Montag, 26. Januar 2015

The house of Jevgenya

The young girl was a stranger in town. She came by bus every time and went to the theater to exercises - she dreamed to stay a ballerina.
She looked around as she walked through the streets and saw these houses. Very special houses as they were only there.
She liked these houses.
Often she stopped to look in front of one house - it had a magically round window!
The house itself was run down and was inhabited by much to many tenants... and under the trees played some children.
Then she saw behind the hedge the older woman. She wore around her shoulders a black scarf with colorful mountain ash patterns on it.
Such scarfs did not exist in Germany and it had some moth holes.
She stared at the scarf and whispered: рябина.
She did not know that was been heard. Rjabina - a wonderful word ...
Da da, rjabina... came the answer and the woman smiled.
Thus began a friendship. Her name was Jevgenya.

Often after the exercises the girl was sitting with her. Evgeniya prepared tea, singing softly a song.
Later they read together poems by Turgenev, Nekrasov, Jesenyn, Daniil Kharms, Osip Mandelstam, Marina Zvetayeva and others... So the girl learned the language, that her had always fascinated.
Jevgenya told how they had fled as a young girl with her parents before the revolution.
How they lived in Berlin in the twenties and many artists and poets went with them on and off. It was an interesting and eventful time. The young Andrei Bely wrote and recited his "Glossolalia" and they discussed the nights pass ... they had a famous and artful world in this time.
But it was not to last. As the dark times befell Germany, they had to flee. They were homeless, hiding in different countries. Her parents did not survive.
After the war, Jevgenya came back to devastated Germany - to Russia she could not. And elsewhere was not home ..
She found work with the writing of notes, as the theater began to play again. There was hardly to find any printed notes and the singers all neede their parts. Later she accompanied the singer during rehearsals at the piano, because she had learned as a child playing the piano well.
The theater made sure that they got this apartment and here she was still alive to this day.
Had collected books and much bought back what once was lost. Only the scarf with the moth holes shecould preserve during all the time , it had survived all escapes.
Rjabina ...

One day the girl found the door locked. Sadly, she went home by bus.
In the next week the same thing ...
Jevgeniya? - She went to the hospital and did not come back, said one of the children.
The windows were empty without forehand, without candles. All books had been taken away. Soon new tenants came.
The girl lost in one fell swoop her grandmother and best friend ...

Well, life went on and soon had the girl to go in another town. She never came back to the exercises of the theater ...
But the Russian language and the culture she kept in her heart.

40 years later a woman came into the hospital nearby. She looked around and saw the house. It was just demolished.
Jevgenyas room was open.
Long the woman was standing at the fence and looked over.
Then she heard the distant melody softly and it seemed to her as an angel with a scarf full of moth holes was flowing over the house.

The story is fictional, witten for Linda's "Wednesday Wits and Wisdom".
Really I don't know who was living there. Real is just that I as a young girl was fascinated by this kind of houses in Halberstadt .


  1. It is a wonderful story Mascha, excellently written. I was drawn in immediately. Your photos of the old house are lovely. That round window is intriguing and the reflections in the glass is beautiful.

  2. Masch, thanks for joining in with your story. Be sure to link up on Wednesday. Delightful!

  3. It seems that the stranger appreciated the artistry of the house that the locals, being so familiar with that it had become nearly invisible to them. The girl heard the home singing, as if it were alive in her heart. But alas, its life has now past...but its song remains.

    It was a beautiful dwelling in its day...

  4. nice yellow shots, when i read the story, it took be back to my reading of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

    Have a nice Monday

    much love...

  5. Ah yes, in the story, as in life our memories live on. I was fascinated by these kinds of houses as a child and still am too. Thank you for sharing so many photos of it, it's incredibly interesting and of such great design, too bad it couldn't have survived longer yet.

  6. So beautiful....both the story and the building. Simply love the roof-lines and the window detailing. What a grand building it was.

  7. How sad to see it being destroyed. Tom The Backroads Traveller

  8. Truth or not, it makes for a very interesting and touching post. Thank you for sharing.

  9. i really enjoyed your story and am sad that they are tearing this pretty old place down :(

  10. Such a moving story! So beautiful, dear Mascha! You are so very talented. You always speak to my heart.

  11. Liked the story. Too bad they are tearing down this old beauty.

  12. Old buildings have stories to tell, both fiction and non-fiction I'm sure. - Margy

  13. I wonder if they salvaged any of the old pieces of the house!! I love that round window!

  14. Wonderful story. I am sure it is true for someone somewhere. I often wonder about the old buildings I see. I hope some of this one was salvaged. It's a shame.

  15. What a fascinating and touching story. Old buildings always have a story and it's sad to see when one is being torn down. The music at the end is truly beautiful. Hugs and blessings!

  16. Beautifully written, I was sure it was true! It's sad to see a house demolished :(

  17. Lovely story, aww this house with the lovely round window looked so nice, shame it could not be saved...

    thanks for sharing at Creative Mondays

  18. This is a wonderful story! Really enjoyed reading it.

  19. Touching story.
    I thought it's a real one as it does total justice to all the pics! :)

  20. Poor little girl and poor little house.


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