Courtship

He was Stakhanovite in his dedication to this cause, the winning over of her hand.

To him she was the most perfect angel who walked this earth: she seemed benevolent and generous and kind hearted.

He made his fortune trading the grains produced in this bucolic country for radios and televisions when he was perhaps her age. Back then he had no interest in women, only in making his bank account even fatter. She changed his mind so late in the game; he is old enough to be her father.

But what does it matter?

She moved into this part of the world with her widowed mother and young daughter. She herself was a widow, because the war with the socialists was long and tragic and claimed the lives of a lot of family men.

He was spared the wrath of war because he was an economic advisor, something that brought him a tinge of embarrassment. He was able bodied and at the prime of his life but he was not fighting in the front line. He was here, in the comfort of his home away from the shrapnel and the missiles and the bombs.

He has never spoken to her; she does not know what he looks like. But every day, for the past two years he sent her missives of his longing for her. He never sent gifts, although he very well could, because he wanted to be loved for himself.

She had a small enterprise, selling lace and ribbons to the ladies of the country, which thrived without his help. But he helped her anyway, sending hordes of visitors on their way to her shoppe during lulls in negotiations or meetings.

He bumped into her once, at the market. He simply stared into her eyes, the frog in his throat keeping him from speaking.

He could have very well been Stakhanov himself in trying to win her heart.

But one day, he woke up and she was gone. He heard her daughter drowned in the well. And it broke her heart so she couldn’t bear to live with the memories this country brought her of her daughter. She intended to stay with the parson at the next country.

He hastened to be at her side that very same day. But when he arrived she herself had expired, having taken hemlock to ease her broken heart.

He was in such pain; he never spoke a word again for the rest of his life.