«На английском, пожалуйста». Рассказы студентов к Новому году и Рождеству

В преддверии наступления Нового года и Рождества в группах английского языка Ирины Всеволодовны Соколовой и Ярославы Юрьевны Муратовой был проведен конкурс англоязычного рассказа на новогоднюю и рождественскую тематику. Ниже предлагается по два рассказа от каждой группы, выбранные самими студентами и одобренные преподавателями. В творческих работах видна не только индивидуальная манера каждого автора, но и общее направление обучения в каждой группе: тяготение к южноамериканской готике, в одном случае, и обращение к традиции английской литературы в другом. Желаем приятного чтения!

# 1 / Группа доц. Я.Ю. Муратовой

A Miracle for the Knight

by David Arutunian

I don't remember the year when it happened, but it was the 25th of December. My friend Charlie and I had finished the long adventure. We had met evil kings and put down their despotic reign; we confronted the Golden Dragon, that had been securing the mount of treasures; we served one lovely princess, and her kingdom became our home for a while.

But then our adventures ended. I invited my friend to celebrate Christmas. And he came to my castle! It was a great day: I introduced Charlie to my family, we were eating a lot and playing board games (my favourite is "Dungeon and Dragons"). After the feast came the time for presents. "My dear friend Charlie", I began, "our adventure was incredibly hard. It appears that I couldn't have completed it without you, so I'm really grateful to you! You are brave, strong and loyal. I'd like to give you this golden helmet. Merry Christmas!"

Now, I have to remind that both of us had always been in armour, so we hadn't seen each other’s face. During the celebration we were in armour too. "Oh, this is the best present I could have! Thank you!", said my friend. I said that he could put it on. "But firstly", asked my friend, "what do you desire for next year?" I fell in thoughts. "Family", said I finally.

And then a miracle blessed me. My friend took off his helmet and I saw...a maiden! I saw a beautiful maiden with red curly hair and her eyes blue like an ocean! Her skin was white, her cheeks were turning red. "She is a maiden!!!", shouted everybody. "But how could I oversee this?!", I was struck. "I thought you wouldn't have taken me with you if I had told you my real name, so I'd lied to you a little bit ", she said timidly. "Also my voice had been muffled by the helmet, so you couldn’t have identified me as a woman."

I couldn’t say anything. She was afraid of saying that she was a maiden, but she was brave enough to fight with the dragon. "Sorry for that, James", Charlie said, "I should have confessed." But I wasn’t angry. "Thank you, Lord, I’ve found my treasure today, at your birthday! Dear Charlie, let’s dance the waltz!" And we were dancing, and the snow was falling.

Oliver’s Twist

by Dasha Doroganova

Little Oliver was a miserable boy. Despite his age, he already knew that life was full of cruelty, suffering and hopelessness. He was walking down the streets, which were decorated for Christmas, but nothing in his small mind felt at least a bit fascinating. All those lights, candles, mistletoes, garlands and Christmas trees only made him annoyed. When Oliver heard some merry talks of children and parents and their happy laughter, or saw their faces full of love towards each other, or witnessed how people were telling "Merry Christmas!" to each other, he wanted to close his eyes and ears and hide in some small dark place where no one would be able to find him. He hated the happiness of other people because he envied it.

His family was very poor. His mother worked on a garment factory. It was a low-paid job, but at least it was something, because Oliver's father was just a drunkard. His parents disliked each other, but on Christmas they somehow could find a relief in each other and in alcohol, and Oliver hated to see how his mother, usually tired but kind and gentle, transformed into a loud and flighty woman. So he usually just let his parents be together in such days and went outside for a walk.

His clothes were worn and dilapidated, so gradually Oliver began to feel how his fingers and toes started to freeze and his body started to feel numb. "Oh, how I wish I were at home now, sitting in front of the fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate!", thought poor Oliver. Warmth, indeed, was something that he missed. Not only physical, but also the warmth of words and kindness. In fact, no one ever was kind to him. "Kindness is for the children of rich people. We can only afford to live in rudeness," his father once told him, and he remembered it very well.

Being deep in his thoughts, too gloomy and adult for his age, Oliver turned from the corner of the building, richly decorated with colourful lights and suddenly bumped into a tall gentleman who was smoking not far from the entrance.

"I'm sorry, sir", said Oliver politely in a weak and hoarse tone.

The gentleman looked at him with a subtle interest in his eyes. He stubbed out his cigarette and tilted his head. His eyes carefully observed Oliver's poor clothes.

"It is nothing", said the gentleman. "Why are you here alone at such an hour, lad? Shouldn't you be with your parents?"

Oliver frowned. He turned his back to the gentleman, ready to run away from the awkward silence and inconvenient questions. But he was stopped by the calm low voice.

"I see, I see. Don't run away."

Something in this tone seemed very soothing to Oliver, so he turned back, not daring to raise his head. The gentleman put his big slender hand on the head of the boy, ruffling his hair with gentle caress. Oliver shivered and looked up. The gentleman smiled.

"You're an unhappy boy, I see", the gentleman nodded his head towards the decorated building. "There are a lot of children there, boys and girls. Do you want to spend this night with them?"

Oliver looked at him in disbelief. Is it some kind of a mock? He never celebrated the Christmas, especially with other, obviously rich, children. As it seems, all of his worries and uncertainties were written across his face, so the gentleman smiled again.

"Do not think about anything. Allow yourself to have fun a bit. You need it".

The door opened, and Oliver heard the happy laughter of the serene children, and for the first time he didn't consider it as something annoying. With a light heart, Oliver nodded and carefully entered the building. With a subtle smile, the gentleman followed him inside.

A bright star lit up in the sky.

# 2 / Группа доц. И.В. Соколовой

Carol of the Bells

by Ilya Shustrov

Andrew's parents passed away when he was twelve. Andrew wept his heart out  while  his relatives and family friends stroked his hair trying to calm him down:

“Poor child!”  But Andrew would not stop crying.

He was parented by his grandfather, his Mom's father. The boy had never seen him before. Andrew's grandmother divorced her husband before the birth of their daughter. At their first meeting, Grandfather seemed too big and weird to the boy – he looked like a huge pear.

Andrew and Grandfather lived in isolation, sullen and bored. They didn't have much in common, had no fun, and  Andrew kept crying non-stop. This time it was not grieving for his parents, he was sad because instead of mom's care and dad's jokes, he would have to deal with his Grandfather and his celery salads. To be fair, Grandfather wasn’t too strict, he gave Andrew almost complete freedom of action, but he was so self-withdrawn that the boy went crazy with loneliness.

The situation was also overshadowed by the fact that Andrew moved from a big city to a small town, where Grandfather had been living since the divorce. Now, instead of spending time with his friends, skateboarding in the park, skiing downhill and such, Andrew was to stay at home in idleness. He hasn't made any friends yet.  There was no way he would - Andrew had not started a new school yet.

Meanwhile, the New Year passed. It was celebrated by the grandfather and grandson in the usual bleak manner, but with glimpses of joy. Grandfather gave Andrew a game console, saying that now at least he would not be so lonely. There was no special celebration, as if the New Year’s Day meant nothing to Grandpa. Andrew was all the more surprised when, on Christmas Day, the house suddenly smelled of turkey, decorations appeared all around, and a smile shone on the old man's face.

For the first time since his arrival, the boy felt good: his Grandfather laughed in the evening and told jokes and life stories. Andrew was laughing too, he almost forgot the three previous weeks. Then, after an incredibly witty joke and another fit of laughter, Grandpa suddenly was deep in thought. He looked out the window: there, in a gap between the clouds, a bright dot shone, right above the high bell tower of the church, which stood right in front of the house.

Andrew decided to ask a question.

“Grandpa, why are you so happy today?”

Grandpa was silent for a while, and then he spoke:

“In my childhood I loved the Christmas melody, "Carol of the bells", but I had no idea what the name of the song meant. For some reason I thought Carol was a name, not an abbreviation for Caroline, but an American version of the male name Carl. Well, that is, Carol is a bell ringer, a man.

And in my childhood I imagined he was my elder brother. At Christmas, I thought about him ringing the bells, well, you know, "ta-ta-ti-ta, ta-ta-ti-ta"… So handsome, disheveled brown hair, a smile on his face…

When your grandmother and I divorced I moved here. I was very lonely. I spent the whole autumn on my own. As well as December. And then Christmas came. I remember that day so well.

I bought a bottle of port and, on my way home, met the abbot of that church. He was cleaning snow from the porch. We had a little chat. I never really believed in God, at least I didn't go to church. I asked the abbot about the bell tower and if they had a bell ringer. The priest said yes, they had one.

In the evening there were festivities in the town, but I was at home, just drinking. The service ended, and the church was empty. And then I saw a light on the bell tower.

There was a small room right under the bell, I noticed it before. I looked closer and saw a lonely silhouette at the table of this little room. At that moment I realized that I had not heard the bells that evening.

I don't know why, but I decided to break my loneliness, left the house and headed to the bell tower. I went up the stairs, found myself in front of the door and knocked. And he opened the door to me.

God, it was him. Exactly as in my imagination. Carol of the bells. He was wearing a baggy linen shirt, which, however, did not hide his sturdy physique. Broad-shouldered, strong, but at the same time so fragile, disheveled brown hair, sad gray eyes. Carol.

 We shook hands and he invited me to celebrate Christmas with him without further ado.

There was a small stove in his room, and on it there stood a huge pot with something that smelled delicious.  I was surprised that such an enormous pot had not fallen off. Wondering how Carol could plan to eat it all by himself, I asked if he was waiting for someone. He smiled and answered ambiguously “Maybe…”

Carol was seventeen. He got to the bell tower at twelve. The boy was homeless, wandering along the street, and then warmed by the bell ringer of that time. The latter taught him how to ring, made a room for him. When the bell ringer died Carol took his place. Abbot didn't mind. I asked him why he hadn't rung today, and he replied that it had not been time yet.

An hour later, when it was getting close to midnight, I completely tired of waiting and was about to leave. But suddenly there was a knock on the door. A boy of about fifteen came in, covered in some kind of dirty rags. Carol grunted and reached for a plate. It was only then that I noticed a huge stack of plates in the corner.

Carol served the boy food from the pot, I smelled its aroma and, although I was full (Carol and I had dined on poultry, washing it down with port), I was hungry again. Carol patted the boy on the head and he happily ran down with a plate.

Surprised I asked,  who that boy was. But then I heard a knock on the door again, and another boy entered. The street boys came in droves, and Carol gave everyone a plate of his magic stew, which seemed to be never ending, although the number of boys had already exceeded thirty, I lost count on the thirty-sixth.

Homeless children came in, and then ran downstairs. I looked out the window and saw that they were all in the yard, some  playing snowballs, some eating, or finishing up and running to play. Children's laughter, so magical and ringing like bells…

Carol apologized and said he needed to work. We shook hands and parted. Having already gone out into the snow and passed by the angels, who did not even seem to notice me, I suddenly turned around and froze, seeing the long-awaited miracle.

Carol stood under the bells and held on to the ropes, straightening his broad, stocky shoulders. His baggy shirt stretched over his strained muscles, and the wind blew his disheveled hair. Carol exhaled and rang.

Ta-ta-ti-ta, ta-ta-ti-ta…”

Andrew was silent.

“Grandpa, did you see him afterwards?”

“I didn't go there afterwards”

"Was his name really Carol?"

“Of course not. I didn't even ask his name”

“And now? Does he still ring the bells at Christmas?”

Grandpa looked at his watch and smiled. Only then Andrew heard children's laughter coming from the courtyard, and after it ... ta-ta-ti-ta, ta-ta-ti-ta ... Looking closer, the boy saw a silhouette on the bell tower. It was a young man, about seventeen years old. Grandpa whispered softly:

“He hasn't even aged…”

Can Elves Get Presents?

by Lisa Laskavaya

Once upon a time in the Christmas Land there lived a little Elf. He was one of the tiny elves, who worked at the Gifts Factory. All the presents from that factory were given to kids by Santa Claus. Children were having wonderful time: plenty of gifts, family gatherings, decorations all around. It was really Merry Christmas for them, they were happy. But… what about elves? That was the question, that little Elf asked himself one day.

He never thought about this before… But during the long-long time, that he worked on the Gift’s Factory, he never received any presents. Santa Claus usually brought them for kids, but not for elves. Tiny inhabitants of the Christmas Land were thinking only of their work, not about presents. It was just our little Elf , who thought about it, and he suddenly felt a little sad.

It was snowing outside the Gifts Factory. And looking out the window the little Elf remembered how hard his relatives worked to produce presents for the kids to make them happy. But who would do the same for elves? Was it fair?

“No…” – thought the little Elf  – “There must be a Gifts Factory, that makes presents specially for elves!

At that moment the Elf heard a barely audible knock-knock on the window glass. He turned his head and saw… A GOBLIN! A green girl with a long sharp nose. She was in a red suit, she wore a hat and carried a big bag on her back! The Goblin-girl smiled, opened the window and jumped into the empty factory. The little Elf almost screamed, but the Goblin-girl said “Shoosh! I've got a  present for you… I've been watching you for a long time. And the whole year you behaved really well, you were kind and hardworking. You deserve a gift.” “Wait.” – said the little Elf – “How could you watch me? You, goblins, live in the Halloween Land?” “Heh” – laughed the Goblin-girl– “I was curious to know how different creatures around the world live. And I found out that the situation  in your land is totally unfair! You, elves, are always working so hard and what do you get? Nothing! So ungrateful. I want to change it. Take this little present, it's specially for you. The Goblin-girl took a little box out of her pocket and gave it to the little Elf. His eyes blinked in happiness and surprise! He was ready to open the box, but then stopped. “Hurry up!” the Goblin-girl exclaimed.  “I don’t want other elves to see me…” “Wait… Where does this present come from?” the Elf asked, “I took it away from the kids!” the girl answered, “I really scared them and they handed me their gifts, heh-heh, that was so easy, believe me”. “But… Why?” Little Elf was in doubt. “Ha? What do you mean “Why”? To make you happy, of course! “Sorry… But that’s not good. Please, give it back to the children!” “Are you crazy? Didn't you dream of a Christmas present?” “That’s not my present. I can’t take it.” “So what are you going to do?” “I’ll wait for a gift from the Gifts Factory for elves”. “Ha-ha! That factory doesn’t exist! Nobody makes presents for elves!” The Goblin-girl laughed nervously. Our little Elf fell silent… And then he said: “I can’t take happiness from others. Gifts aren't the main point of Christmas”. “Then what is?” “To give happiness to  others. I am Elf and that’s my input to Christmas celebration”. The Goblin-girl was confused, “So what should I do?”, she asked. “Give this present back to the kids you took it from,”  he answered.

And the Goblin-girl did exactly as he said. Children got their presents, and Merry Christmas started for them. Little Elf was on cloud nine. He knew now that happiness for kids is receiving presents, while for elves it is making them.

And that Christmas, he made a special present for the Goblin- girl. It was a big pumpkin-gingerbread-man.