22
May
2012

Gifts of the Magi (O. Henry)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 192kbps
O.Henry
Year of issue: 2005
Genre: Novella
Publisher: DIY audiobook
Artist: Russh29
Duration: 00:14:10
Description: According to the gospel legend, when the baby Jesus was born, a star flashed in the east. The three wise men-sorcerers, seeing her, realized that the savior of the world had been born and went to worship him. They brought gifts - precious incense. According to legend, this is the origin of the custom on Christmas to give gifts to relatives and friends.
O. Henry plays on the legend in his own way. Christmas Eve in a small apartment where "not only blatant poverty, but eloquently silent poverty" reigns. The young wife wants to choose a gift for her husband. They love each other endlessly, and no treasures seem worthy of a husband to Della. But coins glisten in the palm of your hand - one dollar and eighty-seven cents, collected by a long and cruel economy. How to be?
Additional Information: Special thanks to StarAlker1 for help in preparing the release.

14
Apr
2012

Bones of the Magi (James Rollins)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 96kbps
By James Rollins
Year of issue: 2010
Genre: mystical thriller
Publisher: Can't Buy Nowhere
Artist: Vyacheslav Gerasimov
Duration: 20:20:54
Description: A mass murder takes place in the Cologne Cathedral during a festive service: all parishioners die a painful death. Criminals, dressed in monastic robes, steal a priceless relic kept in the cathedral since the 12th century - the bones of the Biblical Magi. A group of special agents of the secret organization Sigma, led by Gray Pearce, was sent from Washington to investigate the crime. Together with scientists in ...

11
june
2010

Jealousy of the Magi (Anna and Sergey Litvinov)

Author: Anna and Sergey Litvinov
Format: 192kb / s, mp3
Year of issue: 2010
Genre: Detective
Publisher: Can't Buy Nowhere
Artist: Dmitry Kreminsky
Length: 07:14:23
Description: Anna and Sergey Litvinov are one of the most popular contemporary authors in the genre of action-packed novels. For ten years of creativity, the total circulation of their books has exceeded six million copies! We present you a new detective novel "The Jealousy of the Magi". An exciting storyline with vivid images and unexpected details awaits you; you will enter the complex world of crime investigation. The main character, engineer Ivan Al ...

16
feb
2018

Adoration of the Magi (Aflatuni Sukhbat)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 96 Kbps
Author: Aflatuni Sukhbat
Year of issue: 2018
Genre: Historical prose
Publisher: Can't Buy Nowhere
Artist: Roslyakov Mikhail
Length: 36:36:53
Description: A new novel by the famous prose writer and poet Yevgeny Abdullaev, writing under the pseudonym Sukhbat Aflatuni, covers a huge period in history
Russia: from the middle of the 19th century to the present day - and tells the story of the Triyarsky family, the founder of which, a young architect of progressive views, Nikolai, was close to the revolutionary Petrashevsky circle and the secret society of the "Magi", but was persecuted by ...

23
Dec
2015

Russia is magical. The history of Russian miracles and secrets from Magi to psychics (Alexander Arefiev)

Author: Alexander Arefiev
Year of issue: 2006
Genre: Esotericism, secrets, riddles
Publisher: Can't Buy Nowhere
Artist: Irina Vorobyova
Duration: 17:30:51
Description: The reader is invited to work highly original and unusual - for the first time the history of Russia from ancient times is considered from the point of view of magic, sorcery and witchcraft. We have already forgotten about many deeds of domestic sorcerers and their inquisitors. And were these magicians really that powerful? On the basis of archival documents, the author, a Russian medical scientist, interestingly describes the personalities of ancient Russian ma ...

04
feb
2016

Fear the Danians who bring gifts (Anna Litvinova, Sergey Litvinov)

Format: audiobook, MP3, 128kbps
Year of issue: 2008
Author: J. Rowling
Artist: Maxreader
Genre fiction
Publisher: ROSMEN
Number of pages: 7 chapters will be added
Description: World premiere! The seventh book of the English writer Joan Rowling "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" about the adventures of Harry Potter in Russian is on sale since October 13, 2007! Rowling's first six novels sold 325 million copies worldwide. Harry had to complete a dangerous, difficult and, it seems, impossible task: to find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes of Voldemort. Never Harry P ...

18
jan
2009

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows 8-11

Format: audiobook, MP3, 50KB
Year of issue: 2008
Author: J. Rowling
Artist: Maxreader
Genre fiction
Publisher: ROSMEN
Duration: 02:40
Description: In the last, seventh book "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" from the series of books about Harry Potter, Joan Rowling with amazing skill gives the long-awaited answers to the huge number of questions that have accumulated during this time. The captivating, skillfully woven plot, full of varied and unexpected twists, from which breathtaking, once again proves the skill of the author, whose books will be read and re-read again and again.

O.Henry

Name: Gifts of the Magi

Genre: Novella

Duration: 8min 35sec

Annotation:

Mr. James Dollingham (Jim) and his wife Della live in a modest apartment. They have only two treasures - the subject of their common pride: Della's beautiful long hair that falls almost to her knees and Jim's gold watch, which he inherited from his father, and that from his father.
On Christmas Eve, Della, with only one dollar and eighty-seven cents in her pocket, desperate to be unable to buy Jim a present for pennies, sells her hair for twenty dollars. And with them he buys a platinum chain for her husband's watch. Overjoyed, Della hurries home and prepares a pork chop for the festive dinner.
At seven o'clock, Della sits at the table by the door, waiting for her husband. Jim returns extremely late and at the sight of Della immediately freezes, and she, in turn, only hopes that without her chic curls she is still beautiful for her husband. Della explains to Jim that she sold her hair to buy a gift for him. Jim gives her the gift he bought for her. And this is a set of combs, useless now that her hair is short. Della shows Jim the chain she bought for him, to which Jim reveals that he sold his watch to buy combs for her. Despite the fact that they cannot now use the things presented to each other, they realize how far they are ready to go, just to show their love, and how invaluable their feelings are.
The story ends with the words of the narrator, who compares their sacrificial gifts in the name of love with those presented by the wise men in the Bible.

From the collection of stories "Four Million" O. Henry, 1906

Gifts of the Magi
(Translated by E. Kalashnikova)

One dollar eighty-seven cents. That was all. Of these, sixty cents are in coins of one cent. For each of these coins I had to bargain with the grocer, greengrocer, butcher so that even my ears burned with the silent disapproval that such frugality caused. Della counted three times. One dollar eighty-seven cents. And tomorrow is Christmas.

The author's message was very expressed and conveyed through his narrative details of the events of the story. In the story, valuable gifts were given to Della and Jim as a way to express love for each other, even if he sells his most valuable possessions. Finally, for me, history has also taught us the meaning of the Magi, and one of them is knowing how to sacrifice oneself. O-Henry is a famous American writer whose real name is William Sydney Porter.

Plot plot is the decoration, or the design of events in a plot or plot can be interpreted as the main events of a play, novel, film, or similar work designed and presented by the author as an interconnected sequence. The plot can be found at the beginning of the story or at the end of the story. But usually the plot can be found at the beginning of the story. According to the Frey tag pyramid, the plot of the plot consists of narration, complication, escalating action, culmination, falling action, and resolution or denouement.

The only thing that could be done here was to flop on the old couch and howl. That's exactly what Della did. This is where the philosophical conclusion suggests itself that life consists of tears, sighs and smiles, and sighs prevail.

While the owner of the house goes through all these stages, let's look around the house itself. Furnished apartment for $ 8 a week. The setting is not exactly blatant poverty, but rather eloquently silent poverty. Downstairs, on the front door, there was a letterbox, through which no letter could squeeze, and an electric bell button, from which no mortal could squeeze a sound. In addition to this was a card that read "Mr. James Dillingham Young." Dillingham expanded its full length in the recent boom, when the owner of the said name received thirty dollars a week. Now, after this income has dropped to twenty dollars, the letters in the word "Dillingham" have faded, as if seriously wondering: why not shrink into a modest and unassuming "D"? But when Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and went upstairs, he was invariably greeted with an exclamation of "Jim!" - and the gentle embrace of Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you under the name Della. And this is really very nice.

Della finished crying and stroked her cheeks with a puff. She now stood at the window and looked downcastly at the gray cat strolling along the gray fence along the gray courtyard. It's Christmas tomorrow, and she only has one dollar and eighty-seven cents for Jim's present! For months, she literally earned every cent, and that's all she achieved. Twenty dollars a week won't get you very far. The costs were more than she expected. This is always the case with expenses. Just a dollar eighty-seven cents for a present for Jim! Her Jim! How many joyful hours she spent thinking of what to give him for Christmas. Something very special, rare, precious, something even a little worthy of the high honor to belong to Jim.

The exposition represents the character in history. And this can be interpreted as the beginning of a situation in history, and in addition to introducing character into a plot exposition, it may be difficult to pose a question, a prerequisite, etc. What constitutes conflict in history. There are two types of conflicts; first is external, and the second is internal. External conflict occurs between character, character and society. Internal conflict Internal conflict is within the character. Climax is the peak of history.

Falling action is when a moment in history is cleared. The latter are permission when the story is happy or good, ends and unfolds. In Feed of the Magi, the performance takes place when the main character is introduced. There was a woman named Della. She was counting her money and realized that this was not enough for Jim, her husband. She was very sad that the next day would be Christmas, and she still didn't know what to do. She really wanted to buy Jim a present.

There was a pier glass in the pier between the windows. Have you ever looked into the dressing table of a $ 8 furnished apartment? A very thin and very mobile person can, observing the successive change of reflections in his narrow wings, form a fairly accurate idea of ​​his own appearance. Delle, who was frailly built, managed to master this art.

After the exposure, the story is about growing action. This happens when Della was completely at a loss as to what she could do. She cried for a while, but then she learned that she needed to take risks. Della is said to have had very long brown hair. She immediately left her house and searched any store that would buy her hair. As she walked down the street, she suddenly stopped as she read the sign: Madame. "Products for hair of all kinds." She broke into a store, met a woman named Madame Sophroni and asked if she would like to buy her hair.

She suddenly jumped away from the window and rushed to the mirror. Her eyes sparkled, but the color faded from her face in twenty seconds. With a quick motion, she pulled out the hairpins and let her hair down.

I must tell you that the James Dillingham Young couple had two treasures that were their pride. One is Jim's gold watch that belonged to his father and grandfather, the other is Della's hair. If the Queen of Sheba lived in the house opposite, Della, having washed her hair, would certainly have dried her loose hair by the window - especially in order to make all her Majesty's outfits and adornments fade. If King Solomon served as a doorman in the same house and kept all his riches in the basement, Jim, passing by, would take his watch out of his pocket every time - especially in order to see him tearing his beard out of envy.

After receiving the money, Della went to the store, where she finally found a suitable gift for Jim. It was a simple platinum chain and she thought it would be perfect for Jim's watch. The chain reflects Jim's simplicity and silence. Growing action always brings the story to a climax. The story culminates when Jim finally returns from work. Seeing his wife's hair cut off, he suddenly took his place, not angry, surprised, or disapproved. He asked his wife to make sure her hair was really gone.

Della cried and told him that she cut it off and sold it. The climax is reduced to falling action. The falling action in this story is when Jim took a bag out of his coat and spoke to Dela. He didn't mind Della's short hair. He asked Dela to unwrap the package so Della could understand why Jim was the way he first saw Dela. She opened the package and screamed hysterically. It was a set of pure turtle shell comb set with precious stones. This is all she has dreamed of for a long time.

And then Della's beautiful hair spilled out, shining and shimmering like the streams of a chestnut waterfall. They descended below the knees and covered almost her entire figure with a cloak. But she immediately, nervous and in a hurry, began to pick them up again. Then, as if hesitating, she stood motionless for a minute, and two or three tears fell on the shabby red carpet.

Della then handed Jim the chain she bought and asked him to try it on his watch. However, Jim disobeyed this. He threw himself on the sofa and smiled. The ending of this story can be seen as a resolution, since Jim and Della were happy at the end. Jim finally told his wife to put up gifts for a long time and stated that they were too good to be just a gift. Sitting on the couch, he told Della that he sold his watch to buy a comb for Della.

Now Jim asked his wife to cook dinner for both of them. A character is a person or relationship to a person in history. Character types fall into two categories: role and personality. from the role are divided into two main and secondary characters. Meanwhile, from the personality, there is flat, round, static, dynamic, stock, hero, antihero and allusion.

An old brown jacket on her shoulders, an old brown hat on her head - and, throwing up her skirts, sparkling with wet sparkles in her eyes, she was already rushing down into the street.

The sign she stopped at read: Ms Sophronie. All kinds of hair products ”. Della ran up to the second floor and stopped, gasping for breath.

The story has major and minor characters based on their roles. Della and Jim are the main characters. Della is considered the main character, as she is the one who appears from the very beginning to the end of the story. The beginning of the story seems to be about how Della got embarrassed to buy a present for Jim, her husband, until she finally made a sacrifice to buy a nice present. Meanwhile, Jim can also be said to be the protagonist as he is a different person who has a relationship with Cause, the first main character.

Jim also has interactions with the Cause that create a good flow of history. In addition, there is actually one minor character. The reason she is a minor character is because she only appeared in the middle of the story for a moment.

Will you buy my hair? she asked Madame.

I'm buying hair, ”Madame replied. - Take off your hat, you need to look at the goods.

The chestnut waterfall began to flow again.

Twenty dollars, ”said Madame, as usual weighing a thick mass on her hand.

Let's hurry, ”Della said.

The next two hours flew by on pink wings - sorry for the hackneyed metaphor. Della scoured the shops looking for a present for Jim.

The following explanation is based on the nature of the characters. There are only three types of symbols, which are flat, dynamic, static and stock symbols. Della is a dynamic character in the story as her appearance changed at the end of the story. In the beginning, it is described that she has beautiful long brown hair. It looked like a brown waterfall. However, she cut her hair off to buy a gift for her husband, so her hair became very short. Plus, Della is a flat character, as her way of interacting with other characters throughout the story tends to be the same from start to finish.

Finally she found it. No doubt it was made for Jim, and only for him. Nothing of the kind was found in other stores, and she turned everything upside down in them. It was a platinum chain for a pocket watch, a simple and austere design, captivating with its true qualities, and not with ostentatious brilliance - all good things should be like that. She, perhaps, could even be considered worthy of a watch. As soon as Della saw her, she knew that the chain must belong to Jim. She was the same as Jim himself. Modesty and dignity - these qualities distinguished both. Twenty-one dollars had to be paid at the cashier, and Della hurried home with eighty-seven cents in her pocket. With such a chain, Jim in any society will not be ashamed to ask what time it is. As great as his watch was, he often looked at it furtively because it hung on a crappy leather strap.

Jim can then be seen as flat and static. Jim's ways of speaking remain the same as he appeared almost at the end of the story. He is a static character because his physical appearance has not changed at all. The latter is of a character that is Madame Sophroni. She is considered a backup character as she is usually the only character in the expansion.

Setting The definition of a parameter in a story is where the story happens and when the story happens. What's more, the installation is not only a location. Year, day, month, morning, or even history shows a time such as 00, this turns on the setting, and the name of that time sets the time. In Gift of the Magi, the story takes place at Della and Jim's house, Madame Sophroni's store, and the store where Della has received the chain so far. It happened at Della and Jim's house as Della was counting her money to buy Jim's perfect gift, and when Della and Jim finally got together and talked about their gifts at the end of the story.

At home, Della's animation subsided and gave way to prudence and calculation. She took out her curling iron, lit the gas, and began to repair the damage caused by generosity combined with love. And this is always the hardest work, my friends, a gigantic work.

Not even forty minutes had passed when her head was covered with steep little curls, which made her remarkably like a boy who had run away from school. She looked at herself in the mirror with a long, careful and critical look.

Finally, there was one shop when Della finally found a platinum fob chain that was a real treat for Jim. The time of the story is considered to be Christmas Eve, as it was explained that Della was confused about what she was going to buy on Jim's Christmas present the next day. In particular, it was in the afternoon when Della was counting money, going to Madame Sophroni's store and buying a fob chain for Jim's watch. In the end, it looks like it was tonight when Della and Jim finally met and talked about their gifts.

Well, she told herself, if Jim doesn't kill me as soon as he looks, he'll think I look like a chorus girl from Coney Island. But what could I do, oh, what could I do, since I had only a dollar and eighty-seven cents! "

At seven o'clock the coffee was brewed, and a hot frying pan stood on the gas stove, waiting for the mutton cutlets.

Point of view. The definition of a point of view is the position of the narrator, which is the relationship to the story, as evidenced by the perspective of the narrator from which the events are depicted, and the relationship to the character. There are two types of storyteller, which are contributors and non-contributors. The participating narrator plays a role in the story. He tells the story from the point of view of the first person and uses the pronoun I, while the non-participant narrator plays no role in the story.

He only tells the story from a third person perspective and uses the pronouns "she," "he," "this," and the names. The non-participant narrator is also divided into three branches, which are omniscient or omniscient, limited omniscience, and objective.

Jim was never late. Della clutched the platinum chain in her hand and sat down on the edge of the table near the front door. Soon she heard his footsteps down the stairs and for a moment turned pale. She was in the habit of turning to God with short prayers about all sorts of everyday little things, and she whispered hastily:

Lord, do so that he does not dislike me!

The Gift of the Magi narrator is not a participant. He uses a limited perspective from a three-sided view. The narrator tells the story using the pronouns "she," "he," "this," and names to mention all the characters and other things. He is considered limited omniscience, as the narrator only knows about the main characters, which are Della and Jim. The narrator explains Della and Jim's physical appearance and all of their feelings.

Because the topic of definition is the central idea or ideas studied by the literary work. Typically, story topics have more than one topic. The themes of the story can be themes of death, themes of revenge, themes of action, and many others. We can say that “The Gift of the Magi” has the theme “Sacrifice can sometimes be meaningless”. Unfortunately, Della's hair was very short.

The door opened and Jim entered and closed it behind him. He had a thin, worried face. It is not easy to be burdened with a family at twenty-two! He needed a new coat for a long time, and his hands were freezing without gloves.

Jim stood motionless at the door, like a setter smelling a quail. His eyes rested on Della with an expression she could not understand, and she felt scared. It was not anger, surprise, rebuke, or horror — none of the feelings one would expect. He just looked at her, without taking his eyes off, and his face did not change its strange expression.

In conclusion, their sacrifice has no effect. The story is known all over the world and numerous versions have been created. It has been turned into live performances, cartoons, films and television programs. With a story set for Christmas, it has become a staple food in many areas. The Magi's gift begins in James and Della Dillingham Young's small and meager apartment on Christmas Eve. At first, she mourns her situation when the narrator notices on the broken mailbox and doorbell, a mirror from a small dock, and "a gray cat is walking along a gray fence in a gray backyard."

Della jumped off the table and rushed to him.

Jim honey, she cried, don't look at me like that! I cut my hair and sold it because I wouldn't have survived if I had nothing to get you for Christmas. They will grow back again. You're not angry, are you? I couldn't do otherwise. My hair grows very quickly. Well, wish me a Merry Christmas, Jim, and let's enjoy the holiday. If you only knew what gift I have prepared for you, what a wonderful, wonderful gift!

Did you cut your hair? Jim asked tensely, as if, despite the increased work of his brain, he still could not grasp this fact.

Yes, I cut it and sold it, ”Della said. - But you will love me all the same? I'm still the same, albeit with short hair.

Jim looked around the room in bewilderment.

So, your braids are gone? he asked with senseless urgency.

Don't look, you won't find them, ”Della said. - I tell you: I sold them - I cut them off and sold them. It's Christmas Eve, Jim. Be nicer to me, because I did it for you. Maybe the hairs on my head can be counted, - she continued, and her gentle voice suddenly sounded serious, - but no one, no one could measure my love for you! Fry the cutlets, Jim?

And Jim came out of his daze. He put his arms around his Della. Let us be humble and consider some foreign subject for a few seconds. Which is more - eight dollars a week or a million a year? A mathematician or sage will give you the wrong answer. The Magi brought precious gifts, but there was not one among them. However, these vague hints will be explained later.

Jim took a package from his coat pocket and tossed it on the table.

Don't get me wrong, Dell, ”he said. - No hairstyle and haircut can make me stop loving my girl. But unfold this bundle, and then you will understand why I was a little dumbfounded at the first minute.

Nimble white fingers tore at the string and paper. A cry of delight followed, immediately - alas! - purely feminine, replaced by a stream of tears and groans, so that it was necessary to immediately apply all the sedatives available to the owner of the house.

For there were combs on the table, the same set of combs — one in the back and two on the side — that Della had long since admired in a Broadway window. Wonderful combs, real tortoiseshell ones, with shiny pebbles embedded in the edges, and just the color of her brown hair. They were dear - Della knew this - and her heart languished and languished for a long time from the unrealizable desire to possess them. And now they belonged to her, but there are no more beautiful braids that would adorn their longed-for brilliance.

Nevertheless, she pressed the combs to her chest and when she finally found the strength to raise her head and smile through her tears, she said:

My hair grows really fast, Jim!

Then she suddenly jumped up like a scalded kitten and exclaimed:

Oh my god!

After all, Jim has not yet seen her wonderful gift. She hastily handed him the chain in her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to play in the rays of her stormy and sincere joy.

Isn't that lovely, Jim? I ran all over the city until I found this. Now you can watch the time at least a hundred times a day. Give me a watch. I want to see how it all looks together.

But Jim, instead of obeying, lay down on the couch, put both hands under his head and smiled.

Dell, ”he said,“ we'll have to hide our presents for now, let them lie down a little. They are too good for us now. I sold the watch to buy you combs. And now, perhaps, is the time to fry the cutlets.

The Magi, those who brought gifts to the baby in the manger, were, as you know, wise, amazingly wise people. It was they who started the fashion of making Christmas gifts. And since they were wise, then their gifts were wise, perhaps even with the agreed right of exchange in case of unsuitability. And I just told you an unremarkable story about two stupid children from an eight-dollar apartment who in the most unwise way sacrificed their greatest treasures for each other. But let it be said for the edification of the sages of our day that of all the donors, these two were the wisest. Of all who offer and receive gifts, only those like them are truly wise. Everywhere and everywhere. They are the Magi.

Lines of fate
(Translated by N. Dekhtereva)

Tobin and I once decided to take a ride to Coney Island. There were four dollars between us, and Tobin needed some fun. Cathy Mahorner, his sweetheart from Sligo, fell through the earth from the very day three months ago, when she drove off to America with two hundred dollars of her own savings and a hundred more from the sale of Tobin's inheritance estates - a great house in Boch Schonnauch and a pig ... And after the letter in which she wrote Tobin that she was going to him, there was not a single word from Katie Mahorner. Tobin also gave advertisements to the newspapers, but to no avail, they did not find the girl.

Well, here we, I and Tobin, set off on Koni - maybe, we thought, the slides, the wheel and the smell of fried corn grains would shake him a little. But Tobin is a guy like that, it's not easy to stir him up - longing has eaten into his skin. He gritted his teeth as soon as he heard the squeak of balloons. He scolded the picture in the illusion. And even though he never refused to have a glass, just offer it - he did not look at Punch and Judy. And when those who are striving to photograph your physics on a brooch or a medallion went, he climbed to go to them properly.

Here, - he says, - here I will have fun. Let the fortune-teller-sorceress from the land of the Nile examine my palm, let him tell me if what should come true.

Tobin is a guy who believes in signs and unearthly phenomena in earthly life. He was stuffed with all sorts of reprehensible beliefs and superstitions - took on faith and black cats, and lucky numbers, and newspaper weather predictions.

Well, we enter this magical chicken coop - everything there is arranged as it should be, in a mysterious way - both red curtains and pictures - hands on which the lines intersect, like rails at a junction station. A sign above the entrance shows that Madame Zozo, an Egyptian palmist, is in charge. Inside the tent sat a fat woman in a red jumper, embroidered with some kind of squiggles and animals. Tobin gives her a dime and puts out his hand, which is akin to the hoof of a draft horse.

The enchantress takes Tobin's hand and looks at what the matter is: the horseshoe, or something, flew off or the stone in the arrow wound up.

Listen, - says this Madame Zozo, - your leg ...

It's not a leg, ”Tobin interrupts. - Maybe she is not God only knows how beautiful, but this is not a leg, this is my hand.

Your foot, - continues Madame, - has not always stepped on smooth paths - this is how the lines of fate are shown in your palm. And there are many more failures ahead. Mount of Venus - or is it just an old corn? - indicates that your heart knew love. You were in big trouble with your sweetheart.

She's the one hinting about Katie Mahorner, ”Tobin whispers loudly in my direction.

Wow! Tobin says to me. - Heard?

Beware, - continues the fortune-teller, - brunette and blonde, they will get you into trouble. A voyage and financial loss awaits you soon. And I also see a line that promises you good luck. One person will enter your life, he will bring you happiness. You recognize him by his nose - he has a crocheted nose.

And his name is not written in the palm of your hand? Tobin asks. - It would be nice to know how to dignify this hook-nosed one when he comes to give me my happiness.

His name, - says the fortuneteller so thoughtfully, - is not written on the lines of fate, but it is clear that it is long and it has the letter "O" in it. Everything, there is nothing more to say. Goodbye. Do not block the entrance.

Well well; says Tobin as we walk to the dock. - It's just miracles, how she knows all this for sure.

As we pushed our way to the exit, some negrito hit Tobin in the ear with his cigar. There was a nuisance. Tobin began to beat the guy on the neck, the women screamed - well, I was not at a loss, I managed to drag my friend away before the police arrived. Tobin is always in a lousy mood when he's having fun.

And when we were already on our way back, the barman on the steamer began to call out: “Who can we serve? Who wants beer? " - and Tobin admitted that yes, he wants - wants to blow the foam off the mug of their filthy drink. And he reached into his pocket, but found that in the crush someone had scooped up all the remaining coins from him. The barman, for lack of material evidence, detached himself from Tobin, and we were left with nothing - we sat and listened to the Italians on the deck nagging on the violin. It turned out that Tobin returned from Koni even more gloomily, and sorrows settled in him even more strongly than before the walk.

A young woman sat on a bench by the handrails, dressed to ride in red cars. And her hair was the color of a non-smoked foam pipe. Tobin, when he passed by, inadvertently caught her a little on the leg, and after drinking he is always polite with the ladies. He decided to take off his hat with force when he apologized, but knocked it off his head, and the wind carried her overboard.

Tobin came back, sat down in his seat again, and I began to look after him - the guy was in frequent trouble. When setbacks fell on Tobin like that, without a break, he was able to hit the first dandy he came across or take command of the ship.

And suddenly Tobin grabs my hand, not himself.

Listen, John, he says. - Do you know what we are doing? We travel on water!

Quiet, quiet, - I tell him. - Get a hold of yourself. We'll land in ten minutes.

Look at that little lady, the blonde, he says. - On the one on the bench - see? Have you forgotten about the Negritos? And the financial losses - the coins that were stolen from me, one dollar and sixty-five cents? A?

I thought that he was simply counting the troubles that had befallen him - this is sometimes done to justify their violent behavior, and I tried to explain to him that all this, they say, was nothing.

Look, says Tobin, you don’t know a damn thing about the miracles and prophecies that the elect are capable of. Well, remember what the fortune-teller saw on my hand today? Yes, she told the whole truth, everything turns out according to her, right before our eyes. Watch out, she said, brunettes and blondes, they'll get you into trouble. Have you forgotten about the Negritos - even though I, it is true, also punched him right, - but can you find me a woman who is more blonde than the one that caused my hat to fall into the water? And where are the one dollar and sixty-five cents that I had in my waistcoat pocket when we got out of the shooting gallery?

The way Tobin told me all this, it seemed to be exactly the same as the predictions of the sorceress, although it seems to me that such small annoying incidents with whoever you want can happen on Koni, and predictions are not required here.

Tobin got up, walked around the entire deck - he walked and glared at all the passengers in a row with his red peepers. I ask what it all means. You never know what Tobin has in mind until he starts throwing his stuff.

I should have realized it myself, ”he tells me. - I am looking for my happiness, which the lines of fate promised me in the palm of my hand. I am looking for the type with the hooked nose, the one who will hand me my luck. Without him, we are covered. Tell me, John, have you ever seen such a bunch of straight-nosed throats?

At half-past nine the steamer pulled up, and we disembarked and stomped home across Twenty-second Street, bypassing Broadway — Tobin was going without a hat.

At the corner, we see, there is some type standing under a gas lamp, standing and staring at the moon over the elevated train. He's a lanky man, dressed decently, with a cigar in his teeth, and I suddenly see his nose from the bridge of the nose to the tip has time to bend twice like a snake. Tobin noticed this too, and immediately began to breathe often, like a horse when the saddle is removed from it. He went straight to this guy, and I went with him.

“Good evening to you,” Tobin says to the hooknose.

He takes the cigar out of his mouth and answers Tobin just as politely.

Tell me, what's your name? - continues Tobin. - Is it very long or not? Maybe duty tells us to get to know you.

My name is, - the type answers politely, - Friedönhausman. Maximus G. Friedenhausmann.

The length is right, says Tobin. - And how do you spell it, is there a letter "O" in it somewhere in the middle?

No, - the type answers him.

But all the same, is it possible to write it with the letter "O"? Tobin asks again with concern in his voice.

If you are sick of a foreign language spelling, says the nosy, you can, perhaps, instead of "a" stick "o" in the third syllable of my surname.

Then it's okay, ”Tobin says. “This is John Malone and Daniel Tobin.

I'm very flattered, ”the lanky says and bows. “Now, since I’m not in a position to understand why you raised the issue of spelling on the street corner, can you explain to me why you’re free?”

According to two signs, - this Tobin tries to explain to him, - which you both have, you, as the fortuneteller predicted on the sole of my hand, should give me my happiness and finish off all those lines of trouble, starting with the black man and the blonde who was sitting on the steamer legs crossed, and then another financial loss - one dollar and sixty-five cents. And while everything came together, right on schedule.

The lanky one stopped smoking and looked at me.

Can you make any amendments to this statement? he asks. - Or are you one of the same? Judging by your appearance, I thought that you were his watchman.

No, that's how it is, I say. - The thing is that as one horseshoe is similar to another, so you are an exact copy of that supplier of luck, about which my friend was guessed by hand. If you’re not the one, then maybe the lines on Danny’s hand crossed somehow awkwardly, I don’t know.

So there are two of you, - says the hook-nosed one, looking to see if there is a policeman nearby. - It was very, very nice to meet you. Good luck.

And then he again puts a cigar in his mouth and moves with a quick gait across the street. But Tobin and I are not lagging behind, - Tobin hugs him from one side, and I - from the other.

How! says the lanky, stopping on the opposite sidewalk and pushing his hat to the back of his head. - Are you following me? I told you, ”he says very loudly,“ I am delighted to meet you, but now I’m not averse to saying goodbye. I'm in a hurry to my home.

Hurry, says Tobin, pressing against his sleeve, hurry to your home. And I will sit at your doorstep and wait until you leave the house in the morning. Because it depends on you, you are supposed to remove all the curses - and the negrito, and the blonde, and financial losses - one dollar sixty-five cents.

Strange delirium, - the hook-nosed one refers to me as to a more reasonable psycho. - Shouldn't you take him where he is supposed to?

Listen, I tell him. “Daniel Tobin is sane. Maybe he was a little worried - he drank enough to get worried, but not enough to calm down. But he does nothing bad, he just acts in accordance with his superstitions and predictions, about which I will now explain to you.

And then I tell him the facts about the fortuneteller and that the finger of suspicion points to him as a messenger of fate, to hand Tobin good luck.

Now you understand, - I conclude, - what is my share in this whole story? I am a friend of my friend Tobin, as I understand it. It is not difficult to be a friend of the lucky one, it is beneficial. And it is not difficult to be a friend of a poor man - then they will exalt you to heaven, they will also print a portrait, as you stand near his house - with one hand you hold the hand of an orphan, and in the other you have a scoop of coal. But a lot has to endure for those who are friends with a complete fool. And this is what I got, - I say, - because, in my opinion, you cannot read another fate on your palm, except for the one that the handle of the pickaxe imprinted on you. And although you may have such a hooked nose, which you will not find in all of New York, I somehow do not think that all fortune tellers and fortunetellers together managed to milk a drop of luck out of you. But the lines on Danny's arm do point to you, and I will help him siphon good luck out of you until he is sure that nothing can be squeezed out of you.

Then the lanky man suddenly began to laugh. Leaned against the corner of the house and know he laughs. Then he slaps us on the back, me and Tobin, and takes both of us by the arms.

My, my mistake, he says. - But did I dare to expect that something so wonderful and wonderful would suddenly fall on me? I almost missed, almost gave a blunder. There is a cafe nearby, - he says, - cozy and just right to have fun with eccentricities. Let's go there and have a drink while we discuss the absence of the unconditional.

So while talking, he took us, me and Tobin, to the back room of the saloon, ordered a drink and put the money on the table. He looks at me and Tobin as his siblings and gives us cigars.

I must tell you, says this messenger of fate, that my profession is called literature. I wander at night, tracking down eccentricities in people and truth in the heavens. When you approached me, I observed the connection of the elevated road with the main night star. The rapid movement of the elevated train is poetry and art. And the moon is a boring, lifeless body, spinning meaninglessly. But this is my personal opinion, because in literature everything is not so, everything is topsy-turvy. I hope to write a book in which I want to reveal the strange things that I have noticed in my life.

You put me in the book, ”Tobin says in disgust. - Will you insert me into your book?

No, - says the literary type, - the cover will not stand. Not yet, early. So far, I can only enjoy myself, for the time has not come yet to abolish the restrictions of printing. You will look incredible, fantastic. I am alone, alone with myself, must drink this cup of pleasure. Thank you guys, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

From your conversation, ”says Tobin, breathing noisily through his mustache, and bangs his fist on the table,“ from your conversation, just look at it, my patience will run out. I was promised good luck through your hooked nose, but it benefits, I see, like a goat of milk. You, with your trepidation about books, are like the wind blowing through the crack. I would have thought that the palm of my hand was lying if everything else had not worked out according to the fortune teller - the negrito, and the blonde, and ...

Well, well, says this hook-nosed bruiser. - Is physiognomy capable of misleading you? My nose will do everything in its power. Let's refill the glasses, it is good to keep eccentricities wet, in a dry moral atmosphere they can be spoiled.

In my opinion, this guy acts in an amicable way - he pays for everything and does it cheerfully, willingly - after all, our capital, mine and Tobin's, vanished according to the prophecy. But Tobin, resentful, drinks in silence, and his eyes are bloodshot.

Soon we got out, it was already eleven o'clock, we stood a little on the sidewalk. And then the hook-nosed one says that it is time for him to go home. And he invites me and Tobin to her place. After a couple of blocks we reach a side street with brick houses, each with a high porch and an iron grating. The lanky man approaches one such house, looks at the windows of the upper floor, sees that they are dark.

This is my humble abode, ”he says. - And by some signs I conclude that my wife has already gone to bed. So I dare to hospitality to you. I want you to come downstairs to the kitchen and have a little refreshment. There is excellent cold chicken, cheese, and a couple of bottles of beer. I am indebted to you for this pleasure.

Both Tobin and I’s appetites and mood fit this plan, although it was a blow for Danny: it was hard for him to think that a few glasses of booze and a cold dinner meant good luck and happiness promised by the palm of his hand.

Go down to the back door, says the hook-nosed one, and I'll come in here and let you in. I'm going to ask our new servant to brew your coffee - for a girl who has just arrived in New York three months ago, Katie Mahorner is a great coffee maker. Come in, - he says, - I will send it to you now.

Cosmopolitan in a cafe
(Translated by L. Kanevsky)

By midnight, the café was packed with visitors. By a lucky coincidence, my small table did not attract the attention of those who entered, and two empty chairs with venal hospitality stretched out their arms-armrests towards the stream pouring into the cafe, where their future owners could be found.

But then some cosmopolitan sat down on one chair, and I was terribly happy about this, because I never shared the theory that since the time of Adam there has been no real citizen of the world on earth. We only hear about them, see foreign stickers on their suitcases, but still they are not cosmopolitan at all, but ordinary travelers.

I ask you to pay attention to the furnishings - tables with marble lids, a row of leather-covered seats along the wall, ladies in beautiful semi-secular toilets, an almost visibly felt chorus of exquisite phrases, about fine taste, about economy, about wealth or art, zealous, loving generous tips. music satisfying all tastes from swoops on the compositions of various musicians, conversations interrupted by laughter, and in addition a "wurburger" in a tall conical glass that clings to your lips, and the seasoned "cherry" flows down a slope to the beak-like nose of the chatty the robber. One sculptor from Mauch Chank told me that this is a typical Parisian atmosphere.

My cosmopolitan name was E. Rushmore Coglan, and he will be heard from next week on Coney Island. There he is going to open a new "attraction", which, as he promised me, will provide everyone with entertainment worthy of a king. Now his conversation was about earthly longitudes and latitudes. He imagined that he was holding this huge globe in his hands, and he treated it, one might say, very familiar, even contemptuous, although he was not at all larger than a bone he had fished out of a Cherry Maraschino, or a grapefruit on a table d'hôte for boarders. He spoke without any respect about the equator, flew from one continent to another, made fun of some places and dabbed the ocean with his napkin. Waving casually, he talked about a bazaar in Hyderabad.

Oh, how great! Here you are skiing with him in Lapland. Zipper! Here you soar on high waves with the kanakans at Kilaikaiki. Gopla! Here he drags you along an oak pole through a swamp in Arkansas, lets you dry out a little on the salt flat of his ranch in Idaho, and hurls you into the exquisite society of Viennese archdukes.

He will tell you about what a bad cold he caught in the wind of a cold lake in Chicago, and how he was cured in Buenos Aires by old woman Escamila with a hot poultice of chuchula algae. If you want to write to him, then write the following address on the envelope: “E. Rushmore Coglan, Esq., Earth, Solar System, Universe ", send it boldly by mail and you can be calm - it will certainly reach the addressee.

I was sure that, at last, I managed to find a real cosmopolitan from the time of Adam, and listened to his speech embracing the whole world, fearing to hear in him a banal note of a person who was just traveling the world. Nothing like this! The unbending firmness of his opinions could not be shaken even by his desire to flatter or please something - no, he was absolutely impartial to all cities, countries and continents, as impartial as the wind or gravity.

And when E. Rushmore Coglan continued to chat with enthusiasm about this small planet, I thought with admiration - about the great almost - cosmopolitan who wrote for the whole world and who devoted himself to Bombay. In his poem, he argues that pride and rivalry reign between cities on earth and that "those people who have tasted their mother's milk travel all over the world, but still cling to these cities, like a toddler to the hem of a mother's dress." And when they "wander through unfamiliar streets," they remember their hometown, "remain faithful to it, their stupid love" and only "the pronounced name of it becomes for them another promissory note attached to others." And my delight reached its limit when I noticed that Mr. Kipling was resting. Here in front of me is a man who was not created from dust, who does not boast of his place of birth or his country as if he were blinkered, a man who, if he wants to boast, will do it in relation to the entire globe in order to annoy the Martians or the inhabitants of the Moon.

Expressions of this kind flew out of the mouth of E. Rushmore Coghlan and flew to the farthest corner. When Koglan was describing the topography of the area along the Great Siberian Railway to me, the orchestra played a potpourri. The final part was Dixieland "Southern States"; when a cheerful, disturbing melody spread through the cafe, loud applause from almost everyone sitting at the tables drowned it out.

It is worth noting in passing that such wonderful scenes can be seen every evening in the many cafes of New York. Tons of beer and other beverages were drunk while discussing theories that might explain this phenomenon. Some have suggested, somewhat prematurely, that southerners living in the city rush to cafes at nightfall. The applause's endorsement of the rebellious "southern atmosphere in this northern city" is somewhat puzzling. But there is nothing mysterious about this. The war with Spain, big harvests for several years in a row of mint and watermelons, several brilliant victories won in New Orleans at the races, lavish banquets hosted by the residents of Indiana and Kansas, members of the Society of Friends of North Carolina, have really turned the south into a madness in Manhattan. Your manicure will tell her that your index finger on your left hand reminds her of a gentleman from Richmond, Virginia.

As the band played Southern States, a young black-haired man jumped out of nowhere and, with a wild cry from the Mosby tribe, frantically waved his soft brimmed hat. Then, plowing through the veil of smoke, he plopped down on an empty chair at our table and took out a pack of cigarettes.

The evening was approaching the stage when restraint was melting more and more noticeably. One of us ordered three Wurzburgers from the waiter; the black-haired man expressed his gratitude for his share of the order with a smile and a nod of his head. I hastened to ask him a question, as I really wanted to confirm the correctness of my theory.

Can you tell us where you are from, ”I began.

E. Rushmore Koghlan's heavy fist sank down on the table with a crash, and I shut up.

I beg your pardon, ”he said,“ but I don’t like to be asked such questions. What difference does it make where the person comes from? Is it possible to judge a person by the address written on the envelope of his letter? For example, I saw Kentucky who hated whiskey, Virginians who never came down from Pocohontas, Indians who did not write a single novel, Mexicans who did not wear corduroy pants with silver dollars sewn into their seams, funny Englishmen, mean guys Yankees, cold-blooded southerners, narrow-minded Westerners and New Yorkers who were in a great hurry somewhere and could not afford to stand for an hour on the street to watch a one-armed clerk in a grocery store lays out cranberries in paper bags. Let a person be a person, that's all, and there is no need to put him in an awkward position, stick some kind of label on him.

I beg your pardon, ”I said,“ but my curiosity is not so empty. I know the South, and when a jazz band plays the Southern States, I love to watch what is happening around. I have a strong impression that if a person claps their hands as hard as they can to this tune and thus demonstrates their bias, then they are either a native of Seacocus, New Jersey, or the area between Murray Hill Lyciam and Harlem River. in this city. I only wanted to confirm the correctness of my observation by asking this gentleman when you interrupted me with your own theory, much, it is true, more extensive than mine, I must admit it.

Now the black-haired man was talking to me, and it became clear to me that his thought was flowing along very intricate convolutions.

I would like to be a periwinkle, - he said with a kind of mysterious air, - to grow on the top of the valley and sing "tu-ralu-ra-lu ...".

It was very vague, and I turned to Koglan again.

I've traveled the entire globe twelve times, ”he said. “I know an Eskimo in Apernavia who sends orders for ties in Cincinnati, I saw a cattleman in Uruguay who won a prize in a food guessing competition for a Greek warrior at breakfast. I pay for the rooms I rent, one in Cairo, Egypt, and another in Yokohama, I cry all year round, and my slippers are waiting for me in a teahouse in Shanghai, and I don't need to explain in Rio de Janeiro or Seattle, how to cook eggs for me. Our world is so small, so old. Why brag that you are from the North, or South, from an old mansion in the valley, or live on Euclid Avenue, in Cleveland, or at the peak of a mountain range, or in Fox County, Virginia, or in the Bully Flats. , in general, anywhere? When will we finally give up this nonsense and not go crazy over some humble town or ten acres of wetland just because we were lucky enough to be born there?

You seem to be an ordinary cosmopolitan, ”I said admiringly,“ but you seem to openly condemn patriotism.

A relic of the Stone Age, - Koglan said benignly. - We are all brothers - Chinese, English, Zulu, Patagonians, those people who live in the bend of the Cau river. One day all this pride about our cities, states, districts, sections or countries will be eradicated, and we will all become citizens of the world, as it should be.

But when you wander in foreign lands, - I continued to bend mine, - do not you return in your thoughts to some place, so dear and ...

What a place there! - E. R. Koglan interrupted me sharply. - The earthly globular planetary mass, slightly flattened at the poles, known as the Earth, is my refuge. Abroad, I met many citizens of this country, strongly attached to their native places. I heard Chicagoans, riding in a gondola through moonlit Venice at night, bragging about their drainage channel. I saw one southerner who, when he was introduced to the English king, without batting an eye, gave him such valuable information - they say that his maternal great-grandmother was by marriage a relative of the Perkis from Charleston. I knew a New Yorker who was captured by Afghan bandits and demanded a ransom for him. His relatives collected the money and he returned to Kabul with an agent. Can you talk about Afghanistan? - they asked him at home. “I don’t know what to tell… and instead of what happened to him, he began to talk about some taxi driver from Sixth Avenue and Broadway. No, such ideas do not interest me. I am not attached to anything less than eight thousand miles in diameter. Just call me E. Rushmore Coglan, a citizen of the globe.

My cosmopolitan ceremoniously said goodbye to me, as it seemed to him that he saw his acquaintance in this mess through the thick curtain of cigarette smoke. Thus, I was left alone with a possible periwinkle, whom a glass of "Wützberger" deprived of the desire to spread further about my desire to hang out comfortably on some summit in the valley. I sat thinking about my so convincing, flamboyant cosmopolitan, and honestly wondered how some poet had overlooked him.

He was my discovery, and I believed in him. Like this? "Those people who have tasted their mother's milk in their cities travel all over the world, but still cling to these cities, like a toddler to the hem of a mother's dress." No, E.R. Koglan is not like that. The whole world is at his disposal ...

Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by some roar and scandal that arose in another corner of the cafe. Through the heads of those sitting at the tables, I saw E. Rushmore Coglan starting a terrible fight with a stranger. They fought between the tables like titans, and the glasses fell to the floor and shattered loudly, they knocked the men off their feet, and they caught the hats that flew from their heads; some brunette screeched wildly, the blonde began to hum "How tempting it all is."

My cosmopolitan bravely defended his pride and Earth's reputation. The waiters went with the famous "wedge" on the fighters and began to press them, but they still fiercely resisted.

I called McCarthy, one of the French Garcon, and asked him what the cause of the conflict was.

The man with the red tie (this was my cosmopolitan) became very angry because his interlocutor spoke ill of the bums who staggered on the sidewalks and the poor water supply of the city in which he was born.

It can't be, - I was surprised. - After all, he is an inveterate cosmopolitan, a citizen of the world. He…

He was born in Mattavamkegi, Maine, McCarthy continued, and could not bear the insulting comment on his hometown!
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Copyright: stories ABOUT HENRY

"Gifts of the Magi"

Della really wants to surprise spouse Jim with a nice Christmas present. But the poor woman has almost no money left. Preparation for the celebration requires a minimum set of products on the table. Della tries to bargain an extra cent from the grocer and other merchants. The prices of goods turn out to be quite high for a woman with an almost empty wallet. Save only a dollar and eighty-five cents.

Jim and Della's extremely poor furnished apartment boasts only two treasures. Jim brought here his gold watch, which is in stark contrast to his squalid decoration. Della is famous for her thick magnificent hair, the sheen of which distracts the eyes of the interlocutor from her modest dress.

Della decides to cut her hair and sell it for $ 20. The woman is very worried that her husband may not approve of her new hairstyle. But the choice had already been made. Della has no regrets about the lost golden curls. With the proceeds, she buys a chain for her husband's precious watch.

Jim had to recover for a long time after seeing Della's new look. A man could never stop loving her, because he appreciated more than anything in the world. The hairstyle of his beloved woman, unusual to her husband's gaze, made him embarrassed for only one reason. He was going to decorate his wife's beautiful braids for the holiday with the help of his gift. He gave Delle a tortoiseshell comb studded with precious stones. His wife has long dreamed of such an ornament. Della accepted the wonderful gift of her husband, and immediately tenderly gave him her wonderful gift. But the spouses also had to postpone the watch chain until better times, because Jim pawned his gold watch for the sake of the comb to his wife.

The wise wise men stipulated that gifts could be exchanged if they were found to be unusable. Their ingenuity and generosity are admired to this day. Loving spouses demonstrated even deeper wisdom by giving up their most intimate wealth for the happiness of their beloved. They did not regret their actions at all, because they tried to bring joy to a loved one, which is much more valuable than any gift.

Essays

Della's monologue "Gifts of the Magi" (composition review)