreel so late and returned

. On the "Swan Lake" out of order four. Among them was Nick Borisov. They washed the floors.





On the night of June 22 at the observation post broke the tie with a battalion command. According to the instructions we had to immediately enter the link to find a place of damage. The two men immediately went to Beloostrov and up to two nights engaged in check. They returned around five in the morning and were told that our line in order. Therefore, the accident happened across the river on another site.

Morning came. We had breakfast calmly. On the occasion of Sunday with Borunova took the three-liter cans, went to the station to buy beer for all. We come to the station, and we stopped and asked an old man:

- Comrades, the military, it is true that the war began

? - From the first you hear - we answer calmly. - No no war. You see - we go for a beer. What kind of war! - We said and smiled

. Gone a bit. We stopped again:

- What's true war began

? - Yes, where did you get? - Worried we

. What? Everyone is talking about the war, and we quietly go for a beer. At the station, we saw people with confused faces, standing near the post with a loudspeaker. They listened to the speech of Molotov.

... The first person killed in front of me is impossible to forget. We sat at the firing position and ate from the pot. Suddenly, next to our instrument shell exploded, and charge shrapnel cut off his head. Sitting man with a spoon in his hand, the steam comes out of the pot, while the upper part of the head is cut off, like a razor, a clean sweep.

Death in war, it would seem, should not shake. But every time it is amazing. I saw the field on which lay rows of dead people: how they went on the attack, and all of them cocked gun. I saw the body, broken shells and bombs, but the most offensive - an absurd death that kills a stray bullet accidentally caught a splinter

.



A commander death gun Volodya Andreev ... Which was a great guy! Songs sang great. good poetry writing, and how ridiculous died. For two days we have not slept. Day fought off squadrons "Junkers", which bombed our troops, and the night change its position. During one move Volodya sat on the gun, and fell asleep, and in sleep fell from the gun. No one noticed the gun moved Volodya. He had before his death, only to say: "Mom tell ...»

Remembering the loss of close friends, I know - I was lucky. More than once it seemed that death is inevitable, but everything ended safely. Some randomness saved lives. Apparently, I was indeed born dressed as mom used to say.

... Meet my former schoolmate, she gave her my number field post, and she wrote me a short letter. Nothing special about it was not - about my service questions, stories about friends guys. About herself she wrote that came to study at the Institute of Foreign Languages. Letter I reread several times and memorized. Immediately I told her great message. To ponder each phrase, have sharpened their wits, the fields did some drawings of my army life. Thus began our correspondence, which lasted until the last day of service.

< May 9, 1945.

Victory! The war ended, and we are alive! This is a great happiness - our victory! The war over, and we are alive! Alive !!!





The next day we saw on the road walked by surrendering prisoner by the Germans. t. e the Germans, who are ready to attack. officers went ahead, followed by fifteen German march played harmonicas. Great look this column. Someone said that it took more than thirty thousand for the half-day Germans. View all miserable. We looked at them with curiosity.

Soon our Division finally began to civilian life. And the 11 of June 1945 there was a record in our combat log. The last entry in the journal of hostilities first battery of 72-th separate battalion of Pushkin: "Finished the full camp equipment in the area Līvbērze Station Station. An indication of termination of conducting combat log. Battery Commander Captain

Shubnikov. " And it come peacetime. We all seemed very strange to our state. We have lost the habit of silence. Most of all I was expecting letters from home. Interesting, I thought, as well as a victory met the father and mother?

... I went and thought about the war as the most terrible tragedy on earth, the senseless destruction of human beings to each other. Before the war, I read a book by Remarque's "All Quiet on the Western Front." I liked the book, but I was not impressed. And while returning home a few confused and in doubt, the main thing that felt - joy. I rejoice to be alive, that are waiting for me homes, girlfriend and friends. "All forms - I thought - If you survived this terrible war, everything else somehow will overcome»

. At the gates of the house I was waiting for my mother. Mama! During the war years she has changed a lot. On the haggard face stood out her huge eyes, his hair completely white. When I entered the room, the dog happily jumped Malka. She had not forgotten me. Soon there was my school friend Shura Skalyga. He recently returned from Hungary, where he served in tank units. On his chest wearing the Order of Glory of the third degree. Together with the Shura, hastily eaten, we rushed to the "Dynamo". We had time to time for the break. Father stood at the controls. I saw him from afar, stooped figure in a gray cap familiar to me.

- Dad! - I shouted

. Father raised his hand, and we rushed to each other. While we kissed Shura shouted controllers:

- Look! Look! They had not seen the whole war! He is back! This father and son!

Under these cries we together with Shura walked past the stunned controllers on a single ticket.





I do not remember how to play that day, "Spartacus" and "Dynamo", but the match was a holiday for me. I am in Moscow. At home. And as in the good pre-war time, I am sitting with his father and Shura Skalyga the South Stand of the stadium "Dynamo", look at the green field on which run the players hear the screams and whistling fans and think, "That is probably true happiness" .

... The first day I came home, I met with my beloved. After football, I called her and we agreed to meet near Elokhovskiy Cathedral. It was on a date with excitement. Feel free uniforms to the same calf boots mercilessly shook. These first-calf boots real life gave me a parting spies, who secretly made a booking our divisional cobbler, but the wrong size. And I barely pulled on his father's boots on a thin sock.

- Oh, Yuri, you really become an adult - she said happily when he saw me

. And I stood, shifting from one foot to the other, I do not know what to say, and by agitation smoothed his mustache, which I thought gave my face a dashing look. That evening I was in the parade for the first time it kissed. And then for a long time did not let go. She is pulling her hand from mine, he said in a whisper:

- Do not, Dad can get

. We met almost daily. We went to the theater, cinema. Several times she came to us in Tokmak lane. My parents liked it. And two days later on the same staircase, where he first kissed her, made her an offer. I could have done and in her home, where more than once visited, but ashamed. The family was a difficult situation. The father and mother were divorced, but lived in one room, partitioned piano and screen. They did not talk to each other. (В их доме я себя глупо чувствовал: то заходил в отцовский закуток попить чаю, то возвращался допивать на половину, где жили мать с дочкой.)

— Ты папе очень нравишься,  — говорила она мне.

В тот вечер, когда я попросил ее руки, она сказала:

— Приходи завтра, я тебе все скажу.

На следующий день, когда мы встретились на бульваре, она, глядя в землю, сообщила, что меня любит, но по-дружески, а через неделю выходит замуж. Он летчик, и дружит она с ним еще с войны, просто раньше не говорила. Поцеловала меня в лоб и добавила:

— Но мы останемся друзьями…

Вот так и закончилась моя первая любовь. Переживал я, конечно, очень. Ночью долго бродил один по Москве…





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