Remember, these guys took "bass lessons" so you are going to have to take it slow for them.
Relax, it's just humor.
Sulu, gifted artist and music critic that he is, doesn't relate to humor (unless perhaps it's in Lithuanian according to an early post).
So, on that note....
Long ago a prosperous industrialist from Kaunas, Mr. Romulas Savickas would sneak away to his hide-away near Druskininkai (before it was known as a vacation spot famous for its springs) for the rest and revitalization he would find in the solitude of the woods and hills, amidst the beautiful lakes.
He had a cozy cabin on the south side of one of the small hills that overlooked one of these lakes and being a man of means he had arranged that it was taken care in his absence and always ready for a hastily planned retreat. The cabin had a huge fireplace and a ready supply of dry, seasoned firewood stacked neatly alongside the house under the protective eaves of a sideporch. He had made the trip to
Druskininkai from Kaunas many times and it was easy for him to leave work a little early in Friday afternoon and, after one train change in Vilnius and another in Pariece, arrive early Saturday morning where a livery would be awaiting him
to take him to the road at the base of the hill that led to his cabin.
One warm spring day in Kaunas, Savickas found himself thinking of the vernal sunlight on the snow on his hill in Druskininkai ...the peace and quiet... and he got up and started for a retreat. By the time he got to Pariece he was beginning to relax. When he finally arrived in Druskininkai he was met at the station by his stand by carriage and driver.
He climbed into the livery next to the driver, Kes Jatautas, and savored the quietness that invigorated him so. As
they approached the road that led to his cabin, Savickas said, "Kes, it's such a lovely day I think I'll have you let me down here and I'll walk the rest of the way."
Nothing in Kaunas mattered now. Clean, fresh air, and bright sunlight over all. The snow showing through the hardwoods and then the change to the black spruces that seemed to be on the march and through which no snow ever showed. He came to a bridge over the river and he leaned over the railing
to see how the melting snows had already begun to swell the current. There was still a strip of ice on each side of the rushing current and Savickas was concerned to see a small boy playing on one of these ice banks. Not too good a place for a child to be, he thought, but then he began philosophizing
about the carefree nature of youth and here was this boy living his (Savickas' ) boyhood dreams! Sad that this boy must grow up and conform, and grab time by the forelock, and be hammered into a man on the clanging anvil of the
workaday world. Savickas sighed as his thoughts wandered and he was grateful for his retreat up on the hill where he could come and renew himself. Where like a small boy, he thought, he could come and play.
Then he was horrified to see the small boy slip and fall into the torrent of black water that separated the remaining ice banks.
In aftertimes, he would try to think how he reasoned himself into action. Savickas had never pictured himself as one to jump to motion, to rise to an occasion. It astonished him that he had not looked around to see if anyone were about, he had not called for help, he had not hesitated in the slightest.. He ran off the bridge, hurdled the snowbanks, grabbed a stick
of some sort , and accurately guessing everything, had been right beside the boy when he popped up from the pool. Savickas snagged the boy with the stick and had him ashore in a twinkling. The whole thing had happened so quickly that the boy was none the worse off except for the intense chill of the snow water. Savickas had scarcely time to look at the boy when he heard somebody call and two men came down over the snowbanks on the run. They said they'd seen the whole thing and that they knew who the boy was, and that they'd take him where he could get warm and dry out. They picked the lad up and carried him away and Savickas stood there by the flowing water by himself, looking at the dark pool and all ashake to think that this happened to him. It was over so soon that it seemed not to have happened at all, and
to calm his doubts he stood looking at the stick still in his hands. Then he sort of shook himself, climbed back up to the road and continued up to his cabin.
There he lighted his fireplace, poured himself a stout measure of strong drink, and made a lamp ready for lighting, because it would soon grow dark. He dilly-dallied with supper for on his mind was the coincidence of being there- if he hadn't gotten down from the buggy to walk the rest of the way
he'd have been far beyond the bridge when the boy fell in. Then he marveled at the spontaneity of his own reactions - he hadn't gone into a panic. He found himself wagging his head as he stood and peeled some potatoes. A second hooker of the intoxicant sufficed and then supper was ready.
Afterwards he sat in the big soft armchair before the fire and tried to relax after his custom which is what he had come to Druskininkai to do. But he could only think of that small boy. It made him something of a hero really. He found himself smiling indulgently at the thought. Perhaps an Imperial Medal?
The fire burned low and he added fuel. Then at last he did doze in his chair.
Somebody was knocking at the door. Somebody must have climbed the hill in the dark. He opened it and a man and a woman were standing there.. "Good Evening" said Savickas.
The woman spoke. "You the man came through Druskininkai this afternoon about half past one, maybe two?"
"Yes, " said Savickas.
"The same as saw a little boy fall in the river?"
"That's right."
"And pulled him out?"
"Yes"
"Well, I'm his mother. This here is his father."
"I'm very happy to make your acquaintance," said Savickas. "Won't you come in?"
"No we just came up to ask. We was wondering if you chanced to notice what become of his mittens?"
