Bravo!

My daughter is fond of dancing. Swift and rhythmical dances are her special preference. She attends an amateurs’ dancing club. Her instructors (first a young woman, then a young guy) praise her for the sense of rhythm and tempo.

Otherwise, she is a slow-going girl. She was born with a trauma. Her movements had never been too quick or sharp. She doesn't impress as one capable of a total transformation on the stage. But once she hears music she becomes one with it. As the music stops, she turns again into a quiet and shy girl.

A few weeks ago she performed with her group at an airborne military unit. The reception was outrageous. Big and hefty paratroopers stood up, and bawled “Bravo!” in admiration. They fully enjoyed the sight of a little girl giving herself away to the music before their eyes. They demanded more and more.

Soon after that, they were sent to the war. We happen to wage one against a small Caucasian nation. They kill Russians. Russians are killing them.

A column of paratroopers were ambushed yesterday. Fifteen men dead. Soon they will be brought back to our hometown. Metal caskets, big and bulky, will contain the chaps who cheered my daughter on the stage. They will never cheer anyone again. How cheerless! I don’t want my daughter to know it. To you, however, I have told it like it was…