Brolin
02-22-2009, 09:13 AM
On the boat, coming back to England, he watched the waves as they beat against the hull and then give up their assault, disheartened, only for a new set of waves to repeat the struggle. Around him, men passed back and forth worn black-and-white pictures of their wives and girlfriends and shared with each other their plans for the future. Strange that Robert wasn’t thinking about Ellie, but then he had spent three years trying to avoid doing just that.
He got home and felt pushed to get back to normal. Ellie nagged him to go to the printers but he couldn’t face it. Reluctantly, he promised to go on Monday. If his job was still open it would wait until then.
On Saturday midday he had food with his parents. He answered their probing questions about the future between mouthfuls of beef, admitting that he hadn’t given any thought to anything. He left disappointed they didn’t ask him about the war, the hole that had sucked him out of their lives for the last three years. Even his father asked nothing and he had always been grimly interested in warfare.
That evening he spent some awkward time with Ellie. They sat apart like strangers, struggling at conversation that reached a dead end at each attempt, Ellie sometimes leaning forward to stroke and touch his face with her delicate fingers. They felt like little bullets launched at him that grew cold when they hit the skin. As it got darker he watched her initial joy on seeing him fade and he decided to reach out.
“Tomorrow night, if you want, we can do what we used to before I went”.
She got very excited at the idea and the room seemed to warm up as they wiled the night away.
The next morning he bought tickets at the Palace Theatre. He was promised an opera extravaganza and it sounded perfect. It was just what he needed, to drown himself in music for a while. He dressed uncomfortably in his suit and while they walked to the theatre that evening it struck him how pretty Ellie looked, but he didn’t say it to her.
They took their seats, Robert unhappy with their view from the back which isolated them from the stage. He had to twist and turn to get comfortable but Ellie seemed to have settled and sat patiently.
The curtain was drawn with a flourish and the theatre darkened, the hum died down and trombones declared themselves deeply in the air. A tenor strode out and the music settled into a peaceful melody that was gloomy but beautiful. Robert sat, a willing recipient, and let the music charm itself into his ears.
It floated him back to the Somme, back with the artillery, just behind the front trenches. The battle carried on pathetically but he felt removed from the explosions and death. From where he crouched he could see the mountains stood firm, their peaks poking holes in the grey sky. A squad of Germans had set up camp on the mountain foot, sheltering themselves away from the carnage. He watched them sit, cross-legged and eating out of tins, in a circle around one man. The man was stood commanding their attention, his bulky body drawing their eyes as well as Roberts, and he began to sing into the cold morning air. He had a beautiful voice, like a tenor, and as his song drifted toward Robert he felt a moment of peace. No-one fired on the Germans that morning.
A story had grown around the opera but Robert was lost in it. Ellie looked enthralled and he resisted his urge to stroke her delicate hand. Around him, eyes stared at the stage and pleasured played on the faces of the patrons. Ears tilted to the direction of the music like flowers to sunlight.
He tried to pick up the fragments of the plot but a cymbal crashed and he found himself crawling desperately back toward the trench, the bodies of the dead clumped all around him in knots. All he could think as the explosions dug up the earth was “Everyone is dead, the planet is dead!”
Ellie caught him agitating strangely in his seat and looked at him with concern. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. There was a sweeping blanket of clarinet that lulled the opera into its interval and Ellie rose gracefully and asked if he would like a drink. He nodded eagerly.
He remembered being so desperate for water once that he drank right out of a shell hole. Anything could have been in the brown liquid – mud, body parts, rat urine. The water was so murky only god knew. He was so thirsty that time he didn’t even boil it. He just crouched there, like a dog, lapping up the filthy puddle water.
Explosions of applause shook him back and he found everyone around him stood cheering for the cast, who had exerted themselves for two hours. Ellie sat looking at him, smiling, and said above the thunder of appreciation:
“You didn’t touch your drink”.
She gestured at the glass bottle which stood unopened on the floor. Robert seized Ellie’s hand in his and stroked her face.
“Come on”, he said, leaning close to speak above the din, “Let’s go home.”
They threaded their way through the crowd, who still clapped loudly, and he realised as they ignored his gentle pushes that if the war had ever mattered to their lives at all then they had certainly moved on now. Clinging to Ellie's hand he thought he ought to do the same.
He got home and felt pushed to get back to normal. Ellie nagged him to go to the printers but he couldn’t face it. Reluctantly, he promised to go on Monday. If his job was still open it would wait until then.
On Saturday midday he had food with his parents. He answered their probing questions about the future between mouthfuls of beef, admitting that he hadn’t given any thought to anything. He left disappointed they didn’t ask him about the war, the hole that had sucked him out of their lives for the last three years. Even his father asked nothing and he had always been grimly interested in warfare.
That evening he spent some awkward time with Ellie. They sat apart like strangers, struggling at conversation that reached a dead end at each attempt, Ellie sometimes leaning forward to stroke and touch his face with her delicate fingers. They felt like little bullets launched at him that grew cold when they hit the skin. As it got darker he watched her initial joy on seeing him fade and he decided to reach out.
“Tomorrow night, if you want, we can do what we used to before I went”.
She got very excited at the idea and the room seemed to warm up as they wiled the night away.
The next morning he bought tickets at the Palace Theatre. He was promised an opera extravaganza and it sounded perfect. It was just what he needed, to drown himself in music for a while. He dressed uncomfortably in his suit and while they walked to the theatre that evening it struck him how pretty Ellie looked, but he didn’t say it to her.
They took their seats, Robert unhappy with their view from the back which isolated them from the stage. He had to twist and turn to get comfortable but Ellie seemed to have settled and sat patiently.
The curtain was drawn with a flourish and the theatre darkened, the hum died down and trombones declared themselves deeply in the air. A tenor strode out and the music settled into a peaceful melody that was gloomy but beautiful. Robert sat, a willing recipient, and let the music charm itself into his ears.
It floated him back to the Somme, back with the artillery, just behind the front trenches. The battle carried on pathetically but he felt removed from the explosions and death. From where he crouched he could see the mountains stood firm, their peaks poking holes in the grey sky. A squad of Germans had set up camp on the mountain foot, sheltering themselves away from the carnage. He watched them sit, cross-legged and eating out of tins, in a circle around one man. The man was stood commanding their attention, his bulky body drawing their eyes as well as Roberts, and he began to sing into the cold morning air. He had a beautiful voice, like a tenor, and as his song drifted toward Robert he felt a moment of peace. No-one fired on the Germans that morning.
A story had grown around the opera but Robert was lost in it. Ellie looked enthralled and he resisted his urge to stroke her delicate hand. Around him, eyes stared at the stage and pleasured played on the faces of the patrons. Ears tilted to the direction of the music like flowers to sunlight.
He tried to pick up the fragments of the plot but a cymbal crashed and he found himself crawling desperately back toward the trench, the bodies of the dead clumped all around him in knots. All he could think as the explosions dug up the earth was “Everyone is dead, the planet is dead!”
Ellie caught him agitating strangely in his seat and looked at him with concern. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. There was a sweeping blanket of clarinet that lulled the opera into its interval and Ellie rose gracefully and asked if he would like a drink. He nodded eagerly.
He remembered being so desperate for water once that he drank right out of a shell hole. Anything could have been in the brown liquid – mud, body parts, rat urine. The water was so murky only god knew. He was so thirsty that time he didn’t even boil it. He just crouched there, like a dog, lapping up the filthy puddle water.
Explosions of applause shook him back and he found everyone around him stood cheering for the cast, who had exerted themselves for two hours. Ellie sat looking at him, smiling, and said above the thunder of appreciation:
“You didn’t touch your drink”.
She gestured at the glass bottle which stood unopened on the floor. Robert seized Ellie’s hand in his and stroked her face.
“Come on”, he said, leaning close to speak above the din, “Let’s go home.”
They threaded their way through the crowd, who still clapped loudly, and he realised as they ignored his gentle pushes that if the war had ever mattered to their lives at all then they had certainly moved on now. Clinging to Ellie's hand he thought he ought to do the same.