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. These were their last homes. In
all the world, no place else can be home for them." He finished, a
little embarrassed at the speech. "Or for me. Bring out more water,
young lady."
As they worked, Tika hummed. She had a sweet, soft voice,
and Otik was glad when she finally broke into full song. The
ballad was a hill tune, melodic and plaintive; Tika, with great
enjoyment, sang it as sadly as she could.
By the second verse she had dropped her scrub-rag and shut her
eyes, oblivious to Otik. He listened qui etly, knowing that if she
remembered his presence, she would blush and fall silent. Lately,
Tika had become awkward and shy around men-a bad trait for a
barmaid, but at her age, quite natural. He kept patient, knowing
how soon that shyness would end. Tika sang:
THE TREE BY MY DOOR
I'VE WATCHED TURN BEFORE
AND I'VE WATCHED AS IT'S BRANCHED OUT AND GROWN;
WHEN IT TURNS NEXT YEAR,
WILL I STILL BE HERE,
AND WILL I BE HERE ALONE?
WHEN MY LOVE WAS THERE,
BIRDS SANG IN THE AIR,
AND THEY SOARED LIKE THE DREAMS THAT WE HAD;
NOW HE'S OFF TO WAR,
THEY SING LIKE BEFORE,
BUT ALL OF THEIR SONGS ARE SAD.
MY GOOD FRIENDS, I KNOW,
WILL MARRY AND GO,
AND FAREWELL WITH A KISS AND A TEAR,
WITH LOVERS TO TELL,
AND CHILDREN AS WELL,
WHILE I WAIT ANOTHER YEAR.
THEIR FUTURES ARE BRIGHT,
THEY SING DAY AND NIGHT,
AND I'M HAPPY TO THINK THEM SO GLAD . . .
THE BIRDS THAT I SEE
STILL SING BACK TO ME,
BUT ALL OF THEIR SONGS ARE SAD
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