Зачем, Зачем

Die Drei Geliebte Geschwister from Alexeyevka sang it,the greatest precision one ever heard.

Ah, persons who hardly ever care of rough, faraway distance, they were. They were born on rough, faraway roads. Father of theirs, a tough, hard headed violinist from Biryuch, who met his long lost companion born in Sertolovo.

The companion played harps and piano. It was a warm, snowy day back then in Sankt Petersburg, when they met.

A glass of kvas, a piece of khlyeb, were what brought them together.

A glass of warm kvas and a piece of khlyeb, were what he wished he could just have every single night, against the freezing wind of the Palace Square.

Petersburg was a beautiful yet cruel passion. Yet there he was, a nobody's boy from the deep indigeneous land of Siberia, striving for a glint of glory with a violin on his right hand, a rusty long coat his father, the peasant shepherd gave, surviving from the humblest mean of famine each passing day to earn that title of du baccalauréat de la musique

Oh he thought he could play the greatest violin in Volgograd Oblast. But here in the majestic city of the north, mere a talent was not good enough. Those classmates of him, would never have to be feebled in recital examinations just because of the cold... hence producing those sweet, abundant amount of sounds from the strings were always taken for granted.

His scholarship was hardly enough. It was not seldom that sometimes he skipped not only obyed but even uzhin... regardless how uzhin to be something you could offer your enemy. Oh, brot et butyer... what he could indiffer slightly back then at home, how luxurious and sweet could it seem now!

On fortunate days, he could get half, three kopyejkis at night, when people seemed to be happy enough to pay attention to his violin playing at the Square. It was usually the beginning of each month. Typically when it was approaching the end of months, people became more indifferent, ignorant than ever, and sniffing towards what they used to call 'beauty in music'.

But brot and butyer, each costed nearly three kopyejkis, so to anticipate the broke times, he would ate the same bread each two days in a row, and thank God that during seasons like this, he could just light up his match to melt some snow and thus that made him his source of water.

It was snowing in Petersburg that night, when it seemed to be not a really fortunate day. He only had half a kopyejki in his pocket, heading towards his way home, a tiny, rusty chamber behind a ghetto, nearly 15 km away.

And he walk, and walk, and walk... and he stumbled. In front of the gate of a little cottage just around the corner.

A maiden stepped out of the front door, wearing full-dress and a robe, for it was far too cold for her thin, hardly fleshed-figure. And as she opened the front fence, the fully-loaded garbage plastic bag on her hand almost got to the stumbled body of the man, whose violin with a carved emblem of N.A. Rimsky Conservatory laid helplessly beside him, even the instrument looked as hungry as the master. 

The maiden knew him. They were of the same origin, as what came first to her mind when she first saw him playing la sonata de Katerina Maier.

She saw him the other days, playing music in The Square during the summer and fall, pigeons cheerfully chirping around him, coins hardly piling besides him. But he continued playing nevertheless.

She saw him sipping his kvas another day. A bird told her that kvas probably the only thing fulfilled his skull-bulging figure an entire day.

Kvas? she whispered cautiously towards the lying body.

The body's eyes turned towards her. They entered the front door together, right after the maiden got rid of her garbage.

That was the sweetest kvas he ever tasted.

And thus that was how he named each of his future children; Kvasiana for a girl, Kvasch for a boy.

Thus the middle maiden names of The Three Beloved Sister: Kvasyana, Kvaszyana, and Kvashina.

Who would be related to Ricardovich?

The eldest daughter.