Liubomyr's Nightingale Honour

A man has two troubles: when his body speaks out of turn, and when his pride afterwards won't let him shut his mouth. That's exactly what happened to Liubomyr. He went to Kateryna with poems, the moon and clean boots, and came back a great defender of nightingale honour. The versions varied - from the evil eye to too much kvas. But the truth hid in the small things.

And here's how it was. A May evening, smelling of damp earth and blossom. Liubomyr had been preparing for a month. He polished his boots, learned poems by heart, went three times to the healer woman for advice. He led the girl into the orchard, where the moon was brushing the branches. Then came that very silence when words are meant to decide a fate. Liubomyr looked into her eyes, drew in a breath and produced: "Kateryna, tonight my heart speaks louder than I do."

And at that point his body decided to join the conversation. The sound was short but convincing. Not romantic. The kind that does not go with the moon and poems at all. Kateryna only lowered her eyes, ready to say nothing and pretend nothing had happened. But Liubomyr feared the silence more than the sound itself. His pride could not bear it. He set about rescuing his honour. First he nodded at the wattle fence - that's the wood drying out.

Then at the ground - that's it breathing out its warmth. Then he moved on to an old stump. The girl kept silent, and he panicked. And at last he blurted out his main version: it was a nightingale in the bushes, singing so strangely! And then a miracle happened. Out of the lilac, with a rustle, a small bird really did fly up, snorted in offence and vanished into the dark. As if it had come in person to see who had hung such disgrace upon it.

Kateryna looked at Liubomyr and said drily: "A nightingale may sing in all sorts of ways, but don't you go inventing a voice for it." Another man would have fallen silent and gone home. But Liubomyr decided to stand to the last. He suddenly began loudly praising nightingales, holding forth on their diet and the benefits of clean night air for a bird's digestion. He lied so zealously that Kateryna finally burst out laughing.

Not spitefully, but sincerely, to tears, leaning on that same wattle fence. It turned out she had no need of a perfect poet. She liked this frightened lad. And there you have the answer to that evening's mystery. People think love comes from fine words and moonlight. But in truth it begins when you see a person trying to save his dignity in front of a lilac bush, and you want not to run away, but to take him by the hand.

Nightingales sing for the soul, but knowing how to laugh at yourself in time - now that is for a long life together.