The Deserters

HOW CAN YOU TALK TO ME OF ONE MAN’S DEATH,

WHEN UNTOLD MILLIONS DIED?”

“BECAUSE,” he said,

“THE MADNESS WHICH ALLOWED

THIS ONE TO DIE WAS PRESENT IN THE DEATH OF ALL.”

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There it was:

Three o’clock in the afternoon and, as he looked over the edge of the red tin roof, he could see the river, almost blue, foaming past the old city walls and carrying with it the high pitched, hissing sound of the fast flowing water.

Now, that the last shots of the anti-aircraft guns had ceased, the stillness that fell over the town was unreal. He turned on his back and, looking into the sky, he saw the small light-grey puffs, which looked so much like clouds, but which were all that was left of an exploding shell after all the steel had gone.

He closed his eyes for a moment, but the puffs, round and dark, then wind-torn and light, still hung on the inside of his eye lids and could not be wished away. He lay there for a long time and allowed the sun, the brilliant sun, the undisturbed sun, the neutral sun, the sun to make his face feel hot and the skin tight over his nose and cheeks.

The “All Clear” signal of the wailing siren, that long, constantly rising wail, which never seemed to end, and which seemed to carry him and the roof and the city and the river up and up, which seemed to turn and spin everything on an upward spiral toward the sun. Yes, the sun and the river and this town and this girl beside him and this stupid war…….this girl.

He raised himself on one elbow and the tin roof on which they lay gave a hollow bang. He looked at her. She had been watching him and she smiled. A long blond strand of hair, slightly curled at the end, came over her cheek and to the corner of her smile. He wished that she would brush her hair back, out of her face and stop the tickle which he felt in the corner of his mouth.

“Where should we say we were?” he asked.

“Oh, any shelter. The school shelter; the shelter underneath the library….anyway, no-one will ask.”

“At first they used to ask,” she said, ‘but now, they got so used to it, they never bother.” 

He shrugged his shoulders:

“I guess we’d better go now.”

He stood up and the flat tin roof gave off another loud and hollow sounding boom. She reached up and so their hands touched casually and when he had pulled her to her feet, they stood and found each other in a smile in spite of it. They tip-toed to the edge and with every careful step the roof protested with a hollow boom. The girl went first and he bent down to guide her firmly. As she lowered herself, feet first, and gently down, her right hand gripped the wire of the lightening rod and he held firmly to her left, down past the eaves trough, her breasts pronounced by the pressure of her body against the roof, now both hands on the rim, her blond hair disappeared and then the gentle thump on the grass below. Erich followed quickly.

“I’d better hurry,” she said and waved to him and turned and went away.

He looked upward and saw the last puff in the sky had gone and brilliant sunshine everywhere and then he noticed with surprise that the town had re-awakened and re-appeared from underground.

“That’s the last time I’ll try station IX,” he muttered to himself. “Every move you make, that roof is noisier than the Flack, The best is Station XII…..it’s in the sun as well and the roof is solid stone and even grass and moss grows in the cracks.”

The fact, that Station XII had Jesus on the cross with big spike nail and bloody feet and chest and hands and all, caused them at first to find a different spot to meet. Although they’d never said as much, they’d both been happy to abandon Station XII and secretly they felt relieved.

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Bertstravels

(excerpt from a book I wrote so many years ago.)