Mark Levy shadow stealer epub full. Read The Shadow Thief online in full by Mark Levy - MyBook

Le voleur d'ombres

www.marclevy.info

LLC Publishing Group Azbuka-Atticus, 2018

Inostranka ® Publishing House

***

The books of one of the most popular French writers, Marc Levy, have been translated into forty-five languages and sold in millions of copies.

***

Dedicated to Pauline, Louis and Georges

The one who wanted to catch a shadow

Happiness shadow - that lot.

William Shakespeare1
The Merchant of Venice. Act II, scene 9. Translated by T. Shchepkina-Kupernik.

In love, you know, the most important thing is imagination. It is necessary that each one invent the other with all the power of his imagination, not yielding an inch to reality; and that's when two imaginations meet... there is nothing more beautiful.

Romain Gary. Wizards

I was afraid of the dark, afraid of the silhouettes that swayed in the deepening shadows, danced in the folds of the curtains, on the wallpaper of the bedroom. Time passed, they disappeared. But it is enough for me to remember my childhood, and I see them again, terrible, menacing.

A Chinese proverb says that a well-mannered person will not step on the shadow of his neighbor. I didn't know it the day I came in new school. My childhood lived there, in the school yard. I drove it away, I wanted to become an adult as soon as possible, but it firmly held me in this cramped body, which, in my opinion, was too small.

« Everything will be fine, you'll see... »

First day of classes. I stood leaning against the plane tree and watched the groups form. I did not belong to any of them. For me, no one could find a smile, not a friendly pat on the shoulder, not a single sign of joy from meeting after the holidays, and there was no one to tell how I spent them. Those who have been transferred to another school are familiar with this September morning, when you struggle to swallow a lump in your throat and do not know what to answer your parents to their « everything will be fine » . As if they remember anything! Parents forgot everything, it's not their fault, they just got old.

A bell rang in the gallery under a canopy, the students ran to line up, the teachers began the roll call.

There were three of us with glasses - not much. I got into the sixth grade « With » and, as always, was the smallest. You should have thought of giving birth to me in December! Dad and mom were happy that I was six months ahead of everyone, but for me, the beginning of each school year turned into torture.

Being the smallest in the class means: wiping the blackboard, fetching chalk, cleaning up the mats in the gym, stacking basketballs in a row on a shelf that's too high, and, worst of all, sitting alone in the front row in Turkish in cool photos. There is no limit to humiliation when you are in school.

All this could be experienced, but in the sixth « With » there was a student named Marquez, the storm of the class and the complete opposite of me.

If I went to school early - to the great joy of my parents - then Marquez was two years behind, and his parents did not care. The son is busy with something at school, has lunch in the canteen, comes in the evening, well, thank God.

I wore glasses, Marquez had eyes like a lynx. I was ten centimeters shorter than all my peers, Marquez was ten centimeters taller - it is clear what was the difference in height between him and me; I hated basketball, and Marquez only had to stretch a little to put the ball in the basket; I loved poetry, he is a sport, not to say that these things are incompatible, but still; I loved watching grasshoppers on tree trunks, and Marquez loved to catch them and tear off their wings.

But we had two points of contact, but actually rather one - Elizabeth. We were both in love with her, and Elizabeth didn't notice me or him point-blank. This could bring us closer to Marquez, but the competitive spirit was stronger.

Elizabeth was not the prettiest girl in the school, but she was far superior in her charms. She tied her hair in a special ponytail, her movements were simple and graceful, and her smile was enough to light up the most dreary autumn days, when the rain pours without rest, shoes squelch on the wet sidewalk and street lamps illuminate the darkness on the way to and from school. schools, in the morning and in the evening.

My childhood lived there, my poor childhood, in this small provincial town, where I desperately and hopelessly waited for at least a look from Elizabeth, where I desperately and hopelessly waited for when I would finally grow up.

Part I

One day was enough for Marquez to dislike me. One single day for me to do the irreparable. Our English teacher, Madame Schaeffer, explained to us that a simple preterite denotes an action that is long past and has no connection with the present, short and easily tied to time. Nice business!

When she finished, Madame Schaeffer pointed her finger at me and asked me to illustrate her explanation with an example of my choice. When I said that it would be great if there was a preterite school year, Elizabeth laughed out loud. My joke amused only her and me, from which I concluded that the rest of my classmates did not understand what a preterite in English language, Marquez also made a different conclusion - that I jumped him in front of Elizabeth. For the rest of the quarter, my fate was sealed. Starting this Monday, the first day of the school year, or rather from the English lesson, I was to live in hell.

I immediately got a punishment from Madame Schaeffer: next Saturday for three hours to remove the fallen leaves in the yard. I hate autumn!

On Tuesday and Wednesday, Marquez kept tripping me up. Every time I stretched out on the floor, the aforementioned Marquez would catch up in the race for the biggest laugh. He even pulled a corps ahead, but Elizabeth did not laugh, and his thirst for revenge was not quenched.

On Thursday, Marquez picked up the pace, and I ended up locked in my locker before math class, where he pushed me by force. I gave the lock code to the watchman who was sweeping the dressing room and heard me banging on the door. In order not to incur even greater troubles, being known as a sneak, I swore that I locked myself in, they say, I played hide and seek. The watchman asked with curiosity how I managed to lock the lock from the inside, but I, pretending not to have heard the question, asked the goad. I was late for the roll call. The math teacher extended my Saturday punishment for another hour.

Friday was the worst day of the week. Marquez decided to test on me the principles of Newton's law, which we learned in physics class at 11 o'clock.

Law gravity, discovered by Isaac Newton, states that two bodies attract with a force that is directly proportional to their mass and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. The direction of this force passes in a straight line through the centers of gravity of both bodies.

Here is what, in general terms, can be read in the textbook. In practice, however, it is a completely different matter. Imagine that someone stole a tomato in the dining room, but without the intention of eating it, but with a different purpose; wait until his prey is enough close range so that he would tell the mentioned tomato the strength of his right hand, and you'll see that Newton's law doesn't work with Marquez. The direction of the tomato deviated from the straight line passing through my center of gravity: it landed right on my glasses. And among the general laughter in the dining room, I heard Elizabeth's laughter, so ringing and silvery that my mood was completely spoiled.

This Friday night, at home, while my mother repeated in a meaningful tone that she was always right - « You see, everything is fine » , - I put a diary with a note on the punishment on the table, said that I didn’t want to have dinner, and went to my room.

***

On Saturday morning, when my classmates were having breakfast in front of the TV, I went to school.

The caretaker folded the note, duly signed by the parents, and tucked it into the pocket of his gray robe. He gave me a pitchfork - « Just be careful, don't get hurt » , - and pointed to a pile of leaves and a wheelbarrow, standing under a basketball basket, which hatched at me like the eye of Cain, or rather, Marquez.

I had been battling with a pile of dry leaves for a good half an hour when the watchman finally came to my aid.

“But I recognized you, it was you who locked yourself in the locker, right? he said, and took the pitchfork from my hand. “Being punished on the first Saturday of the school year is a trick, almost like locking a castle from the inside.

He thrust the pitchfork into the pile with a confident movement and immediately picked up more leaves than I could carry in half an hour of work.

What did you do, why were you punished? he asked as he filled the wheelbarrow.

“For a mistake in conjugation,” I muttered.

“Mmm, don’t judge you, I myself have never been good at grammar. But harvesting the leaves doesn't seem to be your thing either. Is there anything you can do well?

His question plunged me into deep thought. No matter how much I racked my brains, I did not find a single talent in myself. Then I understood why the notorious six months of advance was so important for my parents: nothing else was given to me so that they could be proud of their offspring.

- There must be something that you are interested in, what you love to do most of all, a dream, after all? he added, picking up a fresh bunch of leaves.

“Tame the darkness,” I said softly.

Yves laughed - that was the name of the watchman - very loudly, even two sparrows fluttered from the branch and flew away. I, putting my hands in my pockets, dejectedly trudged to the other end of the yard. Yves caught up with me halfway.

“I didn’t mean to laugh at you, it’s just that the answer is very unexpected, that’s all.

The shadow of a basketball hoop stretched across the yard. The sun was still far from its zenith, and my punishment was far from over.

“Why do you want to tame the darkness?” Still a strange idea!

“You, too, when you were as old as me, were afraid of her. You even asked to close the shutters in your room to keep out the darkness.

Eve looked at me dumbfounded. His face changed, the friendly expression instantly disappeared.

- Firstly, it's not true, and secondly, how do you know?

“If it’s not true, what difference does it make to you?” I responded and walked on.

“The yard is small, you won’t go far,” Yves said, catching up with me, “and you didn’t answer my question.

- I know, that's all.

“Okay, it’s true, I was very afraid of the dark, but I didn’t tell anyone about it. Listen, if you tell me how you knew that and promise to keep the secret, I'll let you go not at noon, but at eleven.

“Shake it,” I agreed, and held out my hand to him.

Eve clapped my arm and looked into my eyes. How did I know that the watchman was so afraid of the dark when he was little? I myself had no idea. Maybe I just projected my own fears onto him. Why do adults need an explanation for everything?

"Let's sit down," Eve ordered, nodding toward the bench by the basketball hoop.

“Better not here,” I answered, and pointed to another bench opposite.

- Okay, let's go.

How could I explain it to him? Just now, when we were standing side by side in the middle of the yard, he seemed to me not much older than me. I didn’t know how it happened and why, I only knew that the wallpaper in his room was yellowed, and the floors in the house where he lived creaked, and he was also terribly afraid of this at night.

“I don’t know,” I said, frightened, “I must have made it up.”

For a long time we sat on the bench and were silent. Then Yves sighed and, patting my knee, stood up.

- Well, that's it, run home, the agreement is more expensive than money, it's already eleven. Just be quiet, I don't want the students to laugh at me.

I said goodbye to the watchman and went home an hour early, imagining how my dad would meet me. The day before, he returned late from a business trip, and by now my mother must have already explained to him why I was not at home. What punishment awaits me for being punished in the very first week of the school year? So I walked, scrolling through these gloomy thoughts in my head, and suddenly I noticed something amazing. The sun was already high, and my shadow was somehow strange, much longer and wider than usual. I stopped to take a closer look: the shapes also did not match, as if not my shadow gliding along the sidewalk in front of me, but someone else's. I peered into her and suddenly saw again a piece of childhood that did not belong to me.

Some man dragged me into the depths of a garden unfamiliar to me, took off his belt and gave me a serious flogging.

My father, even in anger, never raised his hand to me. And I think I understood from whose memory this picture surfaced. What came to my mind was absolutely incredible, not to say impossible. I quickened my pace, dying of fear, but determined to return as soon as possible.

Father was waiting in the kitchen; when he heard me laying down my knapsack in the living room, he called me; his voice was stern.

For the bad grades, the mess in the room, the broken toys, the late-night trips to the fridge, the late reading with a flashlight, my mother's little radio hidden under my pillow, not to mention the time I stuffed my pockets with sweets at the supermarket (mum turned away, but the security guard I didn’t doze off) more than once in my life I brought on myself thunderstorms of my father’s wrath. But I had a few tricks up my sleeve, including an irresistibly guilty smile that could calm the most violent storm.

This time I didn't have to resort to it: Dad didn't look angry, just sad. He asked me to sit across from him at the kitchen table and took my hands in his. Our conversation lasted ten minutes, no more. He explained a lot of things to me about life, different things that I will understand later when I grow up. I remember only one thing: he leaves the house. We will see each other as often as possible, only he could not tell me what he means by this « opportunity » .

Dad got up from the table and asked me to go support my mom - she is in her room. Before this conversation, he would say « in our room » , now same she became only mother's.

I obediently went upstairs. On the last step I looked back - dad was standing with a small suitcase in his hand. He waved goodbye to me, and the front door slammed shut behind him.

I never saw my father again - we met only when I became an adult.

***

I spent the weekend with my mother, pretending not to notice her grief. Mom said nothing, only sighed occasionally, and her eyes immediately filled with tears, which she hid from me, turning away.

After lunch we went to the supermarket. I noticed a long time ago: when my mother became especially sad, we went shopping. I never understood how a bag of cereal, fresh vegetables or new tights could cheer me up... I looked at her bustling around the shelves, wondering if she remembered that I was there. With a full cart and an empty wallet, we returned home, and my mother spent an endless amount of time putting away the purchased products.

Mom baked a pie that day, an apple pie with maple syrup. She put two appliances on the kitchen table, carried her father's chair down to the basement, and returned to sit across from me. From the table drawer by the gas stove, she took a pack of candles, the ones I blew out on my birthday, stuck one in the middle of the cake, and lit it.

“For the first time we are having dinner together, like lovers,” she said to me, smiling, “let's remember this evening forever.”

I remember that there were many first times in my childhood.

This apple and maple syrup pie was our dinner. Mom took my hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Can you tell me what is wrong with you at school?” she asked.

***

My mother's grief occupied my thoughts so much that I forgot about my Saturday misadventures. I thought about them on the way to school and hoped that Marquez's weekend was much better than mine. Who knows, maybe, with luck, he won't need any more scapegoats.

Sixth « With » already lined up on the gallery, and the roll call was about to begin. Elizabeth stood in front of me, wearing a navy blue sweater and knee-length plaid skirt. Marquez turned and gave me a wicked look. The roll call was over, the students walked in single file to the school.

In history class, while Madame Henri was telling us about Tutankhamun's death, as if she were there with him, I was not without fear thinking about change.

The bell rang at 10:30 sharp; the prospect of being in the yard with Marquez did not bode well, but like it or not, I had to go with everyone.

I sat aside, on the bench, where I talked with the watchman on Saturday, on the very day when, when I came home, I found out that dad was leaving us. Suddenly Marquez plopped down next to me.

“I won’t take my eyes off you,” he hissed, grabbing my shoulder tightly. “Don’t even think about running for class president.” I am the oldest and this post is mine. If you want me not to touch you, my advice to you is: sit quietly below the grass and look close, don't come close to Elizabeth, you'll be better off. You are still small, and do not hope in vain, you will climb out of your skin in vain, you moron.

It was very sunny that morning in the school yard, I remember it very well, and for good reason! Our shadows stretched out side by side on the pavement. Markesova was a good meter longer than mine - it's all about proportions, this is mathematics. I moved imperceptibly so that my shadow lay over his. Marquez did not notice anything, but this game amused me. At least once I took over - it's not harmful to dream. Marquez, still gnawing at my shoulder, noticed Elisabeth passing not far from us under a chestnut tree. He stood up and shushing, they say, sit quietly, finally left me alone.

Yves stepped out of the gatehouse where the garden tools were kept. He walked over to the bench, looking at me so earnestly that it made you wonder if I had done something else.

“I'm sorry about what happened to your father,” he said. “You know, things will get better with time.

How did he get the news so soon? My father's departure was not reported in the papers.

The fact is that in small provincial towns everyone knows everything about everyone: not a single gossip will be missed by people who are greedy for someone else's misfortune. When I realized this, the departure of my father again, for the second time, fell like a heavy burden on my shoulders. I was sure that this very evening they would gossip about it in all the houses of my classmates. Some will blame the mother, others will blame the father for everything. But everyone will agree that I am a worthless son, incapable of making my father happy enough to keep him from leaving.

Decidedly, the year started badly.

Did you get along with him? Yves asked.

I answered with a nod, staring at the toes of my boots.

“Life is badly arranged. Here my father was that bastard. I so wanted him to leave home. I myself left before him, not to say - because of him.

“Dad never laid a hand on me!” I answered hastily to avoid misunderstandings.

“Mine too,” said the watchman.

- If you want us to become friends, let's tell each other the truth. I know that your father beat you. He dragged you into the depths of the garden and beat you with a belt there.

What did I blurt out? I didn't know how those words came out of my mouth. Probably, it was necessary for me to tell Yves what I saw on that ill-fated Saturday, returning home. He looked me straight in the eyes.

- Who told you this?

"No one," I mumbled.

“Either you’re a sniffler, or you’re a liar.

- Nothing like this! And you? Who told you about my father?

“I had just brought the mail to Madame Headmistress when your mother called her. The headmistress was so upset that, after hanging up the phone, she kept repeating aloud: « What men are scoundrels, no, well, what scoundrels! » And when she realized that I was standing in front of her, she apologized. « Not you, Eve,” she said. And she even added: - Of course not you » . Why, she thinks the same thing about me, she thinks that about all of us; we are scoundrels in her eyes, baby, simply because we are men. You should have seen how she was worried when the school was made mixed. A well-known case, men cheat on women, but the question is: with whom? With whom, if not with women who also cheat on their men? I know what I'm talking about. And you will know when you grow up.

I wanted to convince Yves that I did not understand what he was talking about, but I myself told him that our friendship cannot be built on lies. I understood, perfectly understood everything from the very day when my mother found a tube of lipstick in the pocket of my father's coat, and my father assured me that he had no idea how he got there, and swore that this was a stupid joke of his colleagues at work. Mom and dad fought all night, and I learned more about infidelity in one evening than from all the shows my mother watched on TV. Without a screen, everything is even much more authentic - when the drama is played out in the next room.

“So I told you how I know about your father,” Yves continued, “now it’s your turn.”

Then the bell rang; Yves grumbled something with displeasure and ordered me to run to the lessons, adding, however, that we did not finish the conversation. He went to his lodge, and I went to the classroom.

I walked facing the sun and suddenly looked back; the shadow gliding behind me was small again, and the shadow ahead of the watchman was much larger. At least something got back to normal this Monday, and it calmed me down a lot. It can be seen that my mother is right: too rich imagination sometimes plays cruel jokes with me.

***

I didn't listen to anything in English class. Firstly, I had not yet forgiven Madame Schaeffer my punishment, and besides, I was still not up to it. Why did my mother call the headmistress and tell her about her life, about our life? They were not soul mates, to my knowledge, and I found such revelations highly inappropriate. Did she even think what would happen to me when everyone found out? With Elizabeth, I had no chance. Even assuming that she likes small boys with glasses - a very optimistic assumption - or that she may be attracted to the complete opposite of Marquez, a hefty, self-confident tall man, how can you dream of someone whose father left home for all known reasons, chief among which is that his son was not worth staying with him?

Feb 23, 2017

shadow stealer Mark Levy

(No ratings yet)

Title: Shadow stealer

About "Shadow Thief" by Mark Levy

Mark Levy is a well-known writer who specializes in writing fantasy romance novels. His works are in great demand among fans of this genre and are read with pleasure all over the world.

The novel "Shadow Thief" is another excellent work from this author. This is a simple and deep book that touches on all aspects of a person's life and simply cannot leave him indifferent.

The book "Shadow Thief" tells us about a boy - main character rather reserved and melancholic. This child spends much more time not in reality, but in his dreams, some even consider him strange. But the hero has an amazing gift - he is able to talk with human shadows. In an inconspicuous conversation, he can learn about the past of the people from whom these shadows have been preserved.

From childhood, the shadows share their secrets with the boy, tell him about secrets, ask for help. Over time, the child understands that his gift can be used for the benefit of other people.

The hero of the book "Shadow Thief" grows up, but even with age he does not lose his skills. A man becomes a doctor, and his gift helps him in his work - sometimes the shadows contribute to the treatment of patients. Like most adults, he often faces troubles and failures, but his gift allows him to maintain faith in miracles, kindness and love. You need to read this book not only to have an interesting time, but also to restore faith in the best and people.

In the book, Mark Levy managed to convey the brightest and most subtle feelings that are collected in the human soul. You can read it in one breath, as the novel is written in an easy and accessible language. From the first pages of the work, it seems that this is typically entertaining, uncomplicated literature. However, at the end of the novel, Mark Levy leaves readers with many questions that we must answer for ourselves.

You can read this novel just to relax, have an interesting time, or you can also find life values and landmarks. This work will not seem boring to anyone, even despite the slow and measured narration with almost no dynamics.

On our site about books, you can download the site for free without registration or read online book Shadow Thief by Mark Levy in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and a real pleasure to read. Buy full version you can have our partner. Also, here you will find last news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginner writers there is a separate section with useful tips and recommendations interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary skills.

Quotes from the book "Shadow Thief" by Mark Levy

The most precious moments in life sometimes depend on trifles.

In friendship, some things are not said, they are guessed at.

The girl who writes you "I missed you" with a kite - this will not be forgotten.

Parents grow old until a certain age, when their image freezes in our memory.

A friend knows how to guess what a person has in his soul, even if he says the opposite.

Friendship cannot be built on lies.

The fear of the dark has been replaced by the fear of being alone.

Adults never believe if you are serious with them.

How hard it is to wait for a sign from someone to feel happy.

The inattention of grown children to their parents borders on pure selfishness.

Download free book "Shadow Thief" by Mark Levy

In the format fb2: Download
In the format rtf: Download
In the format epub: Download
In the format txt:

Current page: 1 (total book has 11 pages) [accessible reading passage: 3 pages]

Mark Levy
shadow stealer

Dedicated to Pauline, Louis and Georges

The one who wanted to catch a shadow, Happiness shadow - that destiny.

William Shakespeare 1
The Merchant of Venice. Act II, scene 9. Translated by T. Shchepkina-Kupernik.

In love, you know, the most important thing is imagination. It is necessary that each one invent the other with all the power of his imagination, not yielding an inch to reality; and that's when two imaginations meet... there is nothing more beautiful.

Romain Gary. Wizards

A Chinese proverb says that a well-mannered person will not step on the shadow of his neighbor. I didn't know that the day I came to the new school. My childhood lived there, in the school yard. I drove it away, I wanted to become an adult as soon as possible, but it firmly held me in this cramped body, which, in my opinion, was too small.

* * *

"Everything will be fine, you'll see..."

First day of classes. I stood leaning against the plane tree and watched the groups form. I did not belong to any of them. For me, no one could find a smile, not a friendly pat on the shoulder, not a single sign of joy from meeting after the holidays, and there was no one to tell how I spent them. Those who have been transferred to another school are familiar with such a September morning when you struggle to swallow a lump in your throat and do not know what to answer your parents to their “everything will be fine”. As if they remember anything! Parents forgot everything, it's not their fault, they just got old.

A bell rang in the gallery under a canopy, the students ran to line up, the teachers began the roll call. There were three of us with glasses - not much. I ended up in the sixth "C" class and, as always, turned out to be the smallest. You should have thought of giving birth to me in December! Dad and mom were happy that I was half a year ahead of everyone, but for me the beginning of each school year turned into torture.

All this could be experienced, but in the sixth "C" there was a student named Marquez, a thunderstorm of the class and the complete opposite of me.

Part I

1

When she finished, Madame Schaeffer pointed her finger at me and asked me to illustrate her explanation with an example of my choice. When I said that it would be great if there was a preterite school year, Elizabeth laughed out loud. My joke amused only her and me, from which I concluded that the rest of my classmates did not understand what preterite is in English, while Marquez made a different conclusion - that I jumped him in front of Elizabeth. For the rest of the quarter, my fate was sealed. Starting this Monday, the first day of the school year, or rather from the English lesson, I was to live in hell.

I immediately got a punishment from Madame Schaeffer: next Saturday for three hours to remove the fallen leaves in the yard. I hate autumn!

Friday was the worst day of the week. Marquez decided to test on me the principles of Newton's law, which we learned in physics class at 11 o'clock.

The law of universal gravitation, discovered by Isaac Newton, states that two bodies attract with a force that is directly proportional to their mass and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. The direction of this force passes in a straight line through the centers of gravity of both bodies.

Here is what, in general terms, can be read in the textbook. In practice, however, it is a completely different matter. Imagine that someone stole a tomato in the dining room, but without the intention of eating it, but with a different purpose; wait until his prey is close enough to tell said tomato the strength of his right hand, and you'll see that Newton's law doesn't work with Marquez. The direction of the tomato deviated from the straight line passing through my center of gravity: it landed right on my glasses. And among the general laughter in the dining room, I heard Elizabeth's laughter, so ringing and silvery that my mood was completely spoiled.

That Friday evening, at home, while my mother repeated in a meaningful tone that she was always right - "You see, everything is fine," - I put the diary with a note on the punishment on the table, said that I did not want to have dinner, and went to my room.

* * *

On Saturday morning, when my classmates were having breakfast in front of the TV, I went to school.

The caretaker folded the note, duly signed by the parents, and tucked it into the pocket of his gray robe. He handed me a pitchfork - "Just be careful not to hurt yourself" - and pointed to a pile of leaves and a wheelbarrow standing under a basketball basket, which hatched on me like the eye of Cain, or rather, Marquez.

I had been battling with a pile of dry leaves for a good half an hour when the watchman finally came to my aid.

He thrust the pitchfork into the pile with a confident movement and immediately picked up more leaves than I could carry in half an hour of work.

What did you do, why were you punished? he asked as he filled the wheelbarrow.

“For a mistake in conjugation,” I muttered.

“Mmm, don’t judge you, I myself have never been good at grammar. But harvesting the leaves doesn't seem to be your thing either. Is there anything you can do well?

- There must be something that you are interested in, what you love to do most of all, a dream, after all? he added, picking up a fresh bunch of leaves.

“Tame the darkness,” I said softly.

“I didn’t mean to laugh at you, it’s just that the answer is very unexpected, that’s all.

The shadow of a basketball hoop stretched across the yard. The sun was still far from its zenith, and my punishment was far from over.

“Why do you want to tame the darkness?” Still a strange idea!

“You, too, when you were as old as me, were afraid of her. You even asked to close the shutters in your room to keep out the darkness.

Eve looked at me dumbfounded. His face changed, the friendly expression instantly disappeared.

- Firstly, it's not true, and secondly, how do you know?

“If it’s not true, what difference does it make to you?” I responded and walked on.

“The yard is small, you won’t go far,” Yves said, catching up with me, “and you didn’t answer my question.

- I know, that's all.

“Shake it,” I agreed, and held out my hand to him.

"Let's sit down," Eve ordered, nodding toward the bench by the basketball hoop.

“Better not here,” I answered, and pointed to another bench opposite.

- Okay, let's go.

“I don’t know,” I said, frightened, “I must have made it up.”

For a long time we sat on the bench and were silent. Then Yves sighed and, patting my knee, stood up.

- Well, that's it, run home, the agreement is more expensive than money, it's already eleven. Just be quiet, I don't want the students to laugh at me.

Some man dragged me into the depths of a garden unfamiliar to me, took off his belt and gave me a serious flogging.

Father was waiting in the kitchen; when he heard me laying down my knapsack in the living room, he called me; his voice was stern.

Dad got up from the table and asked me to go support my mom - she is in her room. Before this conversation, he would have said "in our room", but now she has become only my mother's.

I obediently went upstairs. On the last step I looked back - dad was standing with a small suitcase in his hand. He waved goodbye to me, and the front door slammed shut behind him.

I never saw my father again - we met only when I became an adult.

* * *

I spent the weekend with my mother, pretending not to notice her grief. Mom said nothing, only sighed occasionally, and her eyes immediately filled with tears, which she hid from me, turning away.

“For the first time we are having dinner together, like lovers,” she said to me, smiling, “let's remember this evening forever.”

I remember that there were many first times in my childhood.

This apple and maple syrup pie was our dinner. Mom took my hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Can you tell me what is wrong with you at school?” she asked.

* * *

The sixth "C" was already lined up on the gallery, and the roll call was about to begin. Elizabeth stood in front of me, wearing a navy blue sweater and knee-length plaid skirt. Marquez turned and gave me a wicked look. The roll call was over, the students walked in single file to the school.

In history class, while Madame Henri was telling us about Tutankhamun's death, as if she were there with him, I was not without fear thinking about change.

The bell rang at 10:30 sharp; the prospect of being in the yard with Marquez did not bode well, but like it or not, I had to go with everyone.

I sat aside, on the bench, where I talked with the watchman on Saturday, on the very day when, when I came home, I found out that dad was leaving us. Suddenly Marquez plopped down next to me.

Yves stepped out of the gatehouse where the garden tools were kept. He walked over to the bench, looking at me so earnestly that it made you wonder if I had done something else.

“I'm sorry about what happened to your father,” he said. “You know, things will get better with time.

How did he get the news so soon? My father's departure was not reported in the papers.

Decidedly, the year started badly.

Did you get along with him? Yves asked.

I answered with a nod, staring at the toes of my boots.

“Life is badly arranged. Here my father was that bastard. I so wanted him to leave home. I myself left before him, not to say - because of him.

“Dad never laid a hand on me!” I answered hastily to avoid misunderstandings.

“Mine too,” said the watchman.

- If you want us to become friends, let's tell each other the truth. I know that your father beat you. He dragged you into the depths of the garden and beat you with a belt there.

- Who told you this?

"No one," I mumbled.

“Either you’re a sniffler, or you’re a liar.

- Nothing like this! And you? Who told you about my father?

“I had just brought the mail to Madame Headmistress when your mother called her. The headmistress was so upset that, after hanging up the phone, she kept repeating aloud: “What scoundrels men are, no, what scoundrels!” And when she realized that I was standing in front of her, she apologized. “Not you, Eve,” she said. And she even added: “Of course not you.” Why, she thinks the same thing about me, she thinks that about all of us; we are scoundrels in her eyes, baby, simply because we are men. You should have seen how she was worried when the school was made mixed. A well-known case, men cheat on women, but the question is: with whom? With whom, if not with women who also cheat on their men? I know what I'm talking about. And you will know when you grow up.

“So I told you how I know about your father,” Yves continued, “now it’s your turn.”

* * *

I thought these gloomy thoughts in the dining room, at the geography lesson, at the third break and on the way from school. Approaching the house, I was determined to tell my mother how badly she set me up. But as I turned the key in the lock, I thought that this would mean betraying Yves: my mother would call the headmistress tomorrow to blame her for not keeping the secret, and the headmistress would not have to go far to find where the information leaked from. If I let the watchman down, our friendship is unlikely to ever become a real friendship, and what I missed most in this new school was a friend. And even though Eve was thirty or forty years older than me, it didn't matter to me. Having stolen his shadow in an incomprehensible way, I realized that he was worthy of trust. So I decided to postpone the explanation with my mother.

We ate dinner in front of the TV, my mother was not in the mood to carry on a conversation. After her father left, she did not talk much at all, as if it became difficult for her to pronounce the words.

As I lay down to sleep, I remembered Yves, who said that in time everything would settle down. May be, time will pass and my mother will come again and wish me good night, as before. That night, even the drawn curtains on the half-open windows did not move, nothing dared to break the silence that reigned in the house, and not a single shadow flickered in the folds of the fabric.

* * *

Someone might think that my life changed with the departure of my father, but this is not so. Dad often came home from work late, and I have long been accustomed to spending the evenings alone with my mother. According to our Sunday walks I missed riding bikes, but quickly replaced them with cartoons that my mother let me watch while she read the newspaper herself. New life- new habits: we shared a hamburger for two at a nearby restaurant, and then walked along the shopping streets. The shops were closed, but my mother didn't always seem to notice.

At one o'clock in the afternoon, she invariably suggested that I invite my classmates to visit. I shrugged my shoulders and promised that I would invite ... later.

It rained throughout October. Leaves flew off the chestnut trees, and there were almost no birds on the bare branches. Soon their singing ceased completely; winter was not far off.

Every morning I looked out the window, waiting for a ray of sunshine, but I had to wait a long time: only in mid-November did it finally break through the thickness of the clouds.

* * *

As soon as the sky cleared up, our science teacher organized a field trip. There were only a few days left to have time to collect a herbarium worthy of that name.

A rented bus for this occasion took us to the forest, which began immediately outside the town. And here we are, the sixth "C" class in full force, slipping on the wet ground, began to collect all kinds of vegetation - leaves, mushrooms, tall grasses and colorful mosses. Marquez stepped forward like a real commander. The girls vied with each other trying to get his attention, but he did not take his eyes off Elizabeth. She, keeping to the side, pretended not to notice this, but she could not deceive me, and with bitter resentment I realized that she was pleased.

Looking at the roots of a large oak, between which grew a fly agaric with a huge hat worthy of being Strumpf's headdress, I fell behind the class and found myself alone - in other words, I got lost. I heard the teacher calling me from afar, but I couldn't figure out which direction the voice was coming from.

I tried to catch up with the class, but it soon became clear to me that either this forest was endless, or I was walking in circles. I lifted my head to the tops of the maples; The sun was going down, and I was seriously scared.

Forgetting my pride, I yelled with all my might. The guys must have been at a fair distance: not a single voice answered my call. I sat down on a stump and began to think about my mother. With whom will she spend her evenings if I don't return? Wouldn't she think I left her like papa? He warned me that he was leaving. She will never forgive me for leaving her alone, especially now, when she needs me most. Even though she sometimes forgot about my presence when we walked along the aisles of the supermarket together, even if she rarely spoke to me now, because it became difficult to pronounce the words, even if she didn’t come to wish me good night, but I knew that without me she would be very bad . Ugh, I should have thought about that before I stared at the stupid mushroom! If he gets me, I'll knock off his hat, he'll know how to play jokes on me!

"Damn it, what are you doing here, you moron?"

For the first time since the beginning of the school year, I was heartily glad to see Marquez's face appear between the tall ferns.

- The teacher is tearing up and throwing, he wanted to comb the forest already, but I told him that I would find you myself. When hunting, my old man always says that I have a gift for finding bad game. It turns out he's right. Let's get moving! You should have seen yourself: a little more, and you would have burst into tears here, like a girl.

These kind words Marquez blurted out in my face, for which he had to sit down. The sun shone down on his back, haloing his head, and this made him look even more menacing than usual. His face was so close that I could smell chewing gum. He straightened up and poked me hard on the shoulder.

- Well, let's go or are you going to spend the night here?

I stood up and let him go a few steps forward.

And when he walked away, I suddenly realized that something was wrong. The shadow behind me was a good meter longer than usual, and the shadow of Marquez became small, so small that one conclusion suggested itself: this shadow could only be mine.

Marquez saved me, and if now he finds that instead of gratitude I stole his shadow from him, then I better say goodbye to a normal life, not only for the next quarter, but for everything school years until graduation at the age of eighteen. You don't have to be strong in math to count how many days of waking nightmare awaits me.

I hurried after him, firmly deciding that our shadows should cross again, and let everything be the same and normal again, as before, before my father left. It was some kind of nonsense - you can’t easily appropriate someone else’s shadow like that! However, this is exactly what happened for the second time. Marquez's shadow overlapped mine, and when he left, it remained glued to my feet. My heart was pounding, my knees were trembling.

We crossed the clearing and went out onto the path, where the science teacher was waiting for us with the guys. Marquez raised his hands in victory, a kind of hunter, and I was a kind of prey that he was dragging along with him. The teacher waved to us, urging us to hurry up. The bus was waiting. I knew that I would burn again. The guys looked at us, and in their eyes I guessed mockery. Well, at least they'll have something to talk about at home tonight besides my parents' family issues.

Elizabeth was already on the bus, in the same spot as on the way here. She didn't even look out the window; my disappearance didn't seem to bother her at all. The sun sank even lower to the horizon line, our shadows gradually paled, becoming more and more indistinguishable. So much the better, now no one will notice what happened in the forest.

I dejectedly trudged into the bus. The science teacher asked how I managed to get lost, and admitted that I scared him a lot. But he seemed to be so pleased with my safe return that he did not even scold me. I sat in the back and didn't say a word the whole way back. There was nothing to say anyway, I got lost, that's all, it doesn't happen to such people. I saw a program on TV about experienced climbers who got lost in the mountains. What then is the demand from me?

At home, my mother was waiting for me in the living room. She hugged me and hugged me very tightly, even too, in my opinion, tightly.

– Are you lost? she breathed, caressing my cheek.

She must have been in touch with the walkie-talkie headmistress - how else could information about me reach her so quickly?

I told my mother about my misadventures, and she insisted that I take a hot bath. No matter how much I kept saying that I wasn’t cold at all, she didn’t want to hear anything. It was just right to think that a bath could wash away all the hardships that had fallen on us - the departure of her father for her and the appearance of Marquez for me.

While my mother lathered my head with shampoo, which stinged my eyes, the story with the shadows was spinning on my tongue. But I knew that she would not take her seriously, that she would say: "Don't make it up," and I preferred to remain silent, hoping that tomorrow the weather would change and no shadows would be visible under the gray sky.

Dinner was roast beef with fried potatoes. It turns out that it's not so bad to get lost in the forest, you should do it more often.

* * *

Mom came into my room at 7 o'clock in the morning. Breakfast is ready, quickly wash, dress and go to the table, if you do not want to be late for school. In fact, I really wanted to be late for school, and even more wanted not to go there at all. Mom said that the day would be fine, which made her feel better. Hearing her receding steps on the stairs, I immediately dived under the covers. I lay and begged my legs not to fool me, conjured them not to steal the shadows anymore and, most importantly, to return Markesovo to Marques as soon as possible. Of course, to put it mildly, it’s strange to talk to your legs in the early morning, but you have to put yourself in my place in order to understand what it was like for me.

With a heavy backpack on my back, I walked to school and thought about the miracles that were happening to me. How to quietly make an exchange? To do this, it was necessary that the shadow of Marquez and mine intersect again; and this meant that, under some pretext, he would have to approach Marquez and speak to him.

Dedicated to Pauline, Louis and Georges

The one who wanted to catch a shadow, Happiness shadow - that destiny.

William Shakespeare

In love, you know, the most important thing is imagination. It is necessary that each one invent the other with all the power of his imagination, not yielding an inch to reality; and that's when two imaginations meet... there is nothing more beautiful.

Romain Gary. Wizards

First day of classes. I stood leaning against the plane tree and watched the groups form. I did not belong to any of them. For me, no one could find a smile, not a friendly pat on the shoulder, not a single sign of joy from meeting after the holidays, and there was no one to tell how I spent them. Those who have been transferred to another school are familiar with such a September morning when you struggle to swallow a lump in your throat and do not know what to answer your parents to their “everything will be fine”. As if they remember anything! Parents forgot everything, it's not their fault, they just got old.

Being the smallest in the class means: wiping the blackboard, fetching chalk, cleaning the mats in the gym, stacking basketballs in a row on a shelf that's too high, and worst of all, sitting alone in the front row in Turkish in cool photos. There is no limit to humiliation when you are in school.

All this could be experienced, but in the sixth "C" there was a student named Marquez, a thunderstorm of the class and the complete opposite of me.

I wore glasses, Marquez had eyes like a lynx. I was ten centimeters shorter than all my peers, Marquez was ten taller - it is clear what was the difference in height between him and me; I hated basketball, and Marquez only had to stretch a little to put the ball in the basket; I loved poetry, he is a sport, not to say that these things are incompatible, but still; I loved watching grasshoppers on tree trunks, and Marquez loved to catch them and tear off their wings.

The book by Mark Levy "Shadow Thief" is saturated with warmth and light. This is the story of a boy's life. On the one hand, it is very simple, on the other, it is extraordinary. The author very touchingly describes experiences and emotions, talks about finding yourself, making you think about how fleeting life is. After reading, a pleasant impression remains, I want to philosophize. There is a feeling that when you looked at someone else's life from the outside, you could see much more. There is quite a bit of mysticism in the novel, just to give people the opportunity to believe in the best.

The main character is a boy who is in the 6th grade. He discovers a magical gift in himself. The boy has the ability to understand what the shadows say, learning from them what disturbs people and hurts them. Shadows tell him a lot, sometimes give advice. He is looking for his place in the world and understands that his gift can be used for good.

Gradually the main character grows up. He has to face the misunderstanding of classmates who bully him, true friendship and betrayal, their family is crumbling. He recognizes the feeling of first love, which, perhaps, will be gone forever.

Having matured, the main character becomes a doctor. This man continues to help people. He himself has to experience pain and a sense of loss more than once, but he continues to believe in the best and even decides to find his first love.

The work belongs to the Prose genre. It was published in 2010 by the Inostranka publishing house. This book is part of the Leviada-Pocket series. On our site you can download the book "Shadow Thief" in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format or read online. The rating of the book is 4.38 out of 5. Here, before reading, you can also refer to the reviews of readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinion. In the online store of our partner you can buy and read the book in paper form.