Waiting for Papa
When are you coming home, Papa? Are you ever coming home? It has been so long since we received a letter from you that I wonder sometimes if you are even still alive. I must not think such thoughts, though. I must keep up a strong face for Mama and Konstantin, little Konstantin who was still in Mama’s belly when you left. You will be happy to meet him, Papa. He favors you much.
I was so young when you left for the army to fight the Fascists. You said they invaded our Mother Russia and had to be stopped. I must confess that I did not understand. I understand all too well now. Like I understand that we have no flour to make bread, but I don’t want to worry you with our troubles. There are many here who have it much worse.
Here is some good news. You do not have to worry about me running off with a boy while you are away. There are no boys here. Only very young ones like Konstantin and old men like Grandpapa.
They were taking some of the old men to the army, but that has stopped. They say our armies will be in Berlin yet this spring. Is that true, Papa? Now that the snows have melted, I hope you can stay warm. And stay alive. And come home. But most of all Papa, I hope you can play.
I understand you are not a soldier in your heart, Papa. You are a musician and a musician must play. Have you been able to play since you left?
I so miss the sound of you playing in the parlor. The lovely work of Rachmaninoff was your favorite. Mama told me the name of the composer. I was too young to know then. Mama is very proud that we have saved your instrument. Most pianos are gone, burned for firewood during the long winters.
I am practicing, Papa. I practice every day but I must confess that I am not so good at it. It is not my passion as it is for you. I wish that it was.
I hope you come home soon Papa. And until that day, I hope you can play.