Not Every Window Is Waiting for Love

My girl was a fine one, but sly. The moment I'd lean in to kiss her, she'd launch into some story. And she did it so masterfully that I'd forget everything in the world and just listen. There were countless stories, but one carved itself into my memory forever. About a lad - a desperate romantic and an ardent suitor.

Brains he may have had a little less of than heart, but he loved sincerely. One night at a village gathering he overheard his intended whisper to a friend: "I like decisive men, the ones who don't stand there twisting their cap in their hands but speak straight out." The lad took this not as a hint but as a battle order. And he decided that very night to come under her window and say it all plain.

He spent half the day learning fine words, took the biggest apple from the orchard, and set off on his feat. Climbing over the wattle fence decisively did not work out, because his shirt caught on a stake and his foot knocked over an empty bucket. The clatter was such that the dog in the neighbor's yard nearly choked on its own barking. But the lad held his ground.

He unhooked his shirt, left the bucket where it lay, and crawled on into the darkness, clutching the apple like a weapon.

Right by the window he stepped into a makitra bowl full of clay. The clay squelched, but he didn't so much as sigh, because true heroes pay no mind to trifles. Then the goose woke up and began to hiss. In a whisper the lad delivered to it a solemn phrase about eternal love, and the goose fell silent from sheer surprise. Pleased with his own courage, the lad pressed himself to the windowpane and began whispering into the darkness about his burning heart.

He whispered long and with inspiration. Said he was ready to do anything for her, that his soul was singing, that his fate was already sealed. Suddenly the window creaked and swung open. A mustache glinted in the dark, and the thick bass of the girl's father answered him quietly: son, the soul is all well and good, but if you'd also clear that makitra away from the window, I'd even pour you a bowl of borshch.

The lad froze, apple in hand, realizing he had mixed up the windows. The father didn't scold him, only advised him to go get some sleep, since decisive lads need their rest. The lad walked home covered in clay, without his apple, but with a great life lesson. His best friend, who had sneaked after him to watch, was laughing so hard in the bushes that the branches shook.

And I think a sincere heart is a great power, but before you go crawling into the darkness with your love, it's worth making sure in daylight exactly whose window you're about to wake.