Nikolai Molotov

One day, in the heat of the afternoon, your mother asked you to pick grapes. You obediently went out into the garden, and your fingers, withered from work, deftly picked the elastic berries, filling the apron with a tart aroma. And suddenly... a voice.

– Girl, honey, take it, they asked me to give it to you.…

You turned around. A soldier in uniform stood in front of you, his face hidden under the peak of his cap. He was handing you bread. An unheard-of generosity in these hungry times! You accepted the gift, whispering words of gratitude, and ran to your mother like a bird carrying a long-awaited message in its beak.

– Mother! The bread has arrived!

The soldier froze, looking after you. A shy, embarrassed smile appeared at the corners of his lips.

In the evening, when twilight enveloped the earth, you went to the river for water. Crickets chirped, and the air was filled with the scent of herbs. A bonfire was burning by the river, around which those soldiers were sitting. You tried to ignore them, but curiosity got the better of you. You couldn't help but listen to their conversation.

• You don't understand! - The soldier who brought the bread spoke fervently. His voice was trembling with excitement.

– Yes, I'm telling you honestly. Sweet, beautiful... white chamomile blooms…

His companions burst out laughing.

– Oh, Kolka, you're a dreamer... oh, isn't this the girl you've been talking about?"

One of the soldiers pointed in your direction. Nikolai–that's his name, then–turned around abruptly, and his face flushed bright red. He turned away, pulling his cap over his face and muttering something unintelligible to himself. His companions' laughter grew even louder.

– Hey, – one of the soldiers said to you, - come to us, sweet, beautiful, that white daisy blooms! Ha ha!