There is a bronze figurine of a weightlifter on the desk; the muscles of his chest, arms, shoulders are extremely tense — he is probably squeezing out a record weight.
There is a barbell on the table nearby — yes, yes, a metal barbell. Only small. But just like the real thing. And even «pancakes» are hung on it. And on the floor near the table blackens a two-pound weight; it’s already real. And dumbbells.
Goblets and figurines lined up on the top board of the bookshelf. All weightlifters. Here is one — cast iron — crouching, with his left hand he tears the barbell. His face is distorted: yes, not easy. The other — carved from stone — stands in front of the bar, silent, concentrated. Now he will try to take weight. In these last seconds before the decisive breakthrough, he gathers together all his strength, all his will …
… The owner of the apartment himself is sitting in front of me — Julius Petrovich Starov, a weightlifter, a former European welterweight champion, no longer young, silent, calm. He is in pajamas, his neck stands out — short, thick, monolithic, like a pillar. And her head is firmly planted, also massive, with a steeply hanging forehead.
— What are you interested in? Yuli Petrovich asks.
I explain: I was instructed to write an essay on Starov’s fiftieth birthday, to tell readers about his sports path.
Julius Petrovich smiles:
— It’s a long time…
He thinks. Apparently he doesn’t know where to start. Like any journalist, I have had similar conversations more than once. I’m here to help:
— How did you start playing sports?
Yuli Petrovich thinks for a long time, his eyes look at the floor, a strange, absent expression appears on his face, and I guess: Yuli Petrovich is now, as one poet said, wandering along the paths of his distant childhood.
He answers cryptically:
— Perhaps the reason for everything is Yashka Krivonosy …
—
Zaovrazhnaya Street, meandering, climbed the mountain, almost to the very walls of the monastery. Although six years had passed since the revolution, the monastery was still alive: the silent monks still dug in the gardens, their black clothes still flashed in the bazaar and in the mill. Here, near the monastery, on the outskirts of a small town, Yulka Starov, nicknamed Yula, grew up.
There was always a sour, heavy smell in their house: it smelled of wool, — father rolled felt boots. The skins that my father tanned also smelled: you can’t live on felting alone. And Yulia’s clothes always smelled too. “Dog,” the boys laughed.
Father’s face was also somehow wrinkled, dull, as if sour. And the nose is long and dull. All his life he was haunted by misfortunes: either a fire, or the eldest son drowned, or he himself was so twisted by a fever addict, he almost died.
It’s a long walk to Julia’s school: all over Zaovrazhnaya, past the Jean Brothers Hairdressing Establishment (everyone knew that the owner and only hairdresser there was Polikarp Semenovich), past Arkhipov’s bakery, past the fire tower, past the Proletary club, all down and down , to the river itself, cross the bridge, and there is already a school.
Yula made this route every day. And rarely did it go without a skirmish with the Voronikhins. That was the name of the guys from the Voronikhina settlement, spread out near the bridge. They were led by a fat, clumsy guy — Yashka Krivonosy. As a child, he fell off the stove and twisted his nose. So the nose remained for life: flattened and turned to the left. Because of this, it even seemed that Yashka was squinting, always looking to the left. In addition to the nose, on Yashkin’s small, fist-sized face, long, sparse teeth stood out.
From time immemorial, the Voronikhik boys have been at enmity with those beyond the ravine.
Voronikhins occupied a very advantageous position near the bridge. Zaovrazhnye were forced to cross the river every day: to school, to the market, and to the cinema. It was here that they were met by the bridge …
Julia flew especially often.
He was short, narrow-shouldered, sickly. The skin on the cheeks is thin, thin, as if transparent. Silent, withdrawn, he had no comrades. Zaovrazhnye usually walked across the bridge in groups, at any moment ready to repulse the Voronikhins. And Yula walked alone …
Almost every day my father sent him: either bring wool or skins from the customer, then take ready-made wire rods, then buy soda, or glue, or a scale. And rare of these sorties did without bruising.
One day, Yula brought to the watchmaker Kronfeld felt boots wrapped in linen. At the bridge he was met by Yashka Krivonosy with his gang.
— Ah, Julius! Caesar! — Yashka exclaimed, as always sucking a candy, and with a long dirty finger poked Yulia on the cheek.
Yula looked back. You won’t run away. Yashkin’s friends have already closed the ring. They waddle, their hands casually thrust into their pockets, and grinned.
“Well, Caesar, let’s have a bite,” said Yashka. He bent down and grabbed a handful of earth: — Eat!
Yula looked gloomily, frowningly. He tucked his boots tightly under his arm. If only they were not torn, not soiled. The father would then be so mischievous… But the Voronikhins had their own notions of nobility. And the main law: do not involve adults. And boots are “adult”.
“Eat, Ancient Rome!” — Yashka brought the earth to the very face of Yula, smeared it on his lips.
Yula twitched, turned away his face.
— Burp, otherwise we’ll force you!
Yashka winked at his friends, two guys twisted Yulia’s arms, and Krivonosy, grinning, contrived and pressed a handful of earth to his tightly clenched mouth. Yula twitched, fought back, dropping his boots. In the end, unable to stand it, he began to cry.
“It will,” one of the Voronikhins muttered softly.
— Let it roll…
But Yashka still persistently shoved dirt into Yulia’s mouth. She was dry, disgustingly creaked on her teeth. Yula choked, pushed out small crunchy lumps with his tongue. And only a policeman who suddenly appeared on the street saved him …
A few days later, Yula again ran into Yashkin’s company.
— Ege! Yashka said. — Disorder! Caesar was red. Yula is black! Let’s fix it now…
He held Yula tightly while one of the boys ran home, brought a bucket and a brush.
“The servant of God Julian is being baptized,” Yashka sang in a thick deacon’s bass and smeared Yulia’s hair with red lead. To the friendly laughter of the boys, he boldly splashed paint on Yulia’s head, his hair stuck together and rose like thorns on a hedgehog. The forehead and ears were smeared with fiery bright paint …
Yula looked at the tormentor with hatred. If he could, he killed, mutilated him, would avenge all the insults. But how? Yashka was a head taller than him and, of course, much stronger.
All stained with paint, crying, hoarse, Yula escaped from the hands of the Voronikhins and rushed to the river. He fled far downstream to a deserted shallow, densely overgrown with vines, for a long time, furiously rubbing his head with sand and silt, scraping furiously with his nails. But nothing helped. Surik has eaten tightly. In the river, as in a mirror, Yula saw his face, surrounded by a bright halo, like a saint on a grandmother’s icon.
It was impossible to go home in the afternoon through the city in this form. And Yula sat in the bushes until dark.
I’ll get a gun, he thought with grim determination. Life or death?! In front of everyone, he will crawl on his knees, blame … »
Yula mentally already saw Yashka crawling in the dust, begging to forgive him, insisting that he did not know how good and fair Yula was.
“Or I’ll persuade Semka the miller,” Yula continued to dream.
Semka was a big man known throughout the city, with a back as wide as a closet. He jokingly dragged five-pound bags.
“I’ll give Semka three c.u., let him teach a lesson …”
Yula made his way home only at night. Under the lamentations of his mother, he washed his hair for a long time with hot water with kerosene and lye. But the next day, no, no, yes, a fiery strand flickered in them.
…Soon a big top circus arrived in the city. In the market square, a huge booth sprang up in one night; wooden, with a canvas roof, with several rows of benches and bright kerosene lamps hanging on beautiful bronze chains.
At the entrance, two clowns rewarded each other with surprisingly sonorous slaps in the face, grimacing, singing funny couplets, inviting the audience.
Yula, like many guys, lost his peace. Every evening he spun around the circus, trying to get into the alluring booth. Sometimes it worked.
Everything was interesting in the circus: the Persian magician, showing the infamous talking head, and the snake charmer, and aerial gymnasts.
But for Yula, as for most boys, all this paled before the crown number of the program. An important man in black, looking like a foreign lord, entered the arena and loudly announced:
— The world-famous strongman Ali Mahmud Khan!
To a thunder of applause, Ali Mahmud Khan himself, huge, handsome, with a famously curled black mustache, entered the carpet in wrestling tights and shoes. He bowed, the horse was led into the arena, and Ali Mahmud raised it. Raised so simply, as if a toy horse. Then, just as easily, he carried a pole around the arena, at each end of which three men hung.
And then the important man in the top hat came out again and, making long pauses after each word, solemnly proclaimed:
— Worldwide … famous … strongman … Ali Mahmud Khan … challenged … to wrestling … any … from publish. Winner… get… a prize… two hundred dollars.
The circus was buzzing, the audience began to fidget on the benches, whispering. And there was always someone who wanted to measure his strength with the world famous Turk.
On the first day, Kirill the dray driver and the janitor Khariton turned out to be such. The Turk dealt with them with offensive ease. Having pressed Khariton to the carpet, he even patted him on the stomach: they say, do not grieve.
The next evening, Semka the miller decided to earn two hundred dollars. All the boys were rooting for him. After all, Semka is the first city strongman.
But Ali-Mahmud, grabbing the six-pound Semka by the belt, easily, like a ball, threw it over himself and immediately, contriving, pressed both shoulder blades to the carpet.
The spectators did not even have time to gasp when the referee’s whistle sounded — and the embarrassed Semka, scratching his head in puzzlement, returned to his place.
Small, frail Yula enthusiastically followed every movement of Ali Mahmud.
“I wish I were that strong! Yula dreamed, fading with happiness. “Not even like that, at least half, at least a quarter …”
How wonderful he could have done then! And most importantly, the very first thing — then I would have asked Laura to Yashka!
Wook-nosed was sitting right there, together with his father, the owner of a candy store — important, overweight, red-cheeked. A thick gold chain with trinkets snaked across his father’s chest and belly to his watch pocket. Yashka was in a black jacket made of «devil’s skin», with smoothly slicked hair and a dignified expression on his face. Quite a brat. Both of them, father and son, sucked candies in unison.
Several days have passed. The circus was about to leave the city.
Early in the morning Yula took his fishing rods and went to the river. It was just dawn, fog swirled over the water. It was cool, and Yulu was shivering in his light jacket.
Jumping from stone to stone to keep warm, he quickly descended to the water. And suddenly, near the river, I saw a huge familiar figure with a fishing rod.
Yulia’s heart was beating fast. Really? .. He stopped at once, but so awkwardly that the stone, slipping out from under his feet, rumbled into the river.
The fisherman turned around in annoyance. A beautiful full face, famously curved mustache … Of course, this is Ali Mahmud! He said nothing and stared back at the float.
Yula stood without moving. Here it is — a lucky break! You can get acquainted with Ali Mahmud himself. Just don’t be shy! What would you like to talk to him about?
The famous Turk was sitting by the bridge and intently looked at the motionless float, as if soldered into the river. Yula was emboldened.
“It’s bad to peck here, really bad, pfuy,” he said, purposely mangling the words to make it clearer to the stranger. — Aidate, I’ll show you the place. Karosh place! Derg-derg-derg fish…” He showed with his hand how the bobber would twitch.
“Well, it really doesn’t bite here. Let’s go, boy,» said Ali Mahmud, standing up.
Yula was surprised: the famous Turk spoke Russian fluently and clearly.
They climbed up the river and settled down in the black bog, long chosen by Yula. Work has begun. Silently they dragged roaches, ides, perches, minnows from the river.
They returned together. Ali Mahmoud kept asking about the fish, about the monastery, about the city. Yula answered briefly — he wanted to talk about something completely different: about wrestling, about the circus. And, finally, seeing that they were already approaching the bazaar, and Ali Mahmud was not at all going to change the subject of the conversation, Yula bluntly refrained:
— Is it difficult to become a strongman?
Ali Mahmoud answered almost without hesitation. Probably, this question has already been asked more than once;,
“It’s very simple, boy.
— Just? Yula squinted incredulously. “So I can too?”
— Can…
— But as?
“Very simple,” repeated Ali Mahmud. — Fifteen pull-ups. Fifteen in the morning, fifteen in the evening, that’s all. On the crossbar, on the bough, on the door frame, on the gate — on whatever you want. Fifteen pull-ups, and a year later — do you hear, boy? “In just a year, you will be twice as strong.
— Fifteen pull-ups?
— Yes.
And twice as strong?
— Yes.
Yula looked askance at Ali Mahmud. Jokes, right?
They pulled up to the candy store.
“Would you like some cake, boy?” Ali Mahmud suggested. — I serve…
Yula refused. A cake is, of course, not bad, but it’s unpleasant to go into Yashka’s father’s pastry shop
Let’s move on. Then Yula realized that Crooked-nosed himself could have been in the confectionery. It would be great to show him next to Ali Mahmud! Yashka would burst with envy. But they had already passed the candy store, and asking the famous Turk to return was embarrassing.
Approached the circus.
“Well, goodbye, boy,” Ali Mahmud said. “By the way, if we see each other again, call me better Alexander Maksimovich… So, remember—fifteen…” He waved his hand and entered the booth.
Soon the circus left. And Yula for another two weeks, almost every day, recalled the advice of Ali Mahmud. Is it conceivable to become twice as strong in a year?
“The false Turk, of course, has gone astray,” Yula finally decided firmly and tried not to think about it anymore.
Days passed. Summer is over. School began. And on the very first day of classes, the first of September, Yula, returning from school, again ran into Yashka Krivonosy,
“Guten tag,” said Yashka. — Gut morgen, Kai Julius!
His friends laughed.
“Why don’t you say hello, ancient? — Yashka with force held Yulia’s palm from his chin to his forehead, painfully lifting the tip of his nose.
Yula was silent. Anger and resentment seethed in him. And, worst of all, tears came to the very throat. Only this is not enough! to burst into tears for the amusement of the Voronikhins.
— Braves! he squeezed out with difficulty. “Seven to one! ..
“It’s possible one on one,” Yashka readily responded.
And suddenly, in Yula’s head, the circus, and Semka the miller lying on his shoulder blades, and the mighty Ali Mahmud in wrestling tights, and his amazing advice flashed swiftly, like frames in a cinema,
— It happened! Yula said.
«So we’re fighting?» — Yashka was amazed.
— Let’s fight!
Yashka quickly took off his jacket and handed over his battered briefcase to his neighbor.
— Stop! Yula shouted furiously. “We are fighting. One on one. But not now…
— When?
— Exactly one year later. Remember next year the first of September, I’ll beat you, Here. With everyone. I swear!
— Phew! — Yashka laughed, crouching and slapping his thick thighs with his palms.
His friends laughed too.
— Brilliant idea! one of them shouted. “So, don’t touch you for a whole year?! Look how you figured it out! Cunningly!
— I swear! — Yula shouted furiously again. — Exactly a year later, on the same spot, I will beat you, Crooked-nosed …
— And if you don’t? Yashka interjected sarcastically.
— If I don’t eat? — Yula thought for a moment. — Listen to everyone! If I don’t beat, let Yashka dye my hair with red lead, and I’ll be a whole week — did you hear ?! I’ll be walking all over the city like this for a whole week…
Voronikhins, amazed, silently looked at Yula.
— And to school? someone asked quietly.
And to school…
«And at home?»
— And at home…
“Father will take…
— Let be.
There was so much anger and truthfulness in Yula’s voice that they believed him.
— Okay! — Yashka said with a threat. — Exactly one year later. Only without any figley-migley. Look, Caesar!
“Without figlea-migley,” Yula confirmed. — Exactly one year later!
… It was easy in a rage, in a rage to shout to Yashka: “I will beat you!” But when Yula, having returned home and calmed down a little, imagined what he would have in a year, his heart immediately became bad.
“Is it really necessary to dangle with a painted head for a whole week?” Yula blinked in horror.
He went to bed early, but could not sleep.
“Well, Turk, help me out,” he thought.
In the morning, before leaving for school, he walked up to the door frame with an indifferent air, jumped up, and grabbed the cross-beam. He hung, then tried to bend his arms. It succeeded, but with difficulty. Dropped down, pulled up again.
Have you eaten henbane?! Father frowned.
They asked us at school,” Yula lied.
Father looked, looked, how he wriggled his whole body, and said:
— What a worm on a hook! Keep the body straight … But without the help of the legs and the whole body, Yulia could not
don’t pull up. Exhausted, he unclenched his twisted fingers and found himself on the floor.
Did it four times, he thought. “And you need fifteen.”
My hands were trembling with tension, as if in a chill.
Already leaving for school, he tried to continue the exercise. In the yard grew an old, sprawling pine. Yula hung on the lower bough, but he could only pull himself up twice.
At school, at recess, he pulled himself up three more times.
“Total — nine,” he calculated, returning home.
After dinner, he immediately got back to work. He pulls himself up several times, rests, does his homework, pulls himself up again … During the evening, like this, with interruptions, he pulled himself up twelve times.
Yula tossed and turned from side to side at night. Arms, shoulders and sides hurt. Even the neck and that ached and barely turned.
“Strange,” thought Yula. «What’s with the neck?»
“I need to go to school,” my father sympathized in the morning, splashing water on short-cut, laid in rows of wool. — I find out what it is that you have piled on the charge? Look at that — the hands will break off.
Yulu was not bothered by his words: his father never looked at the school, not even at the meetings.
The next day the pain subsided a little. But when Yula tried to hang on a branch, his hands ached so much again — he immediately jumped off.
“Out of habit,” he decided, reassuring himself, and began to exercise again.
… In two months, he was already doing fifteen pull-ups without a break.
— Well done! — said the father, rolling the felt wrapped around the rolling pin on the floor.
«What’s the point?!» thought Yula, lying in bed.
For a long time he felt the muscles in his arms: imperceptibly, they became larger and stronger.
“I probably deceived the damn Turk,” Yula was upset.
But the exercises decided to continue. There was no turning back.
=== ===
A year has passed. On the first of September, still in the morning, walking to the school, Yula was convinced that the Voronikhins were ready.
— How to be, Yula? shouted the fidgety little Borka at the bridge. — We only have half a jar of minium. Enough?
The Voronikhins laughed.
Yula, without answering, went to school. In the classroom, he sat quietly, looking directly into the eyes of the teacher. Yula saw him open his mouth, but for some reason did not hear anything.
In physics, Yula received a note:
“After lessons at the bridge. So?»
He nodded. Unfortunately, today he was somehow lethargic, sleepy. And the hands are weak, as if wadded. And fog in my head.
After the lessons, Yula, together with his classmate Kolka Samokhin — thin, bespectacled, always immersed in books — went to the river. A whole crowd of Voronikhins had already gathered there.
“Well,” said Yashka, sucking on a lollipop. “Let’s start?” He was itching to paint his enemy faster
head.
“I am Yula’s second,” Kolka Samokhin announced importantly. He had just recently read The Three Musketeers and was now eager to apply his knowledge. — It is necessary to develop the conditions for a duel.
Yashka looked around at his own: is it necessary? But the Voronikhins, apparently, liked this ringing word — «duel»,
«Come on!
— Develop!
— Let all honor by honor!
We quickly agreed: do not beat them under a breath, do not put footboards, pigs in the fists, do not hide stones.
“A fight of fifteen rounds,” Kolka added impressively in the end (this is how Jack London’s boxers always fought). — Win by knockout or points.
And although no one understood, everyone agreed.
At the insistence of Kolka, Yashka also chose a second for himself — the nimble Borka with Yamskaya, a caustic lad who, during all the negotiations, on purpose, standing in full view, kept stirring the minium in the jar with an iron rod from the umbrella, raised the rod, looked at how slowly heavy bright red drops flow back into the jar, and again stirred, causing laughter and smiles from the guys.
Yula stood silently. He cast sidelong glances at Yashka. Overweight, awkward, he was still a head taller than him. And the arms are long, like levers: they will get them everywhere.
The Voronikhins stared at Yula point-blank. They did not hide that his shoulders had recently turned around, became wider and stronger. But still, even now he looked small and, of course, weaker than Crooked Nose.
«Gong!» Kolka commanded sternly. — Get started!
The wry-nosed man spat out a lollipop that looked like an icicle, jumped up to Yulia and slapped him on the cheek with a backhand. The blow was not strong, but biting and sonorous, like a slap in the face.
The guys cackled. Yula even got confused. And Krivonosy struck again and again …
— Go! Loopy! Here it is crashed! the audience shouted. Little by little Yula recovered. But he still never
he didn’t really hit Yashka, but only defended himself — he bounced, leaned over, dodged.
— Give it to him, Yashka! So! Roll! shouted the Voronikhins.
Yula felt: rage boils in him. Everyone, everyone is against him. Everyone, except for Kolka, is eager for Yashka to win faster. Everyone wants to paint his head with red lead.
No, he didn’t feel pain. No pain, no fatigue. Only anger and the desire to win, be sure to win, grew stronger in him. They’ve been fighting for a long time. Both got wet, sniffing loudly. It seemed that Yashka was beating Yulu. Many thought that Yula was about to fall down, give up.
But the audience did not notice that the overweight, heavy Yashka was already tired and was poking his fists almost at random, more often in the air than in Yula. And it’s still fresh.
The Voronikhins became alert when Yula suddenly inflicted several precise blows on the head to Krivonosy. Then he jumped back and hit again with the right and left …
The audience was silent. I didn’t want to believe that there was a turning point.
“An accident,” the Voronikhins convinced themselves. — Now Yashka will recover, and then … »
But Yashka could not recover. He turned pale, breathed heavily, with a whistle, and did not beat, but only defended himself.
Yula hit him on the chin, as it seemed to him, quite lightly, but suddenly Yashka’s knees buckled, and he gently, like a sack of flour, sank to the ground. Blood gushed from his nose.
— Hooray! Knockout! shouted Kolka Samokhin joyfully.
It seems Yula himself was surprised the most. He did not expect that his blow would be so powerful.
The spectators were also dumbfounded
— Knockout! — solemnly repeated Kolka and raised the right hand of the winner: this is what the referee always did — the judge in the ring — at Jack London.
=== ===
Telling, Yuli Petrovich turned in his hands a small bronze figurine of a weightlifter.
“So I beat Yashka,” Julius Petrovich put the figurine on the table. — And, perhaps, this fight can be considered the beginning of my sports path. Kolka Samokhin then, on the way home, continually felt my biceps and was surprised when they became so tight and rounded.
I replied cryptically:
«Fifteen in the morning — fifteen in the evening!»
And mentally thanked Ali Mahmud for his simple but truly wonderful advice.
After beating Krivonosy, I felt like a hero. And, of course, I immediately decided to quit pull-ups: why? However … It turns out that I have already got used to doing exercises every day. I was really drawn to them. And then I got interested in football, wrestling and, finally, the barbell …
Yuli Petrovich chuckled.
— As you can see, people come to sports in different ways …