Where Death Sings

fifteen // friedhelm

Astrid pushes away the white sheet that has been put up as a divider, to hide me from the English soldier. She looks exhausted. Her shoulders are hanging low, and she's got dark circles under her blue eyes.

   She gives me a small smiles before she, without a word, sits down next to my bed and moves the blanket down to reveal my chest. I observe her face as she gently removes the dressing to inspect my wound.

   "Do you ever leave?" I ask.

   "Hm?" Is all she says back.

   "Do you ever leave the church?"

   Astrid looks over her shoulder with a distant gaze, her attention is drawn to the constant chaos beyond the divider. She shakes her head slightly.

   "I do," she speaks and moves her gaze back to my wound. "I just can't rest. I can't sleep. This place haunts me whenever I try to leave."

   "We are all haunted, one way or another." I say. I have seen enough violence and despair to never be rid of the images I see whenever I close my eyes. The earth adorn with body parts of friends. The sky constantly lit up by explosion. Bodies tangled up in barbed wire. There is no escaping the trenches. Everything I have seen will be enough to provide me with new nightmares every night for the rest of my life. Even as an old man my mind will remind me of where I was when I was 21 years old.

   Astrid places a warm hand on my arm, and gives me another smile.

   "One day we will leave this place." She says. "And we will go home, and we will be safe."

   She says it in such as calm yet confident way, as if she knows that we will be able to go home and forget all about the horrors of the war tomorrow. But no matter how convincing her tone might be, I don't believe it. Maybe it's possible to see an end to the war in the distant when you spend your days miles away from the front, but those who have visited the trenches know. They know, I know, that the end of the war is nowhere in sight.

   "That day is far into the future, and we might not be around to see it."

   She opens her mouth to say something, but suddenly the white sheet is pulled from where it's hanging and two uniform dressed men step into the small corner of the church. My corner.

   "Nurse, please step away from the bed." One of them says. "This soldier is being transferred."

   There it is. My transfer to a POW camp. I close my eyes and let out a long breath, everything hurts as I do so. I wait for someone to pull me out of bed and drag me out of church, but nothing happens. I remain in my bed, and no one violently grabs me to put me on a train.

   I open my eyes just as Astrid stands up, facing the two men. I wait another moment for her to take a step back, just as they told her to do, but she doesn't.

   "He's not going anywhere." Astrid says, her voice is strong and determined. Her usual soft and kind features have suddenly hardened as she blocks the soldiers' way.

   "Miss, please step away from the bed. We've got orders to transfer this soldier to a camp."

   "Frankly, I don't care about your orders. He is under my care, and he will not be moved until I say so."

   I observe the two men, irritation is visible on both their faces. For a moment, while staring at their clenched jaws and narrowed eyes, I can't help but wonder if they are willing to use violence to get past Astrid. They don't. Instead they give each other a quick look before one of them turns around and walks away. I follow him with my eyes as he quickly makes his way through the church until he stops in front of a man twice his age. They exchange a couple of words before the soldier makes his way over to us again.

   "You have been given forty-eight hours to stabilise him and make him ready for his transfer. Regardless of his condition, he will be transferred in two days." The soldier says before they both turn on their heels and walk away.

   I let out a long, trembling breath as I watch the soldiers disappear out the church before my eyes wander back to Astrid who calmly sits back down as if nothing happened. She face is once again just as kind and soft as it always is, and her hands moves steadily to my wound as she starts to clean it.

   "Why?" I ask.

   "Pardon?" Astrid replies and looks up at me.

   "Why didn't you let them take me?"

   "You are not well enough." She replies as if it's the easiest question in the world.

   "But I'm German." I say. "You have probably treated injuries I'm responsible for. I have shot at men who might have ended up in here. I have killed men who are friends, who are family."

   "And they have shot at you, and wounded you. They have killed me who are friends, men who are brothers." Astrid replies. "You are not a bad person for being German. I'm here to help as many as possible. I'm not going to let you die just because you weren't born in England. You are first and foremost human, just like everyone else in here."