Where Death Sings

seventeen // astrid

The small river slithering through the French towns looks cold and dark from where I sit on a bench by its edge. The water, which almost has the same colour as the sky on a late evening, moves slowly between the houses.

   The air is cold as well, and I have my coat tightly wrapped around my body. It wasn't really my decision to spend the morning by the river's edge. When I had given up on sleep this morning I planned to head to the church a bit earlier but Agnes stopped me. She refused to let me go to the church with so little rest. Instead she told me to spend some time by the river before getting back to work. So here I am by the river, shivering in the cold morning air. I regret not bringing some tea or coffee with me, at least that would have kept me warm for a while.

   I desperately want to go to the church, but I know Agnes is watching me like a hawk and won't let me go anywhere near it for at least another thirty minutes. I'm left with nothing but my thoughts. I've got another half hour to spend daydreaming, and the most logical scenario is imagining myself being somewhere else, preferably somewhere where death isn't as present as it is here in France.

   I don't wish I was somewhere else. I'm where I'm supposed to be, where I am needed. But a part of me can't help but to miss simpler days. Days which don't begin with sleepless nights or the terror after nightmares. Days which don't consist of blood, suffering and death. Days which end around a table with my parents and younger sister, warm food and jokes. I miss all kind of days. The warm summer days when the scent of nature lingers around you at all times. The winter days when the cold bites your delicate skin. The spring days when the trees begin to bloom. The autumn days when the leaves turn orange and red, and it looks like the whole world is on fire, except it's a good kind of fire. But who can blame me for missing days without death. We all miss something. We all miss loved ones and days that don't seem dark even when the sun is shining.

I spend another thirty minutes, or it at least feels like thirty minutes, by the river before I stand up to leave it. I give it one last look before I go, and watch the grey water move between the stone walls that detains it. For a second I wonder why I didn't spend more time by the river during the summer, but I'm very much aware where I spent most my days this summer.

   The church looks exactly like it always does; big, magnificent and terrifying. The beautiful windows tell nothing of what is happening on the other side. They don't reveal who the sun shines upon when its rays pass through the glass. Truthfully, nothing about the exterior of the church can prepare you for what's on the inside. But something is different today, I know it as soon as I step over the threshold.

   It's not only the atmosphere that is different, but the way some of the nurses look at me when I step into the nave is different, and when a nurse called Mary stops just a few metres in front of me I half expect her to say something, but instead she just gives me a look filled with anxiety before she keeps walking.

   My heart starts to pick up speed and my guts twist and turn inside of me. My eyes are immediately turned to the far-left corner of the nave where a white sheet is supposed to hang. But the white sheet, put up to hide Friedhelm, which was there when I left last night is now gone.

   I feel nauseous and my heart is ready to break through my very flesh and bones when I rush down one of the aisles. I reach the corner in a matter of seconds, and is met by an empty bed. The white sheet that has been used as a divider lies on the cold stone floor.

   My breath hitches. Friedhelm is gone.

   My mind is spinning. Where's Friedhelm? Did he leave? Did they take him away? Is he dead? Is he alive? Why is he not here? He was not supposed to be transferred yet. I still had a couple of hours left with him. Sure, it wasn't a lot, but it was a few and it was all I asked for.

   "Astrid." A distant voice speaks. "Astrid."

   I force myself to turn away from the empty bed. The distant voice belongs to Agnes who now is standing in front of me with a pained expression on her face.

   "Astrid."

   "Where's Friedhelm?"

   "I'm so sorry. They came for him this morning." Agnes explains. "That's why I couldn't let you go to the church this morning. They didn't want you interfering with his transfer again."

   I stare at Agnes with big eyes. They didn't want me in the church? Agnes worried look and comforting words this morning had only been about keeping me away from the church, and I let myself get convinced that I needed a break. My heart sinks.

   "It wasn't my call to make. They made it very clear that you were not supposed to be in the church this morning, under no circumstances." Agnes says. "But Astrid, he didn't belong here."

   "Of course he did. He deserved our care just as much as the next man." I argue "How could you?"

   I practically spit out the last couple of words. I know it's uncalled for and I know that it's not really Agnes fault, but anger and sadness have washed over me. I'm trying to keep my emotions detained, just like I do every day, but I just can't today. Suddenly I feel just as empty as Friedhelm's bed. He should be alive, on his way to a POW camp, but he might as well be dead. That's how I feel, it doesn't really matter where Friedhelm is or whether he is dead or alive, it still feels like I've lost a friend. He was a friend. Despite not knowing him for long, just a couple of days, his present had been very comforting, and I know that I will miss him for as long as I live. When I'm old I will wonder what happened to the German soldier. I will wonder if he survived the war, and what he is doing. Will he have fallen in love with a woman who helps him through the nightmare-filled nights? Maybe he will give his scars a quick glance and think of the English nurse who at least tried to help him the best way she could.

   I turn my attention back to the corner where I had spent a couple of hours talking with Friedhelm. Knowing he won't come back, I have to strip the bed of its linen and make the bed available to someone else. I start with the sheet lying on the floor. I fold it nicely and place it on a small table before I pull the blanket from the bed and reveal a bloody sheet underneath. The pillow is the next thing I pick up, but before I can place it on the table and remove the bloody sheet, I spot a piece of paper where the pillow was a second ago.

   I slowly pick up the paper and hold it in front of me. A short, but meaningful, message has been written on it.

   Vielen Dank

   I read the two words over and over again, and let them imprint on my mind. I want Friedhelm's last words to be inked on my mind. A couple of years after the war the words might fade, only for Friedhelm to whispers them to me one last time as I as an old women lie dying in my home in England. Then I will give the German soldier one last thought as I think back on my long life.