Charactersketche of polya
Charectersketch of polya
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Polya was an illiterate woman. She couldn't even write her name.
Polya's husband, however, was a responsible government official. He had once been a simple peasant but five years in the city had taught him a lot. Not only how to write his name but also how to be a successful officer.
However, he was not very happy to have an illiterate wife.
"Polya, you ought to at least learn how to write your name," he used to say to his wife. "My last name is an easy one. Two syllables - Kuch-kin. And still you can't write it. I wish you'd learn."
Polya used to wave it aside. "There's no use my trying to learn it now, Ivan," she would answer. "I'm getting old. My fingers are getting stiff. Why should I try to write now? Let the young ones learn how to read and write."
Polya's husband was a terribly busy man and did not have the time to argue with his wife. So he kept his mouth shut.
But one day Ivan Nikolaevich Kuchkin did bring home a special little book.
"Here, Polya," he said, "is the latest Teach-Yourself book, based on the most up-to-date methods. I'm going to show you how to use it."
Polya gave a quiet laugh, took the book in her hands, turned it over, and hid it in the cupboard, as if to say, "Let it be there. Maybe our grandchildren will have some use for it."
One day Polya sat down to work. She had to mend a jacket for Ivan. The sleeve was torn.
So, Polya sat down at the table, took up her needle and put her hand under the jacket. She heard something rustling.
Maybe there's money in there, Polya thought.
She looked inside and found a letter. A nice clean one, with a neat handwriting, on paper that smelled of perfume, and in a blue envelope. Polya became pale.
Is Ivan in love with another woman? Is he exchanging love letters with well-educated ladies and making fun of his poor illiterate wife?
Polya looked at the envelope, took out the letter and unfolded it, but since she was illiterate, how could she read it?
For the first time in her life Polya was sorry that she had not learnt how to read and write.
Even though it is somebody's else's letter, she thought, I have got to know what is in it. Maybe it will change my whole life. Maybe Ivan loves another woman. Maybe I will have to go back to the country and work as a peasant.
Polya started to cry and began thinking about how Ivan seemed to have changed lately - he seemed to be taking more care of his moustache and his clothes. Polya sat looking at the letter. She kept crying and sniffing. But she could not read it at all. And to show it to someone else would be unthinkable.
Polya hid the letter in her cupboard, finished the jacket, and waited for Ivan to come home.
But when he returned Polya did not let him know that anything had happened. On the contrary, in a calm and even voice she told her husband that she had nothing against doing a little studying and that she was fed up with being an ignorant, illiterate peasant.
Ivan Nikolaevich was overjoyed to hear it. "That's just fine", he said. "I'll teach you myself how to read and write."
"All right, go ahead," said Polya. And she stared fixedly at Ivan's clipped little moustache.
For two silent months, Polya studied every day. She patiently put together the words, learnt to form the letters, and memorised sentences. And every evening she took the treasured letter out of the cupboard and tried to find out its secret meaning.
But it was no easy job.
It was the third month before Polya learnt how to read.
One morning when Ivan Nikolaevich had gone off to work, Polya took the letter out of the cupboard and started reading it.
It was hard for her to understand the small handwriting, but the slight scent of perfume from the paper pushed her on. The letter was addressed to Ivan Nikolaevich:
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Polya's husband, however, was a responsible government official. He had once been a simple peasant but five years in the city had taught him a lot. Not only how to write his name but also how to be a successful officer.
However, he was not very happy to have an illiterate wife.
"Polya, you ought to at least learn how to write your name," he used to say to his wife. "My last name is an easy one. Two syllables - Kuch-kin. And still you can't write it. I wish you'd learn."
Polya used to wave it aside. "There's no use my trying to learn it now, Ivan," she would answer. "I'm getting old. My fingers are getting stiff. Why should I try to write now? Let the young ones learn how to read and write."
Polya's husband was a terribly busy man and did not have the time to argue with his wife. So he kept his mouth shut.
But one day Ivan Nikolaevich Kuchkin did bring home a special little book.
"Here, Polya," he said, "is the latest Teach-Yourself book, based on the most up-to-date methods. I'm going to show you how to use it."
Polya gave a quiet laugh, took the book in her hands, turned it over, and hid it in the cupboard, as if to say, "Let it be there. Maybe our grandchildren will have some use for it."
One day Polya sat down to work. She had to mend a jacket for Ivan. The sleeve was torn.
So, Polya sat down at the table, took up her needle and put her hand under the jacket. She heard something rustling.
Maybe there's money in there, Polya thought.
She looked inside and found a letter. A nice clean one, with a neat handwriting, on paper that smelled of perfume, and in a blue envelope. Polya became pale.
Is Ivan in love with another woman? Is he exchanging love letters with well-educated ladies and making fun of his poor illiterate wife?
Polya looked at the envelope, took out the letter and unfolded it, but since she was illiterate, how could she read it?
For the first time in her life Polya was sorry that she had not learnt how to read and write.
Even though it is somebody's else's letter, she thought, I have got to know what is in it. Maybe it will change my whole life. Maybe Ivan loves another woman. Maybe I will have to go back to the country and work as a peasant.
Polya started to cry and began thinking about how Ivan seemed to have changed lately - he seemed to be taking more care of his moustache and his clothes. Polya sat looking at the letter. She kept crying and sniffing. But she could not read it at all. And to show it to someone else would be unthinkable.
Polya hid the letter in her cupboard, finished the jacket, and waited for Ivan to come home.
But when he returned Polya did not let him know that anything had happened. On the contrary, in a calm and even voice she told her husband that she had nothing against doing a little studying and that she was fed up with being an ignorant, illiterate peasant.
Ivan Nikolaevich was overjoyed to hear it. "That's just fine", he said. "I'll teach you myself how to read and write."
"All right, go ahead," said Polya. And she stared fixedly at Ivan's clipped little moustache.
For two silent months, Polya studied every day. She patiently put together the words, learnt to form the letters, and memorised sentences. And every evening she took the treasured letter out of the cupboard and tried to find out its secret meaning.
But it was no easy job.
It was the third month before Polya learnt how to read.
One morning when Ivan Nikolaevich had gone off to work, Polya took the letter out of the cupboard and started reading it.
It was hard for her to understand the small handwriting, but the slight scent of perfume from the paper pushed her on. The letter was addressed to Ivan Nikolaevich:
mark brainliest
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