A small room resounded with gunshots fired outside.
The whole place shook. That resonating sound of never ceasing hail of bullets hitting walls gnawed away at me. I didn't mind. No.
I wasn't alone. An intermittent whimpering noise kept obtruding on the train of my thoughts. Private Maudline. «He's not one for holding back tears» - I thought. But who is? You are who you are around here. You just are. No people, no opinions, no pride. Your true self. On the brink of death you can be nothing but your own self.
- Does it hurt? – I asked the private - testily, I must own.
The snivelling broke off. – Rather. – he replied. It was a curt retort, petulant, snide and bitter.
-Well, zip it anyway! – I roared. Never said I was civil, did I?
I didn't even know why I growled at the poor fellow. Can't say I found his wailing irksome. I wasn't even paying much attention to it. My mind was occupied with something, nay, someone remote to the circumstances I found myself under on that unfortunate day. I kept feeling the right pocket of my trousers. It lay in there.
Under the pressure of the fusillade plastering poured down from the ceiling on our forlorn, desolate figures making us look like have-been-s long since forgotten. «She would laugh at me right now if she could see me.» I thought, and almost heard that jolly, inviting laugh - the chime of sweet youth and contentment; nearly saw that familiar smile on that face so dear and so bright; almost made out the glitter in those aquatic eyes so eloquent and loving. I felt a lump in my throat... «God, I miss her!» I think I uttered a sob there.
- Forgive me, private. I…well, I forgot myself for a moment there. Had no right to lash out at you…
- Yes. – was the reply.
It was a distressing thing to brood over two people in the same frowsy room, waiting to be buried under the debris of what appears to be the shabbiest little hut that ever had been; and those same two people were as distant from each other as east and west.
«She would embrace me now…» - I thought. I remembered the feeling…those gentle, lithe hands meeting each other behind my bent back; my head pressed against her breast, intently listening to the beat of her heart; her soft lips printing a kiss on my weather-beaten, wrinkled forehead. I had felt blithe and beatific as she pronounced the words I'd longed to hear…I'm with you
«God, I do miss her!» Another sob.
I couldn't take it any longer. I produced it out of my pocket as I felt all the past few years weighing upon me. «Yes, she would…she would laugh at me.»
It was an envelope, and it contained few things that I cherished most in the whole wide world. There was a photo…of her, obviously. It was so crumpled from my holding it and almost all colours had faded away by now. And yet I could still make out those penetrating light-grey, almost blue, eyes, that looked right into my soul urging me to repent, and to smile…to be happy. Another sob, a longer one. She had given this photo to me before I departed, on the station. The sound of coming train had deadened all others. It had been rather sultry that day, and I had been gasping for air - had been trying not think of the impending separation, though my nails had been cutting into my palms and my lower lip had been bleeding due to my biting into it. Wind, rustling her hair, had been blowing her odour into my face. She hadn’t any perfume on. It had been her fragrance – the familiar smell of the body I had held close to mine just few hours previous, body throbbing, warm and, uh, so very tender. Erect and staunch, she'd stood before me. Her smile awry, she'd pointed at my chest and said the words…I'm with you. I had been the one to embrace her on that occasion. I had done my best not to squeeze her too tight, not to press my chin too heavily against her shoulder. That's when she'd slipped the photo into my pocket, though I had had no idea at the time.
Thinking about it made me smile. I looked up from the photo at the private.
- Cheer up, pal! Nothing better than going with a bang, eh?
Private responded with a «Hmm..». Poor dog…he must have had a great deal to lose.
I put the photo back into the envelope and took out the letter. Three cold lines were scribbled indifferently over a small, well-worn, now yellow, cheap sheet of paper. Thick fog round me obscured the words. No matter, though. I knew them by heart by that time. Sorry to inform you…A brutal accident occurred…She passed away peacefully. I had felt indignant the first time I had perused this letter. «She was run over, and they call it PEACEFULLY!!» I'd grown used to the idea. But I couldn't accept it…I'm with you. I leaned my head on the wall I propped my back against and convulsed uncontrollably.
- What a sad picture we make, eh, private? – I intended this to sound gay and reassuring. My voice failed me, however; I'm afraid my heart gave way, too.
I felt the drumming outside and bore each shot as if it was a welcoming hand offering consolation. Tears rushing down my face, I sat wringing my hands. «God..» I was cut short – something cracked behind me and I felt acute pain on my nape… I dashed for the private, but staggered and fell, feeling piercing, burning sting in my side. Then I heard a thump quite close to me, as if someone dropped a heavy bag of potatoes or flour. The drumming grew louder. And then it started to gradually slip away.
I'm with you.
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