Where Death Sings

five // william

A couple of my comrades and I are sitting in what might have been a warehouse before the war. To be honest, it's quite hard to imagine the house as anything other than our sleeping quarters. The beds placed in the house are scrawny looking, the mattresses are thin and people back home would probably think it looks uncomfortable, but to us it's heaven. After all the discomfort of the trenches, even the hardest mattress is as if sent from God himself.

   We have pulled a few beds closer together, huddling up next to each other even though the house provide us with the warmth we need. Sometimes I think we can't let go of the ways of the trenches, not even when we are resting. We are so used to having to huddle up in order to stay warm, and to get any sleep at all. There are things we have to do in order to survive, and to function as a normal soldier, and sometimes we take those things with us when we leave the trenches. Maybe we do it to ensure ourselves that we're okay, maybe we wouldn't be able handle a too big contrast, or maybe we are worried that if we let go of the trenches then we will forget everything they have taught us.

   I let my eyes wander over to one of the windows. It's only noon, but the thick, autumn clouds covering the sky make it look more like night than day. Something I have noticed is that there are more than one kind of darkness. There is the soft, darkness outside the window right now, it will embrace you and make you a part of itself. There's the sorrowful darkness that lingers around you as you rest your hand on a fallen comrade. There's the tense darkness that dominates the trenches before and after a flare. Every darkness is different from one and other, they engulf you in different ways and under different circumstances.

   "Moore," Someone's voice directs my attention back to my comrades. "Why did you fall out of like at the square earlier?" It's Hugh Jackson.

   "There was this nurse –"I begin, but is immediately interrupted by Edwin Cook.

   "Saw something that you liked, yeah? William, you naughty boy, going after nurses."

   Edwin Cook is a year older than me, born and raised in London. He has that cocky kind of look, a satisfied grin always plastered on his face, and he loves to make witty remarks and tasteless jokes. Yet, I can't say that I dislike him. In fact we are rather fond of each other, as fond as two soldier can be.

   "You're one to speak." I say and laugh.

   "Come on, man. You've got to tell me. Was she a pretty one?"

   I sigh.

   "Yes, Cook." I say. "She was."

   "Well, then I'm considering visiting her." Cook says as inhales the smoke from the cigarette in his hand.

   "You do that, Cook." I reply casually and light a cigarette myself. "I'm sure she could use some female company."

   Cook laughs, and so does the rest of us. We all laugh. However the next second Edwin lunges at me, and I'm knocked to the ground. The laughter continues around me as Cook pins me to the floor, grinning widely with his cigarette still in his mouth.

   "Well, aren't you just clever?" Cook says. "Hilarious. What a comeback!" he adds, throwing his hands into the air in a grand gesture.

   "Alright, alright." I say. "Get him off."

   Matthew Allen and James Scott pull Cook off me, and we all sit down on one of the beds again, laughing and hitting each other in a friendly manner.

   "Tell us something then." Scott says. "About the nurse." The boy is tiny. He's the tiniest of all of us, and has the appearance of a twelve year old.

   "There's nothing to tell." I say and shrug.

   "Oh, come on now, Moore." Cook says. "I don't believe that. What's her name?"

   "Astrid." I say. "That's all I know, I just followed her back to the church."

   "I kind of want to see her." Jackson blurts out.

   "You know what, Jackson? I kind of want to see her too." Cook replies and pats Jackson on the back. "What a fantastic idea. Let's go see this Astrid!"

   "No. Let's not." I say, but they are already on their way.

   Cecil Miller and I are the only ones who are left, sitting on two beds. I look at him. He's nervously playing with the hem of his uniform jacket, while mumbling something to himself.

   "I should really stop them from doing something stupid." I say and laugh shortly.

   Miller gives me a quick look before he, without a reply, turns his empty and lost eyes back to the floor.

   I push myself off the bed, and place a hand on Millers shoulder.

   "Why don't you stay here, I'll be right back."

   I exit the building and start jogging down the street. I catch up with the others just as they enter the square.

   Cook throws his arm around my shoulder as I move my gaze up to the church tower; it's tall, narrow and pointy, trying it's best to reach the sky lingering above.

As soon as we reach the inside of the church, a murmur of agony hits us. The unison of cries fills the air around us, and it seems to be doing its very best to force us into submission. But we have all heard the cries of pain before, we hear them when we are awake and we hear them when we are asleep. It's a big part of our current life. Yet, the sound in the church makes its way under my skin, causing me to shiver. Sorrow and pain never stops to affect you, you just learn to deal with it in different ways.

   The first thing my eyes find is the golden cross, angels and radiance at the front of the church; one of the few things that still remind you what kind of building you are in. However when I move my glance away from the grand sculpture, I easily find Astrid among the many soldiers, nurses and doctors in the room. Her concentration is visible even from where I stand. With steady hands she does her best as she tries to stop the bleeding on a soldier's leg. A moment later, she places a hand on the soldiers shoulder, smiles and says something before she leaves.

   I follow Astrid with my eyes as she walks over to a table and dips her hands into a bowl of water, scrubbing her hands free from blood. When her hands are clean, she continues to another soldier, places her hand on his. This is followed by a short, inaudible, conversation between the two of them before Astrid once again straightens up and leaves the soldier.

   Her eyes wander around the church, before they lock with mine. She must recognise me because she gives me a faint smile. I appreciate the kind gesture, just like most soldiers probably do, but I can't help but notice how the smiles doesn't quite reach her eyes. And as Astrid gets closer the sadness in her eyes becomes more visible. No smile, no act, no gesture can cover up the pain that lingers in the church.