Once upon a time, the villagers were forced to leave their homes.  First the Russians came and took all the able bodied men and put them away in Siberia.  Then the Germans came and moved all the women, children, and elderly to Belarus.  As a little boy and his family were leaving, he recalled a large sack of salt in the cellar of his house and determined to recover it once the Germans left the village.  When night fell, he returned to the village and found that the Germans were still there.  Nevertheless, he retrieved the salt and returned to his family safely.  The salt helped them through the hard years in exile.

Once upon a time, Jewish people lived in Narewka, in Białowieża, in Poland.  There were Jewish children, they were only children, just little ones.  A family in the village hid their friends, a Jewish family from Narewka.  They were found out.  First the Germans killed the Jews.  Then the Germans killed the family who had hidden the Jews.

Once upon a time, the Germans burned down the village.  There was nothing left, nothing left.  No, there was one thing left standing, and it was a stork’s nest.  The storks returned to the village.  The villagers realized that if the storks could return, then people might too.

Once upon a time, all there was to eat were potatoes, and potatoes, and more potatoes.  One day a little girl was boiling potatoes when German soldiers appeared.  They were worn from the war; it was near the end and they were losing.  They were emaciated and their clothes threadbare.  They grabbed the potatoes straight from the boiling water and ate them.  Then, they shared stories about their families and their homes.  The little girl couldn’t believe that these were Germans, the same Germans who had destroyed everything.

Once upon a time, there was happiness after the war, yes, even after the war.  The villagers lived as though they were one extended family.  There were parties, with music and dancing and singing lasting the whole night.  Everybody sang the same folk songs, though few people understood the entire meaning, since the lyrics combined Ukrainian and Russian and Belarussian and Polish and everything else.  Everybody sang together, even the Catholics with the Orthodox, yes, the Catholics were welcome, too.  Now it is quiet, now the songs are forgotten, because there are no young people in the village, just a few weathered babcias to remember.

Once upon a time, we performed a play for the babcias of Teremiski.  It was a play woven together with their own stories and their own words and their own songs.  And the babcias, they laughed and they sang along and they talked loudly during the play to each other, to their grandchildren, about how it was, how it all is.  They said Paweł’s lines before he did, because his words were their words.  They were happy.  And after the play, there was music and dancing and singing all night long, though the babcias wouldn’t dance.  They sat on the side to watch the young people dancing.