THE THREAD OF MARY
Poleschuk Maria D.
Weaver Silk Factory in Moscow named Shcherbakov, Hero of Socialist Labor
Flying day after day. Day after day, between the rows of stretched fibers shoot through chelnochki. Increasing, silky otsvechivaya, cloth. Turn, wound - piling up, as if swollen, heavy rolls: born tissue.
"Oh, he fell silent again! .." Maria Dmitrievna restraint, no showing of annoyance and irritation, is the seventeenth-long, as the holiday table. Even passing the sixteenth, sees broken weft thread, the one that lies between the warp threads, across the fabric. R-time r-times and ... times. The thread is primed, the wound, filled. Pressure on the handle-grogh, grogh, revived the course of the machine.
No, and her familiar, priterpevsheysya, pritersheysya, but sometimes recourse to protective headphones, this roar does not seem sweet music. And yet ... All the same! At once easier on the soul. "Go, baby! Come on! Pa-Acheulian ... "She holds her hand tight clean face cloth. Good surface. What do you want, what you want to do. Want necks-so-wear. Want-to give color, apply any image. Dress up young women, and those who are not so hot young women, though, in Tula, at least in Barnaul, Moscow, on virgin soil at BAM and in Amsterdam. Gift, whether that mark of quality approved fabric for women's dresses and suits, "Silver", "Pop," "Theatre", "Oles", "Evening", "Suzdal" tie cloth? Full-full box of the capital's Silk Factory named after P. Shcherbakov, and customers-and their own, domestic and foreign, all are asking all require: even give more, more. Just keep up.
Steady-growing tissue. However, only closer, notice how the cloth is moving. Just something to trimeter per hour. The machine two sheets. So, out of six meters. To these six yards woven, stretched across a frame eleven thousand two hundred two warp-five-foot strips. Thousands and thousands of times to pierce with a weft thread chelnochki zevnoe space between the rows of the base to weave fabrics were six meters. Multiply eleven thousand two hundred nineteen strands machines, add the weft threads ...
Let! What these long computations?-A to the fact that each of the two hundred and twelve thousand eight hundred strands entrusted to Maria Dmitrievna Poleshchuk, at any moment might break. Since the time of the mythical Ariadne and there was no tear-resistant fibers. This is only a dream of all the weavers and the weavers. It may, of course, invent something else, but for now ...
Six meters per hour. That is, if the machine is working, if rumbles. And if you stopped? Time is inexorable and incorruptible, like arithmetic: the machine works-plus millimeters, centimeters, meters, stop, every minute, every second makes a deduction. Where is it justice, at the time? How to cope with them, get along? How do they learn? As his bridle, harness, make plyusovat, plyusovat, plyusovat? ..
Maria D. inspects four rows of machines, well-lit ceiling lamps. So-o ... Five, five, five, four. In this series, all the work. In the eighth on preventative maintenance. This, at last, recharging base. In the thirteenth silent. "Oh, the thirteenth, thirteenth! Not for nothing, apparently, you're the thirteenth? "It is easy walking in soft slippers, returns to the" disease ". Already up to him like a shot behind him, listening to the background of a general strike and the thunder of silence. "That's right! Again the seventeenth. "
This time warp thread broke. Where? Which one? Go find, understand here, the plain-cloths of the eleven-odd thousand threads! Aha! Can not hide from us. Come on, come on! Here we'll lengthen, tie, prodenem, we modify the hook. So, so, ta-ak. "Go, baby! Come on, do not miss your chance, get on! "And five of" illness ", the" teeth "of their pain, to the thirteenth. Soon as the cost per hour, almost from the beginning the shift. Maria Dmitrievna did not. complains, but tuck under the arm, would give you a ringing, friends, and pass out razzyavy prep. No honor, no pride! Thousands of warp yarns, each a kilometer long with a hook-coil wound on a giant's beam-casually, carelessly. So extreme strand hopelessly messed up. We have to cut and tie instead of emergency thread spools.
Engaged in the thirteenth is possible only in his spare time. And where is it? Where from? Look yeah look at the rest. That here and there umolknet. Only three strings tied to the bobbin, cotton was quiet, the eleventh. Coped silent-third. When you come back now to the thirteenth? Oh, let it quickly be! .. Quietly, slowly, thoroughly, sub-rule will clarify the thread, put a new reel, tied its beginning to the end of the thread that is about to end. Laughed enough: just right ripened, would not be in vain to stop. But it took a step back to the "disease", the ninth-metering. It is impossible to stand. It is impossible for the soul out of you over there! Work! Otherwise, why would it take for 19 machines?
Nineteen machines ... Nine hundred and twelve meters per shift. This is the designed capacity, technical capability, ideal. So many have never been and never will be. It would not be? Wait a minute. Let's see, count up. Of course, entitled to disconnect machines, when you leave for dinner. And if you go, without turning off? Well nothing will happen: if the thread terminates, automatic stop, that's all. But twenty minutes more complex. Take advantage of new technology and a shift nabezhit not forty-eight, and all fifty meters. This is on one machine, go to the trouble-free. And if all the machines that?
Fight time! Fight him, fight. Drive machines, each and all at once. Do not let them sit. Is this all: the enthusiasm to compete with friends, neighbors - come on, who wins? - And qualified support for engineering, and modern organization of the workplace, and generous ingenuity, invention, skill, prudence. There is a science-based routes Maria's from the machine to the machine with the maximum benefit with minimal difficulty. And I must say, she goes on these routes, they can help her. Yes, but that's the rub: it breaks, do not conform with the routes, then the nineteenth, in the first. How many miles have to leg it for a change? Try to Calculate! And day to day does not have: that everything is running smoothly, how to start ... However, experts believe that otshagivaet fifteen kilometers from the machine to the machine. A good "walk", do not say anything.
Latest machines are working fine, but how naive people who think and say: "The technological revolution, just click on the button." It is true, of course, progress, progress, but work, work. None of you will not do it, no button, but how many out of their poke-the mushrooms after a heavy rain. "You press the button, the rest is all by hand," Maria Dmitrievna squinting slyly, with a value of grins. - "No, of course, was joking, but a large element of truth here. The work has always been and will work. "
"Well, here at last!" She admits, the thirteenth, lingers beside him, sighed with relief. - "Everything seems to work, except that the repair? You can move the spirit. All right. It seems to become even quieter around. All right. Something, however, the air is rather dry. Is it because so often torn thread? "-Dipped" ends "of yarn in vederochko with water that is always ready. Laid out the basics of wet rags. Look, father, is the sixth. Hurry up to it ...
Arriving at work, she notices a poster near their machines, "Lightning: the administration, party and Komsomol organizations congratulate weaver weaving shop coats Poleschuk Maria Dmitrievna with an assignment for 9 years. We wish you, Maria D., strong health, happiness and new labor victories. "
Wait a minute. What nine years? When this occurs? What is the point? It's very simple. The case in November, the third year of tenth five-year period. And the fact is that Mary D. promised to do the job for five years, fifteen years of work for three, three five-year plan. And now one has already been completed, the second, as we see, the finish-two years and ten months, done as much as it would be necessary in nine years.
Thirty-three years of experience and this is the secret of success. Thirty-three years she has worked here on this very, at the same place. Studied here, here, we can say, in love, got married, became a skilled worker, reached heights of excellence. It has found his calling. She grew nimble, okay village girl. How it all, played in the burner, hide and seek, rounders. She loved to walk on the mushrooms, and berries, the nuts. With her friends waded barefoot through the woods to the quiet lame, which sported ides Okushko yes, and on Volga pikeperch pervoledku and calculation was done, and bream in the spring was about to spawn. Lama had seemed so large, well exactly the same blue sea, where Mary had never been.
Breathing easier, hails spruce needles but birch leaf wind, Masha thought of those who talked about the teacher and the "Pioneer truth"-Papanin, Stakhanov, the heroes fighting for Hasan, Polina Osipenko pilots, Valentine Grizodubova Mary Raskova. Very much she wanted to be like them. I thought, as if giving his oath: "I will become. I should be. All I can. Results achieved. If only more likely to grow up. "
Fun, fun, dreams, dreams, and parents need help. Is it easy to raise eight-fact? Every hand in the house of gold, in the sense that and be able to have everything, and you dare, and to keep up. Smaller nursing Masha, the cow went, in the garden posoblyala. But vobschem lived freely. It is a pity that so early in his childhood was over, in the eleventh year. Lama has line of defense, the front edge of the battle for Moscow.
From his native village Matveykovo some embers remained. And those porastaschili, heat from the fires. No chicken, no cats across the country. My father went off to the front as a volunteer. A mother with a brood of kids in the dugout, hastily dug in the cold, in hunger, cold. If no help from the whole country, from Moscow, far from unknown people, but dried duds, seed grain kartoha yes, 'is unlikely to have survived.
From the farm by himself, no need to raise the farm. Twelve Masha and potatoes planted, weeding, hill, and, with the sisters-vpryagshis Bros to the plow, plow the land. Along with her mother on the farm, worked by hundreds of workdays per season. Who just do not have to stay that is not to remake? Pritsepschitsa tractor-plowing. Seyalschitsa. And plenty of threshing, dust swallowed. That's the joy, then, that happiness is rolled! -Combine the farm otryazhen. Gasoline, of course, no - gas-generator, the chock acts as a samovar. Will work permanently, instead of a steam thresher. Well, Mary, pinned firewood for the car, abandon the sheaves.
I remember in the tired straw itching palms, crunching chaff on the teeth and intoxicating, daring joy artel work. For the first time so much, fascinated, seized a heavy - hard work. . Why not? Because it must be that not only lifted the mood, not just "in the peace and reckless, and death is red", but still makes a new, grown-up self-respect, be proud of themselves: "All I can only wish is." She worked with someone must race and in the forty-second year, and in the forty-third. and forty-four. At the same time studying in fourth grade, fifth, sixth ...
Not next year, summoned friends:
- Ida in Moscow, on a silk mill. And scientists and found.
Of course, nesytaya lives here said its say, but as they say, "Dream a beautiful, yet obscure, have called me forward." Received school FZO. In a dorm room, a hundred people, beds in four rows. A wash basin in all, as long as a trough, with a lot of cranes. Getting up early. While studying, working, working, learning. Machines old, exhausted, worn out. Until no other. The war-nothing added, no hands, no tools.
For six months, and maybe even less than studying for and on independent field, to the machines. Apartment no. Took off in the corner of Pushkin, then moved to valentinovskoe dormitory, there is better. But it still went to and from work in the train: round trip in two hours does not handle. Worked all on the same machine on which she studied. Just called assault rifles. That's really true-it was, "You press the button, all the rest by hand."
All lived in hard times in those postwar years. Well known for his Masha and his village: the people around still naked - bare. And because it bore down on the job. Do not just fascinated by it, as once on the threshing. Fell in love, despite everything, machines, weaving itself. Proud of the fact that from day to day under the hand she was born tissue, very, very useful to people.
Attachment to the cause accelerates the passage of time: quietly flew shift after shift. Just like the took-en, have lunch, reluctant to break away. The work, whatever that showed her innate goodness, latitude. Even adjusters praised:
- Oh, Mary, Mary, you are good to work. In love, must, of evil?-Flirted.
Gradually rising production. They came to new machines. It is better, easier to operate. Earn more. Dressed up fu-you-well, you! Look what you have!-Like straightened, straightened to become full. In spring, in the fifties, met her future husband, Volodya. Just as if his heart stopped: "He!" But the mind is not filed. Of course, the notable fellow-officer pilot. Only we were not born yesterday. Love-not give up. Let ka-first run. That, yes, yes, had, nevertheless, a year of running, the same day as the work went: to persuade. Clearly persuaded twenty-weaver. Persuaded, and live where? Rented a room in the barracks at the Deer shaft in Sokolniki, to nine meters. Flooded with water from the roof and Yauza quilted wind, snow pierced but ... still misses the D. Marie Sokolniki. Here, at the Deer Val, lived the best years. Here is the usual and happiness, true happiness I saw. Galina was born here, in the fifty-third, then Ira, in the fifty-ninth. Well, barracks, that he take?-He is the barracks. Gender concrete. Stove. Amenities in the yard.
Nothing. Once upon a time not grieve. May God give you, daughter, that you loved so much - so that you are so loved. But not the whole truth here, have been Poleshchuk family adversity, and the quarrel occurred, and one, so, oh, how cool wrapped. My husband left to serve in another city. His wife remained in Moscow, one with children. Occasionally a mother getting at you. Yes neighbors, thank you, do not leave.
- No, my dear husband, do not go.
- What can you do? Well I'm on duty. Do not make the transfer.
- Sam to move.
- It is better you moved here with the kids.
- I can not quit work, and sorry for Moscow. Either-or? Decide. Until the divorce.
- Well, how am I?
- And as you know. Just when I was a widow living husband does not want to be and never will. I give the date a month. Come back after the first day and did not knock on the door is not opened.
My husband was discharged, he went to serve in the Moscow police.
- Wow, amazed at her neighbor.
So it was a life: work, home, home-work. In the sixty-first hut was broken. Poleschuk got a new apartment on the Grand-Academic separate, two-room, thirty-two meters. Fairy Tale! I could not believe that you live here. I do not want to leave the house, or in the movies, anywhere. Most of the night Maria Dmitrievna rose, went from room to room, listening to the smooth breathing children, to the rustling of the night. Used to sit in the middle of the kitchen and sitting blissfully happy. Even the fact that the work has to go further, 'it does not matter. Just think, some half an hour each way. Not seen, not experienced. Much better to work has become. And so, of course, that was better, but most importantly, out of gratitude.
- Heart of Gold you have, Mary D., smiled once-party organizer shop, and gold hands, but brush up were not hurt. You look, and sparkled like real tkanezvezda.
- What's that? Do not get it.
- Well, like movie stars become, only by weaving workshop.
- Hmm ... Star! Say! Thought, however: "brush up! But when will I? Both children and husband and work ... And not a girl is ... "Do not suddenly, not immediately resolved, and came from. But over time the house became Poleshchuk "schoolboys". The youngest, Irina, in the first-class-Gal in the sixth, Vladimir Ya-law at Moscow State University, Maria D., in the seventh grade school for working youth. Clearly, a little awkward to sit side by side with the guys but the girls green, after all, has already exceeded thirty. But where it shameful that a six-classes-and in front of daughters ashamed, and her husband do not want to lag behind. It is bad when the evening shift stood up, a lot had to pass. Thank you for helping to make up for Gal. And studied: the eldest daughter in the tenth, eleventh in the mother. Then take a liking, taste, feel, in the College of Textile filed at the evening department. Sixty-eight years passed in the game. Sixty-ninth was the latest machines, mighty machines, seven-league heroes. Complete reversal of all life. Here it is, if we're serious, then, the Revolution, the STR. They stand side by side are modest, but not quiet-loud flaunt. Gently posvechivayut freshly painted pale pistachio tones which possesses a calm business-like mood.
But go to the machines scary. Maybe not enough education, ingenuity, skill? Diligence and zeal? .. Eyes of fear, but the hands are doing. Neighbor in the shop helped smenschitsy. Engineers, field engineers did not escape attention. Acquainted with the newcomers better, made friends. Courting, nursed, and nezhila affection and grease. First one worked, get used to. In fact, in four. By the XXIV Congress of the six rose.
No waiting, no wondering, sent a delegate to the Party Congress. And then all the delegates decided to take the increased obligations. Secretary of the Communist came up during the break:
- Well, are you, Mary D., how?
- I-a ..-confused-I malenko. what? How it all. I'll start to serve eight.
Oh, they were given hard eight.
A year later, Secretary of the Communist met her and asked:
- How are you?
- But how do you say ...
- Difficult?
- Not without it.
In college in the classroom one day a teacher asked to make a calculation of how many machines "STB-2. ZZO, "the very upon which Maria Dmitrievna has worked - how many of these machines can handle a person in an ideal - the most? The whole evening sat, calculated: thirteen.
Again, checked everything from beginning to end - the head as they say, as much buzz in the shop so no buzzing. Admitted to a teacher:
- Must be a bug?
- Come on. So-o ... So ... No error. That's right.
- Yes, this can not be!
- In a decision - five. Or rather does not happen. Yes, but not given to everyone to achieve the ideal of something. And de-al! ..
- Still, the thirteen-lot. Too.
- Did you try it.
- Try to ... Easy to say!
... From eight to ten machines stepped, then to fifteen - are already in excess of the ideal-limit. Tight lines, the steps of fate, his personal life, a long way to search, thought, skill and endurance training, the way stress and overload. Yes, yes, to be honest, and congestion that not everyone on the shoulder. They took some, but not sdyuzhivali. Everything seems to have been for them and for them - one lacked: talent. But without the talent in the weaving business, as in any other, with no air, no hands. That said, no one is indispensable, and try to replace it, Maria Polishchuk.
Fifteen tools at hand. Number! Plus quality. There she is, "visual propaganda" in the wall next to: personal commitment to the portraits, figures generation. "Quality, reliability, durability, Alloy labor, experience and knowledge." Well said. Accurately and simply. But go and alloy.
By the way, after making enough, "five-year quality-assurance work," "Every-private plan to improve the efficiency and quality," "Tenth Five-Year Plan ahead of time," and others. But, looking at how Maria Dmitrievna, meeting with her, could not help feel something like remorse, stricter ask yourself: "What do you have not missed? That did not, could not? What else could? "This is, perhaps, is the main thing that she brings to life, with what appeals to others, that the initiative that our Secretary-General considers most important in all fairness, nainuzhneyshim: work without lagging.
In the seventy-sixth, in the beginning, took two five-year over five years to run. Worked until July, such as is obtained at fifteen, then? Even as it turns out! Oh, give fluff. What if? .. Immediately be used to take triplane. Where you used to be, Mary? Where was looking? The natural impulse of her on official business jargon imprinted lightly, but it is clear, "revised upward commitment. Increased to nineteen machine footprint. "
So what? Managed? The answer looking for in the Decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet on May 12, 1977.
Lyudmila ..., Deputy Chief of weaving, ran to the works committee, the director, no one was there, late night shift at the end. Vice-around, ran into the street. But where is it? All shops are closed and kiosks. Here to meet a woman with a bouquet of tulips. I rushed to her.
- What is it? What is it?
- Excuse me, please. Our weaver was given the title of Hero. Just learned. Congratulate be a human being, and no flowers. A very good woman. Another out envy, and all are glad for that. The special is here. Reliable. Irreplaceable. Oh! Yes, her dress for you, from its smooth surface ..., rushed into the shop with a bunch of the overall celebration.
- Go home, Maria Dmitrievna. The persons you do not have to. Legs, come, give way to happiness? What is true is true: so have never worried, not worried for no change, in any accidents or in war.
- Calm down. Will modify for you, Mary! Go and rest.
- "Relax!" And at the meeting? Natasha Fadeyev, the party shall, my pupil.
In the morning, as usual, telegrams, phone calls, the correspondents. My husband is worn around the house, the yard, shaking the paper:
- Maroussia is! .. Did you hear, huh? Read! Here are ...
She looked in the mirror: "Hmm ... Wow! Hero of Socialist Labor. Do not like the aged. Woman. It is.
Here are just wrinkles, wrinkles around the eyes, legs. Do not hide ... "- burst into tears in the three streams, sobbing. I am ashamed to turn to the daughters.
- What are you doing, Mom? About what?
"What, what! .." About that, come what a shame to quickly pass the years, and never, never really neither mother nor father will not see the Gold Star of your chest? Or that the joy swept over, came over to embrace constant companion, friend, grief, and suck-sucking: "Not only do you have achieved in life. We should have more to do? "And maybe that and the other, and about the third? Who knows? Who can tell?
Flying day after day. Day after day, between the rows of stretched fibers shoot through chelnochki. Increasing, silky otsvechivaya, cloth. Turn, wound-piling up, as if swollen, heavy rolls: born tissue. He lives in Moscow, Maria, a beautiful young woman. Pleasant and easy to communicate, educated, sensual, charming, and, moreover, even with a character whose main feature: likes to work. And loves her job. Stretches from the warm heart of Mary alive, unbroken string-stretching across the wide world, all of us. Woven into the fabric of nation-wide concerns, overcoming, achievements, like the thread of the foundation of our lives.
