Teach me how to do the candy dance

The Electric Slide (AKA The Candy Dance)

Have you ever wondered how to dance The Electric Slide (also known as The Candy Dance)? We’ve been asked a few times recently by students to teach them the dance for parties they’re attending. Today’s lesson therefore moves on from our Beginner Guide To Disco Dancing and Saturday Night Fever lessons.

[00:00:41] We start off by showing you the first basic move of the Electric Slide. It starts with a slow chasse to the right, and back to the left again. This is followed by three walks back with a tap. To allow us to repeat this initial sequence we’ll briefly use three walks forward.

[00:03:35] Next up we finish off the routine by replacing the walks forward with the step tap and turn. This results in a quarter turn anti-clockwise to then repeat the routine facing the next wall.

Now we start to show options that you can include to make the Electric Slide routine your own. You can see a few of these options in the Candy Dance scene of the movie The Best Man.

[00:08:38] The first variation we show you is to replace the Chasse action with a Grapevine. You can choose to cross in front, or behind, or switch between.

[00:12:11] You can choose to replace the original chasse with a syncopated chasse movement.

[00:15:15] Then we talked about a few different options that you can use during the step-tap options. Whether you want to click, clap or introduce a lasso.

[00:17:56] Finally you could choose to replace your chasse or grapevine options with a spin.

[00:20:15] We finish up with a final practice of the Electric Slide routine.

The Electric Slide (aka Candy Dance) Video Lesson

We hope you enjoyed our The Electric Slide lesson. Hopefully next time someone asks if you know the Candy Dance, or Electric Slide, it’ll be an emphatic yes!

Music Dance Playlist

A popular song choice for this is Candy by Cameo (hence it is often referred to as The Candy Dance). For music licensing reasons we use a variety of different tracks but similar speeds.

All of our song choices work well for the Electric Slide and you can enjoy our playlist below:

About Learn To Dance

Learn To Dance is a Ballroom and Latin American Dance School based in Burnham, Buckinghamshire.

Offering regular live-stream classes, as well as useful dance uploads, subscribe to be kept informed when new videos are going live. Send us your suggestions of what you’d like to see us release and we’ll do our best!

Looking for more personal tuition? We provide both in-person and streamed lessons and classes. Check out learndance.co.uk/online for more information.

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ABOUT US

For more than three decades of artistic and pedagogic labor years in Venezuela and in Spain, Candy Jazz has been conceived as a place where children, teenagers and adults have the opportunity to learn, have fun and prepare themselves for the art of dancing, specializing in jazz dance in all its styles, using classic ballet as the primary preparation and tap as the swing of dance itself, looking forward to grow with all the different disciplines that form part of a dancer training. We also offer holistic and fitness training. As an institution we insist in cultivating values of responsibility, respect, discipline and above all, good manners.

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BALLET

It's a choreographed dance set to classical music. Ballet classes, pointe shoes technique, pas de deux, and more.

JAZZ

Most fundamental dance form in the performing arts, prevailing in the chronology of contemporary musical art and invading styles such as Latin, commercial, afro, urban, modern, lyrical.

TAP

American dance style that uses rhythmical patterns of foot movement creating a musical tapping sound. Dancers create percussive rhythms using their feet by tapping and sliding the metal plates beneath their shoes.

FLAMENCO

Is an original art form from Andalusia, Spain; it was born as a fusion of marvelous and diverse cultures like: Gypsy, Arab, Christian and Jewish cultures.

Flamenco is a lively rhythm that takes a different shade depending on where the heart beats. It is an art form that combines dance, vocals and guitar. It is known for its emotional intensity, distinguished by its graceful arm movements, ferocious stomping, profound laments and strumming of the guitar.

As of today, Flamenco is widely appreciated and danced around the globe.

In 2010, Flamenco was declared by UNESCO as intangible cultural heritage of humanity.

HIP HOP

Is an artistic street movement that encompasses areas like music, dance with its different styles, and certain types of painting, like graffiti. Dancers execute energetic, spontaneous, robotic, strong, acrobatic and funky movements inspired by a the strong and accentuated rhythm of its music. Hip hop dance battles are the main ingredient for each participant to show their best.

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Introducing the little ones into the fascinating world of dance. It’s the beginning of body movements, the awakening of rhythm and location in space.

(Ages 4-6)

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CANDY MACHADO

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Jazz, Tap and Ballet Instructor

CLEMEN MACHADO

Assistant Director and Choreographer, Jazz Instructor

DAVID FONNEGRA

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ALESSANDRA TORRES

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TATIANA TEJEDA

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Polyakov Vladimir. My one hundred and ninetieth school (stories)

These are cooing pigeons, these are cute needle hedgehogs, these are extensions bouncing on elastic bands and long “mother-in-law tongues” crawling out with a whistle.
These are clusters of colorful balloons. These are wooden multi-jointed snakes writhing in the hands of the Chinese. These are butterflies and beetles spinning on sticks and crackling, windmills in the form of pink, yellow and blue stars.
These are jumping frogs stuffed with gunpowder.
These are giant candies in a colorful package with feathers and these are endless aquariums with goldfish and white axolotls swimming in them.
These are cackling geese, stretching their necks, these are turkeys performing as if in a solemn parade.
And multicolored, colorful carousels, where you can spin to the music on a wooden horse, elephant, camel, even on a crocodile! And swings flying up into the sky, firing strength meters, shooting galleries in which you can shoot a scary wolf from a Montecristo gun, the wolf will fall, and they will give you a comb or a toothbrush for this.
And what kind of lemonade is sold at the willow bazaar! And what an amazing taste of cotton candy, lying on the shelves in large flakes!
Into this whirlpool, whistle and boom, into cries and laughter, into the crowd and fun, we got into and with open mouths we squeezed through the ranks of the walkers.
Lenya took out a wallet from his pocket, took money out of it and bought himself cotton candy. He carried her like a cloud, plunging his face into her and enjoying her sweetness.
He ate all the cotton wool in five minutes. Then we went to a candy stand, and he bought a long candy in a three-color piece of paper. In two minutes, he ground this candy.
We approached the seller of "American residents".
He was holding a thick test tube filled with water. In the middle of the tube floated a blue glass devil with horns and a tail. There was a hole in the wall of the tube covered with gutta-percha. When the seller pressed his finger on the gutta-percha, the devil rose in the test tube. He rose and fell, and even spun in her. This "American resident" was expensive, and Lenya did not buy it. But next to him stood an old man with a board on which funny chenille figures were fastened. There were devils and angels with wings, Indians and monkeys, some unknown nationality soldiers with lances and girls in hats. Lenya bought a striped devil with a pitchfork and attached it to the button of his coat.
And then Staritsky could not stand it. He said:
- We don't hang out with you anymore.
- Why? - asked Lenya.
- Because you are a bourgeois, and we are not on the way with the bourgeois.
- Why am I a bourgeois? Lenya was offended.
- Because you have a purse full of money. And Volodya and I are proletarians. We don't have anything. And we are disgusted by this class strife. You eat candy, get devils. Maybe now you can even ride the carousel. And we can't watch it anymore. We'd better go home.
- You are an unfortunate capitalist! That's who! - I said.
I, too, could not bear to look at Selivanov's well-being.
- I can treat you to cotton, - he said.
- Thank you, no need, - said Staritsky. He really wanted cotton wool, but he overcame this desire. "We don't need a handout," he said. - There is no money, so everyone does not have them. What do you think, Volodya?
I thought it was a sinful thing that Lenya could treat us, I madly wanted to chew cotton wool or get stuck in a koshalva with my teeth, and even more I wanted the same blue devil, but I called on all my political consciousness and said:
- No. I don't want to feed on someone else's expense.
Pavka and I turned around and went home. Selivanov ran after us almost all the way. In his hands were cotton candy flakes and two chenille traits.
- I wanted to treat you from the very beginning, - he said, out of breath from running, - but I thought how best to do it. I beg you, take it. It's not my fault that my father gave me three rubles. I suggest we go back and ride the merry-go-round.
- All right, - said Pavel. - If everything, so everything.
- I join the majority, - I said.
We returned to the market. Lenya bought tickets, and we started spinning on the carousel. I rode an elephant, Pavel rode a camel, and Lenya sat on a bear.
The organ played "Let the grave punish me." We circled selflessly, and we were surprisingly good. And even Lenya smiled. He was pleased that he gave us pleasure.
- I never thought it was so joyful to share with my comrades, he said.
And Pavel answered him:
- The bourgeois have no idea about this pleasure.
COLLECTORS, OR WHY I DON'T SING
Passion for collecting overwhelmed our entire class. Perhaps there was not one among the boys who would not collect something. Rabinovich and Grozmani collected stamps, Selivanov collected candy wrappers (candy wrappers). Zverev collected minerals. Nedokuchaev - sea shells, Staritsky collected tram tickets, Chirkin - paper money and coins, Gokhshtein - beetles and butterflies, Yugan collected a herbarium (dry plants), Popov collected buttons, Bostrikov collected movie tickets, Tanya Chirkina - postcards with portraits of film actors, Brodsky - postcards with pictures of artists, and the son of a dentist, Senya Sladky, boasted of a collection that he begged from his father. His father collected the teeth of his patients. He had in his collection a tooth of the barrister Bogoyavlensky, a tooth of the ballerina Madame Riva, a tooth of General Plasmenny and a wisdom tooth of the janitor of their house Fyodor. Sladky was especially proud of the head of the district police department, Nikiforov.
I collected everything that came across: stamps, coins, medals, butterflies, pencils, cigarette boxes, match labels, pens, erasers, but most importantly, they were cinematographic tapes.
Of course, these were not movies, but just squares of frames. Then there was no color cinema yet, but the frames were slightly colored in greenish, yellowish, bluish and pinkish. Ah, what were the shots! From them smiled, showing a full mouth of teeth, Douglas Fairbanks as the Thief of Baghdad, Lillian Gish sobbed as the "orphan", Priscilla Dean dressed in rags ran - "The Beggar from Istanbul", Harry Peel jumped on a motorcycle, William Hart rode a horse, Dorothy Vernoy suffered, and Ivan Mozzhukhin in a magnificent tailcoat kissed Lisenko's hand - in a huge hat with ostrich feathers. "Bride of the Sun" sparkled with her eyes - Ruth Rolland, Harold Lloyd climbed onto the roof, Charlie Chaplin juggled with a cane, and funny fatty Fatty minced minced - a policeman.
There were three of us, film collectors - Bobka Rabinovich, Mark Finkelytein and myself.
We had boxes in which we put celluloid frames. Then we looked at them for hours, bringing them to the lamp. We traded them for toffees, rubber bands, buttons, and once I gave my earflap hat for Mary Pickford, Konraz Veidt, Bester Keaton and Igor Ilyinsky. I came home without a hat, and there was a big scandal. Mary Pickford, Conrad Veidt, Bester Keaton and Igor Ilyinsky were thrown into the stove by their father and burned to death. I didn't cry cinematic tears, but I didn't quit collecting.
The best way to get shots was very difficult: you had to get into the courtyard of the cinema, under the window of the projectionist's room. This is where they threw the cut frames when the tape broke and they had to glue it together.
Here, in the yard, among the discarded spent coals from voltaic arcs, one could almost always find a few frames, and even a whole piece of tape.
But they were not allowed into the courtyards of the cinemas, and the janitors had to beg. And they were relentless. I had to buy their favor. And where to get money?
And Bobka had an idea: to go sing around the yards.
It was an unusual sight: three boys entered the courtyard of the house, stood in a row and sang in timid voices: “The moon is shining, the moon is shining” and “Silva, you don’t love me, Silva, you will destroy me.” Sometimes the windows were opened and copper coins were thrown at us. Having bypassed ten or twelve courtyards, we collected sixty kopecks, and sometimes even two rubles, and rushed to the courtyards of the cinemas "Lightning", "Niagara", "Kino Palace", cajoled the janitors and returned home with the treasured personnel.
So we toured the yards for about two weeks.
Once I came home after the "performance" and started sorting the collected frames. Suddenly mom comes in and says:
- Dad is calling you. He's in the office.
I have already said that my father was a doctor, and on this day he received patients at home.
I went into my father's office and saw a man I didn't know there.
- Was that him? the father asked his patient.
- Of course he is. I could not be mistaken, - said the patient. - There were three of them, they sang "Silva" in my yard. My wife even threw them five kopecks.
Dad was very angry, but he had a sense of humor and couldn't help but laugh.
- Well, sing, - he said.
I stood red as a lobster and didn't know what to say.
- Sing! - said the father. - I want you to sing.
What was to be done? I sang the first two lines of the aria.
- Was it you who sang so out of tune in the yard? And you're not ashamed? Why were you singing?
- I needed money to complete my collection.
- How much did you need?
- Fifty kopecks.
- And you couldn't ask me for fifty kopecks?
- I was shy.
- Aren't you embarrassed to sing so ugly? So, - said the father, take three rubles and never sing again.
I haven't sung since then.
OUR SHERLOCK HOLMES
- Comrades! - shouted Kostya Kunin, when the lesson was over and the conductor left the class ("Conductress" we called the geography teacher because she had a habit of saying: "Show your knowledge", as conductors say: "Show your tickets"). - Comrades! he shouted. - My geography textbook "Grigoriev, Barkov, Kruber and Chefranov" has disappeared. He was still at recess in my desk, and after the recess he was gone. Who stole it?
Everyone was silent.
- So no one confesses?
And again silence.
- All right, I'll take the necessary measures myself, - said Kostya.
And then in the corridor he whispered for a long time about something with Vanya Lebedev.
The next morning for some reason I came to school earlier than usual and saw Kunin and Lebedev searching all the desks. Lebedev had an electric flashlight in his hands, with which he illuminated the desk drawers.
- What are you guys doing? I asked.
- We do what is necessary, - Kunin answered.
And Lebedev said:
- None of your business. We searched, but found nothing suspicious.
And he sang his favorite aria from the opera "The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh" - "Dance, little bear, dance, foolish one." He knew that the famous detective Sherlock Holmes played the violin in moments of thought. But Lebedev did not know how to play the violin and he did not have one. So he hummed. And he also knew that Holmes smoked a pipe. But Lebedev did not smoke and replaced it, as he said, with "sucking candies." So he was still sucking on lollipops.
- You're bothering us, - said Kunin.
- But if you sit silently, you can stay, - said Lebedev.
And I stayed.
- We begin the course of reasoning, - said Lebedev. - When the botany lesson ended, you put your notebook in your desk and saw your geography, which means it was in the desk. You left the class, right?
- Yes. Sviridenko, Vodomensky and Petukhov came out in front of me. I was the last to leave, - said Kunin, - only the duty officer remained in the class.
- Who was on duty?
- Tolya Tsykin.
- So, Tsykin remained. Does Tsykin have "Grigoriev, Barkov, Kruber and Chefranov"?
- Yes, I said. - I saw him myself.
"Things are getting more complicated," said Lebedev. - Does his sister - Nyura Tsykina - have it?
- Also, - I said, - they have two textbooks.
- So this is not Tsykin. Wait! Or maybe Tsykin needed money for expenses and he decided to take Kostin's textbook and sell it to Fedorov's bookshop?
- Why Fedorova?
- Because everyone in our school is dragged to sell unnecessary textbooks to him. And the store is close to the school. Everything.
After lessons Lebedev disappeared somewhere and returned with a dog. It was a large, big-eyed German Shepherd, which he led on a leash.
- How do you like my dog Telemak? - he asked, leading the dog to Tolya Tsykin, who was going home, l
- Nothing, doggie, - said Tsykin. - He doesn't bite?
- He does not touch honest people, - said Lebedev.
Meanwhile, the dog was sniffing Tsykin.
- So, - Lebedev said quietly, - she sniffed Tolya ... And if only he went to Fedorov's store, she will go there.
Lebedev led the dog to Bolshoy Prospekt and said:
- Go, take the trail.
The dog wandered around at the corner of Plutalova and Bolshoi and went towards Fedorov's store. Lebedev, Kunin and I followed her. The dog stopped at the bookstore.
"She wants to come in," said Lebedev.
Kunin pushed the door. The dog and we entered the shop.
- Excuse me, please, - said Lebedev, - didn't they bring you the geography of Grigoriev, Barkov, Kruber and Chefranov for sale today?
The store owner Fedorov thought and said:
- They brought it, and I bought it.
- Ah yes the dog! Lebedev said. - Can you show us this copy?
- With pleasure.
And Fedorov took out a tattered textbook from under the counter.
- Yours? I asked.
- No, - said Kunin. - I had one for elementary grades, and this one is for seniors. This is not my textbook.
- Excuse me, - said Lebedev, and we left the store.
- Pretty stupid dog. Why did she come here?
Now we need to take her to the owner.
And we went to take the dog away.
On the way we met Lida Solovieva, who told us that she had just met Tsykin, who was buying toffee in a stall on the corner.
- So, there was something to buy, - said Lebedev.
A minute later we met Tsykin.
- Did you buy toffees? Lebedev asked him.
- How do you know?
- Very simple: you have sticky lips, candy paper stuck to the sole of your left shoe, such papers are usually wrapped in toffees. deduction method.
- Do you know how many toffees I bought?
- I think I do. First of all, tell me how much, roughly, is the geography textbook by Grigoriev, Kruber, Barkov and Chefranov?
- And what does the textbook have to do with it? It's been so long since I bought it that I forgot.
- I also think that it has nothing to do with it, - said Lebedev. - Sorry, we need to take the dog home.
And we parted ways.
- It's not him, - said Lebedev. - You need to put a clean sheet of tissue paper on your desk, and fingerprints of the one who touched it will remain on it. Then we will invite the whole class to touch the blank sheet with their fingers and the resulting prints will be compared with the ones we took from the desk.
At that moment the dog barked and rushed at Kunin.
- What's the matter with you, Telemachus? Lebedev said. - Who are you throwing yourself at? The dog is completely mad. Kush! Leave me alone!
We reached the house where Lebedev's acquaintances lived, the owners of the dog, and Vanya returned the dog to them.
- Come to me, - suggested Kunin, - I'll show you which old dagger they gave me.
We could not resist such an offer and went to Kostya.
The first thing we saw on his desk was a geography textbook by Grigoriev, Barkov, Kruber and Chefranov.
- I forgot it at home! exclaimed Kostya.
"That's why the dog rushed at you," said Lebedev. She's not that stupid. What did you start this whole story with the loss? .. No Sherlock Holmes could do it here.
- I forgot. I just forgot, - said Kostya.
And I thought about how bad it is to suspect your innocent comrades of being bad. And what a blessing that Tolya Tsykin did not know about this. He didn't even realize. And I also decided that Vanya Lebedev, in general, is a good guy, but he is far from Sherlock Holmes.
MY FIRST LOVE
Anya Trufanova had light blue eyes. Sometimes they seemed thoughtful, sometimes they had sparkling cunning, and sometimes they beamed with a smile. In general, these were such eyes that it was impossible to tear oneself away from them. And I didn't break away.
Anya Trufanova had such blond hair that it seemed as if the sun had got lost in it.
Anya Trufanova had such hands that I always wanted to say hello to her.
She had a gentle, transparent voice, and she burred slightly. Imagine ringing crystal bells that burr slightly.
In a word, Anya Trufanova was the most beautiful in our class.
And many of the desks had her name carved into them. And I had her name written in indelible pencil on the right hand.
Anya Trufanova always came to school in a pretty dress, pink bows always burned in her hair, and she smelled of some kind of gentle, careless perfume.
And how she walked! Her walk was like a light, graceful dance.
Many boys were in love with her. But no one was successful with her. Maybe only Sasha Chernov. Because he often walked her home after class and carried her book bag.
"It's just that I'm on my way with her," he said.
But we knew that he lives on the opposite side of the city.
Someone wrote on Sasha's desk: Anya + Sasha = love.
Sasha erased this inscription for two months, but could not erase it. It was good work.
When Anya was called to the blackboard, all the boys prompted her in chorus, although she did not need a hint - she knew mathematics very well.
How I was in love! I went to school and thought about Anna. I followed her during the lessons and tried to be close to her during recess. But what's the point? She ignored me. She talked to Chernov, to Chirkin, to Rabinovich, and hardly talked to me. And I, honestly, was then a handsome boy, and I always had a magnificent parting.
Maybe write her a letter? I thought. What will I write to her? And one day I wrote poetry to her:
Anya! Anya! I don't know,
What should I write to you.
I dream of you alone,
I never stop dreaming.
Sorry for these lines,
I'm in love, keep in mind.
I have already reached the point,
How far will I go?
I folded the piece of poetry in four and, having come to school before everyone else, put the piece of paper in her desk.
I don't know if Anya has read my poems. I think I read it, because she began to avoid me even more, although she did not tell me anything. Or maybe they didn't get to it.
We were supposed to have a school party in three weeks. And I walked around sad, thoughtful and didn’t even read my favorite book, The Count of Monte Cristo.
- What's wrong with you? Mom asked.
- Nothing special, - I answered.
And suddenly a happy thought occurred to me.
- Mom, - I said, - teach me how to dance. I need it very much. I would like at least two lessons ...
- It will not be cheap, - said my mother, - but if it is so necessary, I am ready to pay for two lessons.
Mom took the evening paper and found an ad:
"I give ballroom dancing lessons. Isabella Berberstein."
I found out the phone number and picked up the phone.
- Young lady, please give me two hundred and forty-nine zero five.
(Then there were no pay phones, and telephone operators connected subscribers.)
- Be kind, ask Isabella Semyonovna to the phone, - said my mother. - Is that Isabella Semyonovna? The mother of a young man is talking to you.
He is thirteen years old. Could you give him a couple of lessons? Well, at least waltz, Hungarian and padepatiner.
Mom agreed with the teacher, and the next day at five o'clock a tall, bouncing lady with curled hair, in a gilded pince-nez, came to us. She came accompanied by a sad blonde girl who sat down at the piano.
I was a difficult student. For some reason, I jumped all the time, I couldn’t make smooth movements, and Isabella Semyonovna was dissatisfied. Nevertheless, I learned something and in the morning, opening my eyes, I jumped out of bed and repeated the steps shown to me.
A school evening took place. Our brass band played and there were dances. Anya loved to dance the waltz.
And I made up my mind. I went up to Anya, who was sitting on a steam heating radiator, and said:
- Can I invite you to a waltz?
- You don't know how, - said Anya.
I got bolder and said:
- I learned.
- Let's go.
I put my arms around her waist. My hands were trembling, my legs were tangled, I stepped on her toes, jumped like a goat and was happy. But my happiness did not last more than a minute.
- You can't do anything, - Anya said and left me in the middle of the hall. Sasha Chernov immediately picked her up, and I never saw her again.
Only towards the end of the evening did I see her in the locker room.
She put on a fur coat. I rushed towards her.
- Anya, - I said, - can I take you home?
"Sasha Chernov is escorting me," she said.
I turned abruptly and ran away.
It was January. It was snowing. I put on a fur coat and forgot to take a hat. So I went outside and hid in the entrance of a neighboring house.
Anya and Sasha walked past me. In the beams of the lantern, snowflakes were visible on her eyelashes. Sasha smiled, and Anya walked with lowered eyes. I stood like a hunted wolf cub and bit my lips. I hated Sasha. I grabbed a handful of snow, made a heavy ball, ran after them and stuck a snowball on Sasha's collar. Sasha turned around, saw me, quickly made a snowball, and the snowball hit me in the nose. Anya laughed, and this ringing, like ice, laughter brought tears to my eyes. I stood in the middle of the panel, some kind of sickening lump stuck in my throat, and I was terribly sorry for myself, my broken love and my nose.
And the snow kept falling and falling, and a curtain of snow hung over Plutalova Street.
Our teacher Maria Germanovna, a small, sharp-nosed woman in a gray fur coat, caught up with me.
Cheerful eyes looked at me with surprise.
- Where is your hat, Volodya?
- I don't know. Probably forgot.
- Come back and take the hat. You will catch a cold.
"I don't care," I said.
- What's wrong with you?
- I can't tell you. It's a secret.
"I am very fond of secrets," said Maria Germanovna. - You can tell me. It always relieves the soul.
And I told Maria Germanovna everything.
"Now listen to me," she said. - You are thirteen years old.
"There will be fourteen next year," I said.
- Well, even if it's fourteen. I believe you, I believe that you are in love. But trust me, this is not a real feeling.
- Why not real? Juliet was also fourteen, and Romeo was sixteen, and this did not prevent them from loving each other so much that their love has been studied for probably two hundred years.
- That's true, - said Maria Germanovna, - but, firstly, it was in Italy, and secondly, they proved their love. How did you prove yours? By throwing a snowball at Chernov?
- And how can I prove it?
- First of all, you have to study well, and your grades are very poor. Secondly, you must behave well, always be neat, fit, be a good friend. I am sure that then Anya will pay attention to you.
- And if Chernov also studies well and is fit?
- And he is. That is why he is successful. And you be better. I think this is probably the only way.
From that evening I began to take care of myself. I cleaned my shoes every day, combed my hair, looked after my nails and tried not to stain my suit. I worked hard on mathematics and even got an A in writing, which surprised Maria Vladimirovna very much.
- I give you a five, Volodya, and I don't believe myself, - she said, but I'm glad.
And I was not happy. Nothing helped. I found out that on Saturday Anya went with Sasha to "Elite" to see the movie "Queen of Oysters".
I was worried. I even tried to invite Nina Sederstrom to the cinema. But when we left the cinema, I saw Anya with Sasha and cursed my undertaking with the cinema. Nina Cederstrom was a wonderful girl, but I loved Anya, I went crazy and could not think of anyone else.
My birthday was approaching. I was 14 years old, and my mother allowed me to invite the guys to her:
Bobka Rabinovich, Lenya Selivanov, Pavlush Staritsky, Shura Navyazhsky, Tanya Chirkin, Tay Gerasimova, Ira Druzhinina, Ella Bukhshtab and, of course, Anya Trufanova. I approached her at a big break and said:
- I know that you treat me badly, but tomorrow I will be fourteen years old and I invite the guys to my place. If you come, it will be a holiday for me, and if you do not come, there will be no holiday.
Anya said:
- All right, I'll come.
And she came in a white festive dress with a blue bow and brought me Andersen's fairy tales as a gift. She herself was like from a fairy tale, I danced padepatiner with her, and we played forfeits.
Selivanov offered to play forfeits with kisses, but the girls refused. Everyone except Taya Gerasimova.
She didn't mind, but everyone started screaming, and mom said that kissing is not a game, and that was it.
But I was happy anyway. Anya was with me, she laughed, danced, I put cranberry jam on her saucer, and no one stood in my way.
At ten o'clock the guests began to disperse. I told Anya that I would accompany her.
- Thank you, no need, - she said, - Sasha Chernov is waiting for me at the front door.
Sasha Chernov at my front door! It was a blow that I couldn't take.
- Everything! - I said. - I don't love you anymore.
Anya left. I saw through the window how Sasha ran up to her, and my vision went dark. I was ready to kill them both, but there was no pistol at hand.
This is where my first love ended. I wiped the chemical inscription off my hand, but couldn't get it off the desk. And if this desk still stands in my former class or somewhere at school, I am convinced that these twelve cherished letters can be found on it: "Anya Trufanova."
THAT I EVER GO ELSE!..
On Sunday afternoon Lenya Selivanov and Yasha Berezin came to me.
- Will they let you out of the house? - asked Lenya.
- I was allowed to walk until six o'clock.
- Excellent. Get dressed and let's go. You need to have a fifty-fifty with you. And even better two rubles.
- I have forty kopecks.
- This is not money. There is nothing to do with them. Ask your parents for a ruble and a half.

Read Morning Star online. Collection of short stories, Elena Fedorova - LitRes

ISBN 978-5-4483-8472-1

Created in the intellectual publishing system Ridero

Elena Ivanovna Fedorova - poets, writer, member of the International Writers Union of Russia , journalists, member of the International Guild of Writers, Honorary Worker of Culture of the city of Lobnya, author of about 200 songs for children and adults, author of 33 books in Russian (9 of them for children) and three in English. The genre of works is diverse: fantasy, urban romance, romance and adventure, mysticism, novels in verse, ballads, parables, fairy tales, short stories, short stories, scripts.

Finalist of the 2014 Writer of the Year award, included in the list of 100 best writers. Nominated for the National Literary Prizes "Poet and Writer of the Year", "Heritage" 2015, 2016, 2017, took second place in the poetry competition about the Great Patriotic War.

Special prize of the 5th Festival of Russian Literature and Culture "For the Glory of Boris and Gleb" and the International Union of Writers "For a major contribution to children's literature", medal named after Matsuo Basho and Semyon Nadson, Diploma of Antoine Saint Exupery, certificate of participation in the International Writers' Conference in New York. Scholarship holder of the Governor of the Moscow Region in the category "Outstanding Artist".

The project of songs for children "Golden Country" in collaboration with composer Vyacheslav Gridunov became the Laureate of the competition of the Governor of the Moscow Region "Our Moscow Region" in the nomination "Care for Children".

Worked as a flight attendant for Aeroflot international lines, TV journalist for the Lobnya TV and Radio Company

Author's website: [broken link] http://efedorova.ru

A novel should cause shock.

Novel's trademark: she has

"second bottom" the presence of some mystery.

Some kind of unsteady position of the narrator ...

What is your message of? - What do you mean?

The novel should be stuck in the memory like a grain of sand in the heart of a clam. And every smart owner can cherish this grain of sand

Lyudmila Petrushevskaya

They slowly walked along the wet streets, huddled close to each other, not paying attention to the rain, which tirelessly drummed on the umbrella, to how large drops scatter in different directions with a multitude of sparkling sprays.

The two under the umbrella did not pay any attention to the melody that the rain was learning, changing from forte to piano. It seemed that the rain wanted to get a hint from people, insistently demanding attention. And they, far from each other, despite their apparent closeness, silently walked forward, each thinking about his own.

A strong gust of wind turned the umbrella inside out. The man and the woman stopped, looked at each other like lovers who accidentally met after a long separation. Delighted rain struck fortissimo!

– Why are we standing here in the rain? - the man exclaimed and, grabbing the woman by the hand, dragged her into the warm darkness of someone else's entrance.

- How terrible it is to realize that the hands on the dial of eternity are spinning uncontrollably, depriving us of all hope, she thought.

“No,” the man said, as if he had guessed her thoughts. “Don’t you dare think that we have no hope. She is always there. She must not leave us, do you hear? She won't die, she won't die, I'm sure, my love.

The woman buried herself in his chest and groaned:

- I can't. .. I don't have any more strength... What will happen to us if she dies?

“She will survive, you'll see,” he said, touching her damp hair, smelling of autumn leaves, with his lips. We will pray for her.

"I don't know how to pray," the woman sobbed.

“I will teach you,” he promised, continuing to touch her hair with his lips. - Want?

- Yes.

“Lord, forgive us,” his voice grew stronger.

“God forgive us,” she replied.

- For everything we did wrong...

- For everything...

- Spare our daughter...

- Spare...

- Don't take her away from us...

- Don't take her away, Lord... We will do everything in our power…

– Everything, everything, everything…

– Only save her…

– Save her, Lord…

– Give us back our Hope…

– Lord, do not take our Nadenka! the woman groaned and burst into tears, unable to hold back the tears that were choking her anymore.

“Hush, hush,” he said, holding her trembling body closer to him. - Everything will be fine, you'll see...

- Everything will be fine, - he said to his wife with a fair amount of bravado. - Don't create a tragedy over some nonsense. There is no point in arranging tantrums. You just have to listen to my explanations. And it will be better if you listen to them calmly.

– Are you calm? she choked with anger. “How dare you talk to me about calmness? If you were in my place, then ...

“I would just kill you if I knew something like that,” he smiled.

– So I must be calm? - she looked at him with such hatred that he thought:

- It would be better if she hit me.

And he said out loud:

- Dasha, forgive me. Sorry. A sword does not cut a guilty head...

“Stop talking to me about a guilty head, Ilya,” Dasha cut him off sharply. - You were going to deceive me further. And if I had not found this letter, then ...

“I didn’t deceive you at all,” Ilya said.

- And what did you do? Dasha gave her husband a reproachful look.

“I was just transferred to another reality where I met you in the guise of another woman, and I couldn’t resist, that’s all,” he explained.

- Wonderful! Dasha exclaimed. - So, I can also be transported to another reality and meet you there in the guise of another man and fall in love with him. So?

“No, not like that,” Ilya said sternly. - Dashenka, you won't dare to do this to me...

“How dare I,” she said through gritted teeth.

- Don't you dare, - Ilya spoke in syllables. - And do you know why?

- Why?

- Yes, because you are my eleventh Daria, that is, twice the only and unique. And you are the most, most, most beloved.

– Is that why you are cheating on me with another woman? she asked, blinking frequently.

“Dashka, don’t you dare roar, otherwise I’ll cry too,” Ilya stretched his lips forward, buzzed: “Uuuuuuuuuuuu…”

- Who is roaring here? exclaimed little Nadenka, running into the room.

- Yes, a speck got into Mommy's eye, and she was about to cry like a little one, and I decided to cheer her up, - Ilya said in a singsong voice, picking up her daughter in her arms.

“Mamulechka, don’t cry,” Nadenka shook her finger at her. - I'll buy you a delicious candy.

– Well, honey, I won’t cry, – Dasha wiped away her tears.

“You see, daddy, how women should be consoled,” Nadenka said in an edifying tone.

“I see,” Ilya replied. “You will be my representative for settling international conflicts. Is it coming?

- Coming! - Nadenka was delighted. - Only for this we need to stock up on sweets.

- That's right, - Ilya joined the game. - We run for shopping.

- And you, mommy, count to ten and run after us, - ordered Nadya. - You know that I am also madly in love with sweets and I can accidentally eat them on the way.

– Well, honey, I’ll do everything as you said, – after kissing her daughter, Dasha promised and began to count: – One, two, three…

The door closed behind Ilya and Nadenka, but Dasha kept counting, mentally tracing the path that the two most dear to her are now walking: strong tall Ilya, who looks like an epic hero, and a little golden-haired girl, who looks like Thumbelina next to a giant.

It seemed to Dasha that she saw the breeze playing with Nadenka's golden curls and heard her daughter singing a cheerful song:

Little Nadia jumps along the path.
Wind prankster will throw under her feet
Multi-colored leaves colorful carpet,
To better listen to the bird choir.
But Nadenka won't lie on the carpet,
She really wants to jump and jump...

Dasha counted to ten, smiled and left the house. The road, straight as an arrow, rested on the railway track, which was blocked by a striped red-and-white barrier. Ilya and Nadenka stood near him and laughed carelessly. Dasha wanted to get close to them as soon as possible. She ran forward, but after a second she froze in place, not immediately realizing that everything that was happening was a reality.

The electric train that emerged from around the bend turned into a fire-breathing dragon, which stepped on little Nadenka with its huge black paw, threw Ilya aside, and calmly walked away. ..

under which flowed a thin scarlet stream. People jumped out of the cars standing at the barrier. They picked up the dragon's trail, and Dasha saw a little girl sprawled on the ground with her arms outstretched.

- No, it's not a girl. This is a huge butterfly that has sat down to rest and will now continue its flight, Dasha thought and rushed forward to see for herself how the butterfly takes off into the sky.

“You shouldn't look at this,” she heard someone's voice and saw a tall wall in front of her.

“Let her go,” ordered another voice, and the wall disappeared.

Dasha took a few steps and realized that she was not sleeping at all, that her little Nadezhda, a sweet little angel with broken wings, was lying in a pool of scarlet blood.

“Nooooo,” Dasha screamed. - No, no, no, just not that. Why?..

“Dashka, be quiet,” Ilya touched her hand.

"Don't you dare touch me, murderer," she withdrew her hand. “You caused this trouble. Because of you...

“Dasha, I have absolutely nothing to do with it,” Ilya said. - This is bad luck ... A coincidence, but not my fault ... not mine ...

- I don’t want to hear anything, - Dasha covered her ears with her hands. “I don’t want to see you, traitor and murderer.

“Dasha, you’re in shock, calm down,” Ilya held out his hands to her. Dasha hit those outstretched hands with all her might and felt that she was losing her foothold.

The earth swayed like a merry-go-round and began spinning, gaining momentum. Faces, sleepers, rails, a barrier, a road, trees, white butterflies, red crosses of an ambulance, voices, sounds and the sky merged into a bright blinding light. Unable to bear this radiance, Dasha closed her eyes. It immediately became dark and calm. Sleep wrapped her in a soft blanket, hiding from prying eyes...

“If I sleep and don’t see anyone, it means that no one sees me,” little Nadenka liked to repeat.

“What a smart girl my daughter is,” whispered Dasha. - If I don’t see anyone, then no one sees me either. I am an invisible man who has the ability to be wherever he wants. I can even look into the past or move into the future.

The past is closed by a silver door.
There is no way there, the keys are lost.
Do not knock on that door, you are unlikely to hear,
And it's better to keep silent about what happened.
Stop at the door and think about it,
That a wide brook flows to the river.
In life, everything passes, there were even and odd,
And it is not worth paying respect to the past.

- But how, how to force yourself not to think about the past, when all the best is left there? Dasha exclaimed. - The first love, the first kiss, the first confessions remained there ...

- The first insults, the first tears, the first pain, the first betrayal, - the stern voice continued listing, which seemed familiar to Dasha.

“But I don’t want to think about the bad,” Dasha said. I only remember the good moments of my life. Sometimes it seems to me that there was nothing bad at all.

- It was bad and you should not deceive yourself. There is no need to idealize and embellish what is painted black. Black absorbs the entire light spectrum without leaving a single bright hue.

“So be it,” Dasha said stubbornly. “But I can look at the past the way I want to. How do I...

– Why? To be fooled again?

- To understand once again that it was impossible to do otherwise, which means that the chosen path turned out to be the most correct, - Dasha explained.

“You are mistaken,” there were notes of annoyance in the voice of the interlocutor. “Succumbing to our own recklessness, we very often follow the path of delusion and believe that we have chosen the right path. But, unfortunately, it does not lead us anywhere. Our route has no final goal.

“All people go forward without knowing the final goal,” Dasha got excited.

“No, not all,” objected a familiar voice. - There are people who know the goal very well, see their purpose.

– I am not one of them…

– That is why misfortunes fall upon you.

– How dare you tell me about misfortunes? Dasha exclaimed. – Who are you anyway?

“I am Truth,” she heard in response and opened her eyes.

A small white room was lined with silver appliances, from which came plastic tubes filled with multi-colored liquids. Following the direction of the tubes, Dasha fixed her eyes on the translucent body of a girl with golden hair. The little girl's eyes were closed, her lips were closed, her hair scattered over the pillow like sunbeams.

- Nadya?! Dasha whispered, instantly remembering everything that had happened.

“We did everything possible and impossible,” Dasha heard a male voice and only then saw the tired face of the doctor. - It remains to hope for a miracle, to hope for God's mercy.

– Doctor, will she survive? Dasha asked in a whisper.

“If you believe in miracles, yes,” the doctor replied. - A mother and child have a very strong psychological connection up to eight, and sometimes even up to ten years. Your positive biorhythms are transmitted to her, and her biorhythms to you. Think good. Talk to the girl. Read fairy tales to her, sing songs, but don't cry or be sad. Tears will kill the baby. And I hope for a favorable outcome. I sincerely believe in him.

- Really, doctor?

“True,” he smiled. - Only I must warn you to be patient and not demand anything from the girl. She is in a deep coma, so she won't be able to answer you. In such cases, I advise the mother to imagine that the child has not yet been born, that she is still carrying him, patiently waiting for his birth, that is, awakening. Represented? Dasha nodded, although it was strange to imagine the five-year-old Nadenka as an unborn baby.

“I understand that this is difficult,” the doctor said. - But this is the best way, because no one can name the exact date of coming out of the coma. Sometimes you have to wait months, and sometimes several days or hours. It all depends on immunity, on the endurance of the body and on timely assistance. We provided help. The body is young, strong, so you should not lose hope for a speedy recovery.

“Thank you, doctor,” Dasha smiled. - May I stay here?

“That’s useless,” he said sternly. - The girl doesn't need you now. But with your husband, try to be kinder. Dasha looked at the doctor in surprise. – Although he escaped with bruises, bruises, abrasions and a slight concussion, he experienced severe stress and is in a semi-shock state. Therefore, it will be better if you do not throw tantrums, but just be silent together. Sometimes silence is the best therapy. Believe my life experience, - he pushed Dasha to the exit. - Don't worry about the girl. The nurse will be on duty next to her.

- Can I come tomorrow? Dasha asked.

“You can do it tomorrow,” the doctor smiled wearily. - And now go to your husband. He is waiting for you in the waiting room.

Dasha went down the stairs, wondering why she didn't remember how she got here. She tried to recall the events in her memory, but she only remembered a fire-breathing dragon raising its huge paw to crush a small motley butterfly that sat down to rest by the road. She also remembered the wall that blocked her path, and the voice of Elijah, who ordered the wall to be removed.

“I have to find Ilya,” Dasha decided, looking around at the people sitting in the emergency room.

A tall man with a scratched puffy face got up to meet her and said something. She turned away from him, continuing to look for her husband among the silently sitting people.

“Dasha,” Ilya’s voice sounded very close by.

Dasha turned her head and only then did she realize that the man with a puffy face covered with abrasions was her husband. She screamed and recoiled, pressing both hands to her lips.

“Everything is fine,” Ilya smiled. – The scars of men decorate, give them a certain charm. Although, if you think about it, a funny combination of charm and scar.

“Funny,” Dasha repeated automatically, touching her husband’s face with her fingertips. - Painfully?

“No, no,” said Ilya. - And how are you?

– Me? Dasha looked at her husband in surprise. - Did something happen to me?

“No,” Ilya smiled. - Let's go home, otherwise they are looking at us suspiciously.

They left the clinic door and stopped.

“Rain,” Dasha said, holding out her hand. – Where did he come from?

- From heaven, - answered Ilya.

– Why is water pouring from heaven? Dasha asked, looking at the drops falling on her palm.

“So that I can snuggle up to you,” Ilya answered, opening an umbrella over Dasha’s head.

“Umbrella,” she smiled. - Where did you get it from?

“From your purse,” he said. “Have you forgotten that I am the most famous pickpocket. I stole an umbrella from your purse and you didn't even notice.

“I didn’t notice,” Dasha repeated, watching the yellowed leaves tremble at the touch of cold drops.

When Ilya embraced her, she also shuddered and, like a leaf torn off a branch, rushed somewhere in only one direction known to her.

A man and a woman walked along the wet streets, huddled close to each other and each thought about his own. He is about the fact that she so inopportunely found Irina's letter. It is about how inopportunely ended childhood.

- Who is Irina for me? Solar eclipse? Crazy passion? Delusion or trap? - thought Ilya, vividly imagining a burning brunette with eyes as round as cherries, framed by thick velvet eyelashes, and a scarlet sensual mouth, longing for kisses.

Irina's embrace, passionate and hot, made him lose his mind. Irina's sharp claws invariably tried to penetrate under his shirt, to pierce into the skin, leaving deep marks there.

Ilya shuddered, remembering how difficult it was for the first time to lie to Dasha, calling these prints traces from a spruce broom, which his friend Mitrich used to soar him in the bath. Dasha then smeared his back with some Indian oils and scolded the mystical Mitrich for the spruce broom. And Ilya lay with his head buried in the pillow, and mentally scolded himself for lying, swore that he would never meet Irina again. Never again...

But as soon as her invariable “Hello, dear” was heard in the telephone receiver, he dropped everything and rushed to the call of the flesh in order to indulge in sensual delights again and again, burn in the flame of passions. He was connected with Irina by the unity of bodies, and with Dasha by the unity of souls. There was something sublimely unearthly in his relationship with his wife, which Ilya did not want to refuse for any treasures of the world. But he could not overcome the bodily pleasures that Irina gave him. He needed both of these women, not similar to each other, like white and black angels.

Ilya rushed between light and darkness, torn apart by internal contradictions, and could not find a way out, he was afraid to make some kind of decision so as not to hurt any of them.

Salvation came unexpectedly.

“Hello, dear,” Irinin’s voice burst into the telephone receiver. - I sent you a letter.

- A letter? What are the jokes in the morning? Ilya exclaimed.

“These are not jokes at all,” Irina said sternly. – This is all very serious. Goodbye. Do not call. Forget my phone number.

- Why? Ilya was surprised.

- I wrote to you about everything. Goodbye.

It turns out that she has a new guardian of the body, which she seized with the death grip of a wild panther.

- Why didn't I immediately throw this messy letter away? Ilya thought belatedly. “Now, mister sentimental fool, the prospect of being left not only without a mistress, but also without a wife looms before you.

A strong gust of wind turned the umbrella inside out. The rain lashed Ilya with a wet palm on his scratched cheek, forcing him to look into Dasha's gray eyes and understand a simple thing: his breath will stop, his life will end if this thin woman, who looks like a defenseless chick that has fallen out of a nest, is not nearby.

Ilya felt like falling on his knees before Dasha, kissing her feet, begging for mercy and forgiveness. But the rain struck fortissimo, forcing him to do otherwise. Ilya grabbed Dasha by the hand and dragged her along into the dark warmth of someone else's entrance. He tightly pressed her to him, buried his face in her hair smelling of autumn leaves and felt tears flow down his cheeks. The blood pulsed in the temples with SOS signals, and the lips whispered:

- What happened to us, my girl?
We are lost in this evil world.
- Please, find me soon, -
Words sound in the awakened ether.
- Don't let it go forever. Stop.
Forget my reproaches and reproaches.
That you can't live without me, lie,
And that love will be able to overcome mountains,
That it is not afraid of rain and snow,
Heat, snow, blizzards and snowstorms.
Take me back, take me back.
What happened to us, dear, really?

“Let’s start all over again,” suggested Ilya.

“Come on,” Dasha agreed…

The whirlpool of worries about the life of her little daughter made Dasha rethink her past years. Everything that used to be significant and important suddenly lost all meaning, becoming petty and vain.

Now the most desirable thing for Dasha was communication with an invisible interlocutor who gave her water of wisdom from the source of Truth. Dasha wanted not only to drink this water, but to plunge headlong into it and stay there, in this uncomplicated purity. But an awakening invariably came, returning to reality, which reminded Dasha of a giant octopus, from whose tentacles one can escape only at the source of Truth. But few people know about it.

- Why? Dasha was surprised. “Don’t people see the madness going on around them?

“They just don't want to see anything,” Truth answered. “People have become proud, greedy, proud, arrogant, blasphemous, ungrateful, disobedient to parents, unfriendly, slanderers. They are intemperate and cruel. Few people want to reach the knowledge of the Truth. It is easier for them to lie, envy, make arrogant speeches. The sound of horrors is constantly in their ears... But they do not intend to seek the Truth.

The sound of horror accompanied Dasha too. As soon as she was left alone in the ward where Nadenka lay, connected to the flashing devices, the noise of an approaching train burst into her ears, resurrecting in her memory a vivid picture of the tragic events.

The train was slowing down, and a long wooden seat was flying out of a glass-splattered window. It described a semicircle and covered little Nadia. An unknown force pushed Ilya aside, showering his head with broken glass. An ominous silence hung in the air for a moment. And behind her a cacophony of sounds broke in, driving Dasha crazy. Dasha pinched her ears, shook her head to get rid of obsessive sounds, started talking loudly to herself in order to disconnect from memories, so as not to go crazy.

- I should not be afraid and panic, because the worst is over. The doctor said that one must believe in a miracle. And I will believe, because miracles began to happen immediately. The fact that there was an ambulance on the opposite side of the railway tracks, isn't it a miracle? And Elijah's prayer? This is also a miracle. And the voice of Truth that I hear, and the tears of insight, and even the fact that Nadenka is sleeping and struggling with her misfortune in her sleep, is a real miracle, - Dasha quietly sang Nadenka's favorite song:

It's easy to believe in miracles.
It is necessary to look into the sky
And see the silver stars in the early morning.
The stars in the morning are a miracle! A miracle is a river in gold.
Bird song is a miracle. The miracle is light and clouds.
Orange sun, yellow-white moon,
And brightly colored blue-eyed spring.
And winter in a fluffy shawl, and autumn leaf fall,
Summer garden, where clusters of cherries
Hang under the leaves.
The vast world is a miracle.
Let's look around,
To never overlook the morning stars...

Dasha knelt down, pressed her lips to the cool little hand and said:

- I love you, my girl. I really, really want you to wake up soon. Dad and I bought you a big teddy bear, a beautiful book of fairy tales, and a set of paints so that you could draw us a world of wonders...

Nadya stood in the middle of the brightly lit circus arena and, with her head thrown back, watched a ballerina dancing on a tightrope. The ballerina's movements were light and graceful. The white lace umbrella that she held in her hand flew up and then slid down, now hiding, then again revealing her beautiful face. The ballerina danced on the tightrope, not paying attention to the spectators frozen below. She looked up and smiled enigmatically.

“Teach me how to dance and spin,” Nadya called out, plucking up her courage.

“Come up to me,” the ballerina called her without interrupting her dance.

Nadenka easily climbed up and saw that the ballerina was dancing not on a rope, but on a glass floor, which was impossible to see from below.

“Go bolder,” said the dancer. - But don't just go, but dance. It's easy. Look at me and repeat the movements after me. One, two, three... One, two, three...

Nadia stood on her toes and took a few hesitant steps. The ballerina laughed loudly and, slightly slowing down her dance, showed the girl the necessary movements.

“Listen to music and you will feel better,” she said. - One, two, three... Umbrella up, and now down.

Nadya wanted to say that she didn't have any umbrella, but she saw that she did. Small parasol made of white lace, embroidered with silver sequins. Nadenka's elegant clothes, in which she came here, turned into a pale pink ballet tutu, and shoes into pointe shoes.

– I am a real ballerina! exclaimed Nadia. “It’s not at all difficult for me to dance here with you. I want the music to never stop. I want to dance and spin all my life!

“You can’t dance and spin all your life,” the ballerina said sternly. - Everything has its time. “A time to be born and a time to die. Time to search and time to lose. A time to cry and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance. Time to be silent and time to speak. A time to love and a time to hate." ¹

“But now is the time to dance, and I want it to last forever,” said Nadenka. “It will last exactly as long as it needs to,” said the ballerina. - Dance, spin, Nadenka, and remember that help always comes to us from heaven, because our Heavenly Father lives there.

“Heavenly Father,” the girl repeated. - And what is He?

“He is kind, loving, just,” said the ballerina, her face lit up with an unearthly radiance. “He created us in his own image and likeness, putting peace in our hearts.

- How wonderful it is to have peace in your heart! the girl said.

- Yes, it's very cool. But we often grieve our Heavenly Father,” the ballerina said. – Then He gets angry with us, and even severely punishes some disobedient children.

“Like my dad Ilya,” Nadenka nodded her head understandingly. - If I am naughty or capricious, dad takes the strap. And then I feel ashamed, and I quickly stop shedding tears because of any nonsense. Well, just think, they didn't buy a bear...

- That's right. Shedding tears without work is empty, my friend. After all, tears without work are water. Therefore, laugh, Nadenka, laugh and dance,” said the ballerina.

Nadenka laughed carelessly...

Dasha heard the sonorous children's laughter and, raising her head, looked at her daughter in surprise. For a moment, it seemed to her that Nadya's cheeks turned pink, and her cilia trembled a little.

– My God, is she really coming to her senses?! - Dasha was delighted and, throwing open the door of the ward, she shouted to the nurse:

- Hurry ...

She rushed after the doctor and after a few minutes they entered the ward.

- What? Viktor Petrovich asked, looking at Dasha.

“She was laughing, doctor,” whispered Dasha. - I heard...

- You're just overtired, - the doctor smiled and stroked Dasha's head. - Go home. Arrange a romantic dinner for yourself and try not to think about anything today.

“It's very difficult,” Dasha shook her head. “Thoughts haunt me. Sometimes it even starts to seem to me that I'm going crazy... A minute ago, I saw how Nadenka's cheeks blushed, how her eyelashes trembled... And now she again looks like a porcelain doll, to which for some reason multi-colored tubes are connected.

“You, dear mother, need a sip of good wine,” said the doctor. - Go home to your husband and arrange a romantic dinner for yourself, and Tanechka will be on duty here.

Dasha sighed, thinking that a romantic dinner is something from the realm of the unreal. After all, after the birth of Nadya, she and Ilya never once sat by candlelight.

“He must have fallen out of love with me,” Dasha thought sadly. “Maybe I fell out of love with him?” No…

It's not true that I stopped loving you
And I don't want to look through the candle,
Translucent frost on the crystal,
And cling to your shoulder.
It's not true that I'm tired of being silent with you.
It's not true that I have nothing to say.
I just learned to be wiser
And give meaning to a special look.

“Dasha, Dashenka, Darina,” said Ilya, looking into his wife’s eyes. “I never thought that we would have to go through trials. What a real, big trouble will befall us. I always thought that grief could happen to anyone, but not to me, not to us. Before, I was not afraid of anything, I climbed ahead. And now I'm terribly afraid of everything in the world. Even the sharp creaking of the door makes me shudder. How to explain it? Dasha shrugged. Maybe it's weakness or cowardice? Or is it due retribution for mistakes, mistakes and sins? I will never forgive myself for deceiving you that. ..

“Stop it, Ilya,” Dasha said wearily. - We decided to start all over again. I forgave you and I don't want to hear anymore about what happened.

– Did you forgive me for a while, so that you can remind me later when the opportunity arises, or ..? he asked, not believing in the sincerity of her words.

“I forgave, so I forgot,” Dasha said, bowing her head low so that Ilya would not see the face distorted by pain. Hammers pounded in my temples: “I didn’t forget, I didn’t forget, I didn’t forget. The wound is still bleeding. It takes time, time, time."

“Let's be quiet for a while,” Dasha asked. Her voice trembled treacherously.

“Let’s be quiet, dear,” agreed Ilya. His voice also trembled. Ilya got angry with himself for not being able to restrain himself, for starting to whimper like the last weakling, instead of encouraging Dasha, helping her survive all the hardships and troubles that had fallen on them.

“What a strong woman you are, my little Darina,” thought Ilya, looking through the candle flame at the mournful silhouette of his wife. “I never admitted to you that I offend you precisely because I cannot be as steadfast and unyielding as you are. My pride does not allow me to accept defeat from a woman, even from my beloved. I justify myself with useless words and speeches that do not make sense. And you look at me sympathetically, always remaining on top, but you never show your superiority. And now you suggested to be silent. How smart is that. Why throw words to the wind?

My eyes are screaming at you: "I'm sorry!"
And the heart beats like a bird in the chest.
I don't want to throw words to the wind,
After all, you asked me: "Let's keep quiet."
I mentally ask you: “I'm sorry,
For not loving you.
For not giving you flowers,
And I didn’t appreciate your tender soul.”

Eight months Nadya was in the clinic. Dasha ran there every morning, opened the door and froze on the threshold, hoping to hear that the girl had come to her senses.