The Babcia

I used to talk to Babcia every night before she went to bed.  Daily ramblings, what we had for dinner, what Mrs. So-n-So said at Bingo, it's raining, it's sunny, it's snowing . . . the majority of the time our conversations went along those lines. And then, every blue moon, her mind would open up and the next thing you know she's telling you about a blue scarf she wore on her 13th birthday. And the thoughts keep coming. You don't even look at the clock until you've hung up and realize you've been talking for hours about the most beautiful, hilarious and sentimental things.  

Tonight was one of those nights. Stealing sorrel leaves from a neighbours meadow when she was sixteen. Her friend Katie setting her up with a German soldier. "Tara, can you imagine if we were caught?? We would have been killed!"

And the first time she heard her husband sing. He came back to her village, in Marksteft, after the war was over. They went for a walk in a meadow. She said to me "It was a song about Katyusha, he sang it in Russian. All I can remember is a part about her being by the river. I think it was a love song."

And then, not two minutes later, I found the song and played it for her. It was a love song. And together, her and I listened. Her remembering her husband as he was 70 years ago, and me, thinking, this has got to be the best Valentine's Day I've ever had.

Apple and pear trees were blooming.
O'er the river the fog merrily rolled.
On the steep banks walked Katyusha,
On the high bank she slowly strode.

As she walked she sang a sweet song
Of her silver eagle of the steppe,
Of the one she loved she loved so dearly,
And the one whose letters she had kept

O you song! Little song of a young girl,
Fly over the river and in the sunlight go.
And fly to my hero far from me,
From his Katyusha bring him a sweet hello.

Will he remember this plain young girl,
And her sweet song like a dove,
As he stands guarding his proud nation,
So Katyusha will guard their love.