The Willow that Bends

A mother in Nazi occupied Poland tries to give hope to her daughter, while teaching her to hold pride in their country, even in its defeat.

The wind blows warm, with a hint of autumn chill in the air. The grass ripples, the heavy purple blossoms bending beneath the pressure. Amidst this field, beneath the gray sky, sits a young girl. Her dark hair is in two braids over her shoulders and a red kerchief covers her head. Her dress is splayed out about her ankles and she strokes a flower absently, gazing up at the sky with melancholy green eyes.

"Kasia!" The voice rang across the empty field. The girl turned, the light caressing her child-plump cheeks.

"Yes, mama?" she replied.

A tall woman who might have once been lovely stands at the edge of the thick wood. She has the same dark brown hair as the girl, and though life had aged her, there was a kindness about her face that still lent it beauty. She wore a simple green dress and apron with work boots beneath.

"Kasia, come here!" she called.

But the child lingered, sadly tracing the outline of the blossoms with her stubby small fingers. Her mother crossed the meadow and sat by the child. Before she could say anything, the puttering of an engine split the air. They both glanced up, wide eyes fixed on the sky as a lone plane sputtered across, smoke trailing from its tail.

"Is it one of ours, mama?" the girl whispered.

"I think so, miłość*," the mother answers.

Either way it was no good for them, for the plan is clearly badly damaged, and even as they watch, it begins to lose altitude.

"Will they be coming again?" the girl asked, fear trembling in her voice.

"I don't know, miłość," her mother murmured, drawing the child onto her lap.

"Damian says we'll be speaking German by the end of the year," Kasia said, hysteria rising in her voice.

"Shh, now, moje dziecko**," the mother said into Kasia's hair. "Don't think like that. Our men are brave."

"Then why don't they fight back?" Kasia asked in a whisper. "Why must we wait for others to come to our aid?"

The mother stiffens, a glimpse of her husband flashing through her mind.

"Because we must!" she snapped, harsher than she intended. "We must be patient, Kasia, and then we will have our time!"

"In school, they teach us German plays and talk about our future under the Furer," Kasia said dully, plucking at a blade of grass.

The mother struggled to control her breath and remain calm.

"Now, Kasia, do you really think the Germans will take over the world without objection?"

Kasia shrugged. "It seems like they will. They're so cruel."

"They won't," her mother said firmly. "We will stop them. The Americans are entering the war and they'll aid the French and English, and then they'll help us."

Kasia lowered her head, falling silent. Her mother begins to hum softly, and rock her child. She stands, ignoring the ache in her back and lifts Kasia up, kissing her forehead. It pains her for her child to see their country once more bowed beneath the will of another. What could she say to restore her daughter's faith in their poor, weary soldiers? There was nothing for it. There was no way to describe war; it was so much chaos, and so much misunderstanding. So instead she carried the child back to the muddy, rut-filled road and set her on her feet.

"Now you must go to the Zwadzki's and get the bread they promised for fixing their roof," she instructed the child. "But stay away from town; there are Germans about."

Kasia nods. She glanced up at her mother. "Mama…will Papa come home too? After the Germans are gone?"

The mother closed her eyes. "Yes, child. Of course he will."

Kasia ran forward, hugging her mother around the knees. "You're only saying that to make me feel better," she said quietly. "But I don't mind. I need to hear it. And I think everyone else does too."

Her mother held the girl, tears standing in her eyes. "I think we do too," she said in a broken whisper. "I think we do too. Remember, my daughter, the willow that bends is stronger in the end than the brittle oak that fights the storm."

She looked down into the girl's face and Kasia managed a small smile. The mother gives her braid a tug, returning the tenuous smile and nudged her on her way.

"Go well, moje dziecko," she said to herself. "Go strong and go well."

*love

**my child