Rain Man

It is an unusual season for rain. But he was happy. He darted out of the house to his backyard garden and started tending the flower beds. He loved rainy season. Though now it was almost summer. As he did gardening, his two little daughters watched him from the balcony.

It has been two years since he lost his wife. This garden is all that is left of her. Douglas never re-married again, fearing that it would divide the love for his daughters. He was mom and dad to them. He loves walking in the rain now. Specially around the house where the garden lies. This thing he never did when she was around. Neither did he do the gardening even after countless requests by her.

Thinking about it made his blue eyes to water and he looked at his daughters in balcony. But they cannot see his tears. It was raining.

Uncle Ben

He stood at the end of the driveway speechless like a statue. An angel little girl was running towards him with her arms wide open. She was just four. Her mom Emily, was transfixed on him with teary eyes. She could hardly speak.

Ruby threw her arms around Josh and welcomed her daddy back with a well-planted kiss. "Where is uncle Ben?". She was curious because uncle Ben loved her the most. He hugged her and told Ruby that her beloved uncle Ben will be a little late.

Rest of the evening went by with Ruby doing the most of the talking. The adults were unusually quite. They were not expecting this. After Ruby went to bed, Josh turned to unusually strong Emily, who now was almost in tears. They said nothing more and bid goodbye to each other. She has to break the news to Ruby as soon as possible. Probably the next morning.

As he stood at the end of the driveway, he turned around to see the now quite little house. His heart ached with pain. It was a long hard eighteen months at Afghanistan, and the war has taken its toll. With this thought, Ben's eyes were wet with tears. How he misses Josh! His twin brother.

The Promise

      Soup was simmering on the stove just like the last two days. Bread was just out of the oven. The room was filled with their smell. She paced the dinning room with her son's letter in hand. Reading it occasionally and glancing outside through the window. She once again read through the brief letter from her son:

"Dear mother,

Life has been tough. We have badly beaten the Nazi's on this front. I do not know what will happen to Moscow. But mother I have been very brave. I have been just like father. They have granted me a week's leave. I will be coming home to you soon. I might be a little late, but I will come to you I promise.

Your Loving Son,
Yaroslav."

   Tears trickled down Milyena's cheeks. How proud her husband would have been. Her son was little late. But he promised he will be home.


Soviet counter-offensive: Winter 1941

    Yaroslav watched the panzer tank closely as it approached. This was the 8^th one which was coming down straight to his trap. He and his unit was ready with his antitank rifle. Suddenly the panzer stopped. It spotted them. They started firing. But it was too late. He ran towards the panzer with a RPG-43 Grenade. There was a blast and a blackness.
   It was a long way home, but just the thought of his mother’s hug made Yaroslav happy. He had survived the ordeal and now he was granted leave.
   She was almost asleep when there was a knock at the door. She did not know how long she has been asleep or how late it was. Milyena sprang to her feet and opened the door. There was Yaroslav, her son, with a smiling face. She hugged her and brought him inside. The journey made him pale and cold and it was snowing outside. After he got fresh, she served him dinner and they talked about so many things. War has made her son quieter and his eyes were speaking of pain. She knew that they had just this night because he was already late. With morning sun Yaroslav will be back to the Eastern front. As they went on chatting, it was suddenly dawn and time for him to go. Yaroslav slowly picked and packed up his things and hugged Milyena. She still felt his coldness and tears ran down her cheeks. They did not talk much and neither did say bye. As she watched him go in the snowy morning, his footsteps slowly disappeared in the snow. How well the son has followed his father’s footsteps.
   She did not know how long she had been asleep. It was almost afternoon when she was awoken by a car in front of her house. She opened the door. The herald gave the letter to her without any emotion. She opened the letter with trembling hands.

“Dear Madame,

With great regret and sorrow we inform you that your Son, Yaroslav Alexandrov, was martyred three days back, on 15 January 1942, while returning home, on a train raid by German air force. Yaroslav was a gallant soldier and his name will always be mentioned in Russian history in golden words.

Yours Truly,

Joseph Stalin.”

Yaroslav never kept a promise he could not keep.