Wild dog dingo jack london. Book: Wild Dog Dingo, or the Tale of First Love - Reuben Fraerman

Reuben Isaevich Fraerman

Wild dog Dingo,

or The Tale of First Love

The thin line was lowered into the water under a thick root that moved with every movement of the wave.

The girl was catching trout.

She sat motionless on a stone, and the river washed over her with noise. Her eyes were cast downwards. But their gaze, tired of the shine scattered everywhere over the water, was not intent. She often took him aside and directed him into the distance, where steep mountains, shaded by forest, stood above the river itself.

The air was still light, and the sky, constrained by the mountains, seemed like a plain among them, slightly illuminated by the sunset.

But neither this air, familiar to her from the first days of her life, nor this sky attracted her now.

With wide open eyes she watched the ever-flowing water, trying to imagine in her imagination those uncharted lands where and from where the river ran. She wanted to see other countries, another world, for example the Australian dingo. Then she also wanted to be a pilot and sing a little at the same time.

And she began to sing. Quiet at first, then louder.

She had a voice that was pleasant to the ear. But it was empty all around. Only the water rat, frightened by the sounds of her song, splashed close to the root and swam to the reeds, dragging a green reed into the hole. The reed was long, and the rat worked in vain, unable to pull it through the thick river grass.

The girl looked at the rat with pity and stopped singing. Then she stood up, pulling the line out of the water.

With a wave of her hand, the rat darted into the reeds, and the dark, spotted trout, which had previously been standing motionless on the light stream, jumped and went into the depths.

The girl was left alone. She looked at the sun, which was already close to sunset and was sloping towards the top of the spruce mountain. And, although it was already late, the girl was in no hurry to leave. She slowly turned on the stone and leisurely walked up the path, where a tall forest descended towards her along the gentle slope of the mountain.

She entered it boldly.

The sound of water running between the rows of stones remained behind her, and silence opened before her.

And in this age-old silence she suddenly heard the sound of a pioneer bugle. He walked along the clearing where old fir trees stood without moving their branches, and blew a trumpet in her ears, reminding her that she had to hurry.

However, the girl did not increase her pace. Having walked around a round swamp where yellow locusts grew, she bent down and, with a sharp twig, dug several pale flowers out of the ground along with the roots. Her hands were already full when behind her came the quiet noise of footsteps and a voice loudly calling her name:

She turned around. In the clearing, near a high heap of ants, the Nanai boy Filka stood and beckoned her to him with his hand. She approached, looking at him friendly.

Near Filka, on a wide stump, she saw a pot full of lingonberries. And Filka himself, using a narrow hunting knife made of Yakut steel, cleared the bark of a fresh birch twig.

Didn't you hear the bugle? - he asked. - Why aren’t you in a hurry?

She replied:

Today is parents' day. My mother cannot come - she is at the hospital at work - and no one is waiting for me at the camp. Why aren't you in a hurry? - she added with a smile.

“Today is parent’s day,” he answered in the same way as she, “and my father came to me from the camp, I went to accompany him to the spruce hill.”

Have you already done it? It's far away.

No,” Filka answered with dignity. - Why would I accompany him if he stays overnight near our camp by the river! I took a bath behind the Big Stones and went to look for you. I heard you singing loudly.

The girl looked at him and laughed. And Filka’s dark face darkened even more.

But if you’re not in a hurry,” he said, “then we’ll stay here for a while.” I'll treat you to ant juice.

You already treated me to raw fish this morning.

Yes, but it was a fish, and this is completely different. Try! - said Filka and stuck his rod into the very middle of the ant heap.

And, bending over it together, they waited a little until the thin branch, cleared of bark, was completely covered with ants. Then Filka shook them off, lightly hitting the cedar with a branch, and showed it to Tanya. Drops of formic acid were visible on the shiny sapwood. He licked it and gave it to Tanya to try. She also licked and said:

It's very tasty. I've always loved ant juice.

They were silent. Tanya - because she loved to think a little about everything and remain silent every time she entered this silent forest. And Filka also didn’t want to talk about such a pure trifle as ant juice. Still, it was only juice that she could extract herself.

So they walked the entire clearing without saying a word to each other, and came out to the opposite slope of the mountain. And here, very close, under a stone cliff, all by the same river, tirelessly rushing to the sea, they saw their camp - spacious tents standing in a clearing in a row.

There was noise coming from the camp. The adults must have already gone home, and only the children were making noise. But their voices were so strong that here, above, among the silence of the gray wrinkled stones, it seemed to Tanya that somewhere far away a forest was humming and swaying.

But, no way, they are already building a line,” she said. “You should, Filka, come to camp before me, because won’t they laugh at us for coming together so often?”

“She really shouldn’t have talked about this,” Filka thought with bitter resentment.

And, grabbing a tenacious layer sticking out over the cliff, he jumped down onto the path so far that Tanya became scared.

But he didn't hurt himself. And Tanya rushed to run along another path, between low pines growing crookedly

Fraerman Reuben

Wild Dog Dingo, or the Tale of First Love

Reuben Isaevich Fraerman

Wild dog Dingo,

or The Tale of First Love

The story "The Wild Dog Dingo" has long been included in the golden fund of Soviet children's literature. This is a lyrical work, full of warmth and light, about camaraderie and friendship, about the moral maturation of teenagers.

For high school age.

The thin line was lowered into the water under a thick root that moved with every movement of the wave.

The girl was catching trout.

She sat motionless on a stone, and the river washed over her with noise. Her eyes were cast downwards. But their gaze, tired of the shine scattered everywhere over the water, was not intent. She often took him aside and directed him into the distance, where steep mountains, shaded by forest, stood above the river itself.

The air was still light, and the sky, constrained by the mountains, seemed like a plain among them, slightly illuminated by the sunset.

But neither this air, familiar to her from the first days of her life, nor this sky attracted her now.

With wide open eyes she watched the ever-flowing water, trying to imagine in her imagination those uncharted lands where and from where the river ran. She wanted to see other countries, another world, for example the Australian dingo. Then she also wanted to be a pilot and sing a little at the same time.

And she began to sing. Quiet at first, then louder.

She had a voice that was pleasant to the ear. But it was empty all around. Only the water rat, frightened by the sounds of her song, splashed close to the root and swam to the reeds, dragging a green reed into the hole. The reed was long, and the rat worked in vain, unable to pull it through the thick river grass.

The girl looked at the rat with pity and stopped singing. Then she stood up, pulling the line out of the water.

With a wave of her hand, the rat darted into the reeds, and the dark, spotted trout, which had previously been standing motionless on the light stream, jumped and went into the depths.

The girl was left alone. She looked at the sun, which was already close to sunset and was sloping towards the top of the spruce mountain. And, although it was already late, the girl was in no hurry to leave. She slowly turned on the stone and leisurely walked up the path, where a tall forest descended towards her along the gentle slope of the mountain.

She entered it boldly.

The sound of water running between the rows of stones remained behind her, and silence opened before her.

And in this age-old silence she suddenly heard the sound of a pioneer bugle. He walked along the clearing where old fir trees stood without moving their branches, and blew a trumpet in her ears, reminding her that she had to hurry.

However, the girl did not increase her pace. Having walked around a round swamp where yellow locusts grew, she bent down and, with a sharp twig, dug several pale flowers out of the ground along with the roots. Her hands were already full when behind her came the quiet noise of footsteps and a voice loudly calling her name:

She turned around. In the clearing, near a high heap of ants, the Nanai boy Filka stood and beckoned her to him with his hand. She approached, looking at him friendly.

Near Filka, on a wide stump, she saw a pot full of lingonberries. And Filka himself, using a narrow hunting knife made of Yakut steel, cleared the bark of a fresh birch twig.

Didn't you hear the bugle? - he asked. - Why aren’t you in a hurry?

She replied:

Today is parents' day. My mother cannot come - she is at the hospital at work - and no one is waiting for me at the camp. Why aren't you in a hurry? - she added with a smile.

“Today is parent’s day,” he answered in the same way as she, “and my father came to me from the camp, I went to accompany him to the spruce hill.”

Have you already done it? It's far away.

No,” Filka answered with dignity. - Why would I accompany him if he stays overnight near our camp by the river! I took a bath behind the Big Stones and went to look for you. I heard you singing loudly.

The girl looked at him and laughed. And Filka’s dark face darkened even more.

But if you’re not in a hurry,” he said, “then we’ll stay here for a while.” I'll treat you to ant juice.

You already treated me to raw fish this morning.

Yes, but it was a fish, and this is completely different. Try! - said Filka and stuck his rod into the very middle of the ant heap.

And, bending over it together, they waited a little until the thin branch, cleared of bark, was completely covered with ants. Then Filka shook them off, lightly hitting the cedar with a branch, and showed it to Tanya. Drops of formic acid were visible on the shiny sapwood. He licked it and gave it to Tanya to try. She also licked and said:

It's very tasty. I've always loved ant juice.

They were silent. Tanya - because she loved to think a little about everything and remain silent every time she entered this silent forest. And Filka also didn’t want to talk about such a pure trifle as ant juice. Still, it was only juice that she could extract herself.

So they walked the entire clearing without saying a word to each other, and came out to the opposite slope of the mountain. And here, very close, under a stone cliff, all by the same river, tirelessly rushing to the sea, they saw their camp - spacious tents standing in a clearing in a row.

There was noise coming from the camp. The adults must have already gone home, and only the children were making noise. But their voices were so strong that here, above, among the silence of the gray wrinkled stones, it seemed to Tanya that somewhere far away a forest was humming and swaying.

But, no way, they are already building a line,” she said. “You should, Filka, come to camp before me, because won’t they laugh at us for coming together so often?”

“Well, she shouldn’t have talked about this,” Filka thought with bitter resentment.

And, grabbing a tenacious layer sticking out over the cliff, he jumped down onto the path so far that Tanya became scared.

But he didn't hurt himself. And Tanya rushed to run along another path, between low pines growing crookedly on the stones...

The path led her to a road that, like a river, ran out of the forest and, like a river, flashed its stones and rubble in her eyes and made the sound of a long bus full of people. It was the adults leaving the camp for the city.

The bus passed by. But the girl did not follow its wheels, did not look out of its windows; she did not expect to see any of her relatives in him.

She crossed the road and ran into the camp, easily jumping over ditches and hummocks, as she was agile.

The children greeted her with screams. The flag on the pole flapped right in her face. She stood in her row, placing flowers on the ground.

Counselor Kostya shook his eyes at her and said:

Tanya Sabaneeva, you have to get to the line on time. Attention! Be equal! Feel your neighbor's elbow.

Tanya spread her elbows wider, thinking: “It’s good if you have friends on the right. It’s good if they’re on the left. It’s good if they’re both here and there.”

Turning her head to the right, Tanya saw Filka. After swimming, his face shone like stone, and his tie was dark with water.

And the counselor said to him:

Filka, what kind of a pioneer are you if every time you make swimming trunks out of a tie!.. Don’t lie, don’t lie, please! I know everything myself. Wait, I'll talk to your father seriously.

“Poor Filka,” Tanya thought, “he’s unlucky today.”

She looked to the right all the time. She didn't look to the left. Firstly, because it was not according to the rules, and secondly, because standing there was a fat girl, Zhenya, whom she did not prefer to others.

Ah, this camp, where she has spent her summer for the fifth year in a row! For some reason, today he seemed to her not as cheerful as before. But she always loved waking up in a tent at dawn, when dew dripped onto the ground from the thin thorns of the blackberries! She loved the sound of a bugle in the forest, roaring like a wapiti, and the sound of drumsticks, and sour ant juice, and songs around the fire, which she knew how to light better than anyone in the squad.

What happened today? Did this river running to the sea inspire these strange thoughts in her? With what a vague premonition she watched her! Where did she want to go? Why did she need an Australian dingo dog? Why does she need it? Or is it just her childhood getting away from her? Who knows when it will go away!

Tanya thought about this with surprise, standing at attention on the line, and thought about it later, sitting in the dining tent at dinner. And only at the fire, which she was instructed to light, did she pull herself together.

She brought a thin birch tree from the forest, which had dried up on the ground after a storm, and placed it in the middle of the fire, and skillfully lit a fire around it.

Filka dug it in and waited until the branches took over.

And the birch tree burned without sparks, but with a slight noise, surrounded on all sides by darkness.

Children from other units came to the fire to admire. The counselor Kostya came, and the doctor with a shaved head, and even the head of the camp himself. He asked them why they didn’t sing and play, since they had such a beautiful fire.

The children sang one song, then another.

A romantic story of first love, told in Freudian tones

When was this first love? What was her name? Which of many succeeded each other, appearing either from a neighboring yard, then from another village, or from somewhere from an unknown and fairy-tale world called Ge-De-eR; which one was your first love? Often the issue was resolved collectively: you like this one, I like this one, he likes that one.

Absolutely transparent. Absolutely democratic. In compliance with the traditional orientation.

And it was also how life worked that little boys “liked” their older aunts. For some reason, it was so arranged that not all of them were beautiful and desirable. But not at all in the adult sense of sympathy. Not at all like an adult. And what could they take from us: Freud, Freud HIMSELF, not only didn’t they read, they didn’t know! Natives - what can I add here?!

Where is the Father figure? Where is the Electra complex? Where are transferences and countertransferences with projection? A? Where is all this? Well, of course, in “The Wild Dog Dingo, or the Tale of First Love”!

The time has come - they fell in love

Amazing Freudian book, amazing! Written not at all according to Freud’s “patterns” - that’s how it turned out. It so happens that everything revolves around the “Father figure”. Appeared either on time, or not at all. But how did it happen: “Did this river running to the sea really inspire these strange thoughts in her? With what a vague premonition she watched her! Where did she want to go? Why did she need an Australian dingo?”

An awakening adult feeling, what metaphor is suitable for this awakening? "Sleeping Beauty"? A snail crawling out of its fragile home? The ugly duckling turning into a beautiful swan? Or just “wild dog dingo”? Or maybe Dawn on Another Planet? "Birth of Venus from sea foam"?

Is the list finite? How differently teenagers and adults who are in love with each other behave! Filka goes crazy with crazy actions, alternating thoughts of a “man of the earth”, living by some age-old instincts, where raw fish, wood sulfur and ant juice are the main, healthy and yet such “primitive” food. Kolya, a boy combed by civilization, his feelings are still quite immature, well, even more youthful, as it should be in the development of a young man - slightly behind a girl’s maturation. His helplessness before the primeval snow hurricane - no, does not evoke pity for him or any sense of superiority: everything will still come, everything will happen. It is not his fault or misfortune that the harsh Siberia is not his “small” Motherland, but the country “Maroseyka, house number forty, apartment fifty-three.”

Metaphor: snowstorm. Adult characters, in general, are given in large strokes, yes – as characters, yes – as contours rather than drawn, with frequent, small and precise strokes – that’s all. Actually, they are “given” as a necessary “balancer” for the life that is just beginning, the inner life of adolescents. Adult life - what is it like in the story? What can you compare it to, how can you express it? Surely with a snowstorm: feelings and relationships are growing, just like a storm that does not start suddenly; At first it’s easy to walk together, because the impending danger is clear. But then the danger itself comes, and this is a different situation. Something went wrong and where is the clarity and desirability of the relationship? A storm begins, a snowstorm - what's the difference? The hour of testing is coming.

How do we behave in this coming hour? In different ways, in our own way, in accordance with who and what we are, caught on our way by the storm of life. Tanya is the clear leader here, both because she is more mature, as is always the case with girls at that age, and because she is local, of course. A moment of confusion, but not fatal. Actually, the character shown in this scene... what can I say? Most likely, his character will not break in the upcoming war.

What and who was missing in another “storm”, the drama of Tanya’s parents’ divorce? Who behaved wrong? Who's to blame? That's not the point anymore. The main thing is how parents behave now, when tiny dots on the map of a huge country suddenly converge in one of them, somewhere “far from Moscow.” A propos. Tanya’s mother is by no means a countess, but they have a maid in their family! Soviet Union, eve of war. Simple family. So here it is. This was probably a sign of the times of Soviet literature, when the heroes of its works were a little better than real, living people. Look at the relationships between adults: how much dignity there is in their behavior among themselves, in relation to Tanya, which they “do not share”, taking revenge on each other for past insults. Because the central axis of the story is the father figure.

Father figure.

You can’t escape Freudianism, but that’s okay! The personification of not only the “beautiful Dalek”, but also real masculinity. What is the truth of masculinity? Military first and foremost. These heroes of pre-war literature from the country of the Soviets are not accidental. Neither in this story, nor in Arkady Petrovich Gaidar. Everyone knew and understood: war. She's on the doorstep. And the personification of fair strength and masculinity - a military man, officer, protector and support. The impending disaster is a challenge to the basic need of man and society - the need for security. But this is not enough: power must, must have a “human face.”

Tanya’s father, by the way, is completely nameless in the story, and how symbolic this is, how symbolic, and more on this below - I repeat, the personification of not only strength, but also the “beautiful distance.” No, not “breathing spirits and mists,” of course, but a symbol of a huge life outside this shell of a lost village, something unknown and unseen, like the Australian dingo dog. Look: in a symbolic, iconic field, the father makes Tanya an adult with the fact of his previous life in the country “Maroseyka”, opening, or rather, slightly opening, and thereby endowing the “unprecedented distances” with even greater attractiveness - a big world outside of her mother, outside of her family, outside her small homeland .

The Soviet interpretation, I’m sure – involuntary – of the Freudian idea of ​​the “father figure” is amazing! This Soviet interpretation is pure, it is ethical as the antithesis of the “aesthetics” of the abyss of “sin” and “vice” of pure Freudianism. Another thing is striking: I think the author involuntarily “responds” to oh what a modern task/problem, namely. Where does Instinct end and Reason begin? Emancipation not of instinct, but of personality? I am talking about the concept of “absolute permissibility and absolute freedom.” Fraerman says: the answer is in the human in man. In what made a person a person - self-restraint, tabooing and humanization of instinct. Hand on heart:

how not everything is simple in the relationship between father and daughter, how not simple it is! AND? Self-restraint of an adult and responsible person - human civilization has not come up with anything else today. Let's read: “She just leaned against him, lay down a little on her chest. But sweet! Oh, it’s really sweet to lie on your father’s chest!”

But really: the image of a man, who should a girl, a young woman, have it consist of? The answer is obvious. But to whom much is given, much more will be required. The strong have only one privilege: to be responsible for everyone. And this, by the way, is the “answer” to Chekhov’s famous “everyone is to blame.” Which is difficult to agree with for other reasons. Remember how Tanya’s heart froze and skipped a beat when “... for the first time on the low wooden porch of Tanya’s house, different steps sounded than she was used to hearing - the heavy steps of a man, her father.” How many times will a girl’s heart skip a beat from the sounds, or vice versa, from their absence! How many reasons life will give for his heart to fade!

In the meantime... “the time has come - she fell in love.” Everything is like another girl whose last name begins with the letter “L” and whose first name begins with the letter “T”.

Conclusion At the age when this text is written, of course, there is no acuteness of those experiences that are lived at that very age of our heroes of the book, those actions that at another age you probably won’t do, and therefore it is read accordingly. But the text was written for another reason. What kind of girl, girl, woman is she? Which? How many boyish brains have collapsed from the intractability of the problem! And how many more will curl up! What does she want? And does he want to? How will she like it? And how to live if the answer you hear is “No”?

How to say, how to confess: “I love you”? You know the words. Which in their heaviness are comparable to the first “experiences” of pronouncing them? This will happen later, then, each time it will become easier and easier to pronounce them. At least for men. With an increasing degree of utilitarianism. With a decreasing degree of "pure feeling". But all this will happen later, not now.

And when I read this book as a child, it was read very, very differently, it was understood completely differently. And I liked it for completely different advantages.

But what was certain was countless attempts to imitate the master of tattooing - Filka - with his letters cut out of paper, formed into a combination of the only name in the world. The name of your love.

“And, hugging each other, they constantly looked in the same direction, not back, but forward, because they did not yet have memories.”