Gerhard pulled the plug and let the water drain from the tub. A silty residue collected on the flat of the porcelain. Goosebumps formed on his flesh when he stood to reach for a towel.
He briskly dried himself and resolved to spend more time with Emma. In the meantime, I’ll write to Doctor Depage and enquire about Nora.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOMEONE HAD OPENED the bedroom window and turned back the covers of Gerhard’s bed. The undrawn curtains provided a lacy contrast to the night’s blackness. The sound of chirping insects wafted in on the lazy breeze, carrying the fragrance of ripening fields, mowed grass, the honey scent of linden trees in bloom, Marie’s roses, and the herb garden.
An irritating buzz stilled by his ear. He smacked the side of his head hard enough to make his ear ring. Why so hard? He lowered his hand and scrutinized the flattened mosquito carcass.
Annoyed at its nuisance, he dashed it into the damp towel still wrapped around his waist. He loosened the towel and tossed it unceremoniously onto the floor before falling into his bed.
He laid there, the sound of silence screaming in his ears. He felt lost, out of place. Exasperated, he rolled his head to the left and his body followed, curling into the security of a foetal pose. The power of the hot bath finally overcame him, and he slept.
Until he dreamt of Emma, fresh and natural, of trees and fields and laughter. Laugher changed to moaning and blood, stale air, white gauze, and Nora, then eyes—a pair of eyes, one hazel and one cornflower blue.
“The face is damaged. The head will have to come off. Put him over there, and I’ll attend to him shortly.” The index finger of a blood-soaked hand holding a saw clogged with bits of pale flesh pointed to an empty table. The table was draped in white cloth and stained with drying blood.
Gerhard felt the strong hands of orderlies holding his arms fast and dragging him toward the table. He looked about the room, realizing it was not really a room. It was a corridor. A dimly-lit hospital corridor.
As the orderlies dragged him toward the table indicated by the doctor’s gory hand, they passed several other tables. One had legs, neatly placed side-by-side, some wearing the owner’s boot, others naked, pale blue, and lifeless. Otto’s mangled knee and lower left leg sat at the end of the row, dressed in Michael’s special-order boot.
Another table had rows of arms, some still encircled with a wrist watch, again neatly placed: all pale blue and lifeless.
A hand twitched, displaying its manicured nails and a wedding ring. Another curled into a fist. The table nearest his destination held a row of heads, some wearing helmets, others merely bone, and yet others with flesh and eyeballs dangling, missing ears or hair.
“My eye. Have you seen my eye?” torn lips asked.
Exposed light bulbs dangled overhead, humming with menace.
Gerhard licked his lips, tasting metallic red.
“That’s right. Hoist him on the table. One of you will have to hold his shoulders down tight. You take his head. Hold it firm.” The doctor’s eyes focussed on Gerhard’s neck, and the bloody saw lowered in slow motion.
In terror, Gerhard writhed against the hands that held him firm. “Shush now,” the doctor said, “Everything will be all right.”
He struggled against his restraints, trying to scream, trying to make them understand. Don’t take my head, he wanted to scream, but the words would not come.
The blade of the saw poked into tender skin. Gerhard felt the prick and rake of jagged teeth on the exposed flesh of his hyperextended neck. He screamed in a soundless dream-voice.
“Gerhard, Gerhard. Wake up, son! Wake up.” Michael urged. He was kneeling at the side of the bed, gently shaking Gerhard’s shoulders.
Gerhard’s eyes shot open, unseeing. “Nein!” he bellowed, struggling against his father’s hands and panting in fear. “Nein! Not my head!”
He sat up abruptly, flailing his arms in defence. Awareness became shock when he realized where he was. “Vater!” He whispered, grasping his father’s arms to anchor his emotions.
“Shush now. Everything will be all right.” Michael murmured, pulling his son into his arms. “It’s all right, son. It’s just a dream.” Michael’s hand caressed the back of Gerhard’s head. “It’s all right. I have you. It’s Vater.” Familiar words penetrated Gerhard’s fear-filled fog.
With his free hand, Michael rubbed Gerhard’s back.
“You used to do this when I was a small boy waking from a nightmare,” Gerhard mumbled into his father’s chest.
“I did, indeed,” Michael said. “Then, you had the dreams of a small boy. Now, you have nightmares no man should have.”
Over his shoulder, Michael saw his wife and daughter standing in the doorway, hair dishevelled from sleep, faces contorted in worry. He twitched his head enough for Anna to understand that they should leave. Anna turned Marie away from the door and closed it. The snick of the latch confirmed the men were alone.
Anna had long since come to terms with unexpected screams interrupting her slumber. Together, she and Michael had shared his horrors and worked through them. When she heard Gerhard’s screams, Anna encouraged Michael to respond.
“You were the one he looked up to as a boy. You saved him from his nightmares then. You must go to him now,” she said. “If you need me, I’ll be right behind you.”
They hurried along the hallway to Gerhard’s room. Marie joined them at the door, and Anna restrained her when Michael entered the room.
“What is it?” Marie whispered.
Anna wrapped her arm around Marie’s shoulder and turned her away from the room. Closing the door, she said, “Gerhard’s had a nightmare. Your father knows how to help. Let us leave them. Go back to bed now.” She led Marie back to her room and saw her safely into bed, then returned to her own slumber, knowing that her son was in safe hands.
Gerhard inhaled the scent of his father, remembering the comfort he had drawn from that smell as a small boy. He finally pushed away, sobbing and gulping for air. He raised his hand to his neck, fingers probing for injury. His panting slowed. He wanted to let the weight of his fear rest against his father’s powerful chest and feel safe. For a moment, at least. Until the nightmare returned.
“Why don’t we go down for a brandy,” Michael suggested, rising from the side of the bed, rumpling Gerhard’s dream-soaked hair as he did so. “We can talk about the preparations for the harvest.”
“That’s a good idea. Perhaps the brandy will slow my heart.” With shaking hands, Gerhard reached for the brown, silk robe he had strewn on the bed earlier.
“Come then,” said Michael, leading the way out of the room.
Gerhard followed Michael down the carpeted oak staircase and into the study, where his father poured brandy into two crystal glasses. With the lighting of only one dim lamp, the crystal’s life was dead to the eye.
“I’m sorry,” Gerhard whispered, accepting the glass his father proffered. “I didn’t mean to wake everyone. I suppose my screaming was frightful.”
“Better here than on a battlefield,” Michael said. “You mustn’t worry about the others. They have no idea what you’ve been through.”
Gerhard nodded, watching the dull, amber liquid roll in his glass. “You were always quick to rescue me from my nightmares when I was a child, and you haven’t lost your touch.” Sheepishly, he grinned, trying to make light of the darkness lodged in his soul.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Michael asked.
“I can’t. Not now,” Gerhard whispered, as if the sound of his voice might wake the demons again.
“In time then, son. It’s important to talk about your dreams. Sharing the horror is a step toward healing,” Michael said. “I know. I still have memories of Africa. They never leave.”
His eyes rose to the ceiling and he was quiet for a moment, as if he were recalling past struggles with his own demons. “I’ve learnt to manage mine, and I believe I can help you put your memories in a place where they won’t hurt you
anymore, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, Vater. I was so focussed on my men, and then Otto and getting him home. I need to find me first. I just need a little time.”
Gerhard and Michael returned to their beds and slept fitfully for the hours remaining till sunrise. They shared a silent breakfast, interrupted with a brief discussion of work to be done that day.
CHAPTER NINE
“TODAY WILL BE a hot one,” Michael said as they walked toward a blue farm truck. “We’ll drive out to the north field. I’m confident that Herr Schmidt will welcome the help.”
As they climbed into the truck, Gerhard responded, “Looks like it was a good growing season this year. The harvest will be plentiful.”
Michael nodded, assessing the sky as he did so. “It’s muggy. See how the clouds are rolling; I wouldn’t be surprised if we have a batch of thunder storms this week.”
Otto was already in the field supervising the temporary workers, freeing his father to lend a hand with the harvesting. Four more hands were welcomed.
“I hope we get this field in before the rain comes,” Farmer Schmidt responded to comments of rain and thunderstorms. “We’re almost finished. I’d hate to leave good crops in the ground. People need food. And, of course,” he said, grinning, “we can use the income.”
After a day of backbreaking labour, Michael and Gerhard returned to the manor more relaxed than when they had set out. They bathed to remove the residue of grit and grain, then joined the women in the dining room for supper. Conversation bantered during the meal, and no one spoke of screams in the night.
The heat of the day lasted into the evening. As night settled in, the first flashes of lightning streaked the blackening sky. Clouds roiled, covering the brightness of the moon, then releasing it again.
After the laborious day in the fields and another of Marie’s hot baths, Gerhard readily fell into a deep sleep.
In the early hours of the morning, Gerhard awoke with a start. As he lay still, waiting for his pounding heart to slow, he cracked an eyelid and watched the lace curtains that framed the open window stretch ghostly fingers deep into his room.
The wind picked up, and the curtains thrashed. Lightning flashed and sliced through churning clouds. He heard plops of rain hit the dry road and felt the temperature drop.
Gerhard rolled onto his side and drew the bed covers over his shoulders. As he drifted back to sleep, he was aware of the pinging of rain pellets on the tiled roof and the boom, boom of thunder following close on the heels of crackling lightning.
Cold permeated through the damp in his clothes. Gerhard shivered, chilled to the bone.
They were lying in mud, waiting for the fog to lift, but the fog hung heavy over the entire field. The occasional word drifted clearly on the churning mist, some English, a cry of pain—French—a Deutsch curse. Three men to his left, two to his right. The others were there, but lost in the white weight that pressed down upon them.
High-pitched whistles, flares of blinding light, and the rumbling of the earth beneath them. Screams, pain, silence. Not even a bird twittered. Moaning and crying.
“Mutti?
“Mutti, bist du das?
“Mutti, bitte hilf mir.”
Detached pleas crying for a mother’s help. Pleas of the dying.
The fog lifted, teasing visibility, revealing bodies and mangled parts. It lowered again, covering them all in a thick death shroud, sparing them from the vulgarity of war for a few blessed moments.
“Peter! Kirk! Mathias! Wo seid ihr? I can’t see you. Paul, where are you?” Gerhard peered through the fog, brushing it away without success. A rolling helmet bumped his shoulder, as if in answer to his questions. Impatient, he pushed it away. Paul’s empty eyes stared past him. “Paul! Nein!”
The fog shifted again, swirling, lifting, revealing. The mud – it’s too thick. I can’t move. I’m stuck.
“No! No!” he screamed, “Dead! All Dead!”
Gerhard writhed in his bed, the sheets drenched in anxious sweat, tangling and restricting his limbs. He swam through mud, searching for his mates.
Michael burst through Gerhard’s door for a second night and dropped to his knees at his son’s side. “Gerhard!” he snapped, shaking him. “Gerhard! Wake up!” Gerhard flailed his arms, trying to break away, gasping and crying, feeling overwhelming grief.
“Villy!” Gerhard issued one last plaintive cry, and opened his eyes, panting. “Vater! What is it?” his distant voice muttered.
“You were dreaming again.”
Gerhard stopped struggling and surrendered to the stability of his father’s hands. “Vater! They are all dead. My men, my mates, they are all gone! We ran together like wolf pups when we were children. We pretended to be soldiers in the Kaiser’s army. We were just boys!”
Michael’s crinkled face wore an expression of understanding.
“But we’re no longer those young boys.” Gerhard scrubbed his head, trying to find clarity. “They’re all dead now, except Otto, and he’s crippled. And my head is all messed up,” he said, sighing forlornly.
“It’s all right, son. You’re home. You’re safe,” Michael murmured again. “Take your time. Let it go.”
Gerhard’s panting began to subside.
“It’s a memory. Your friends are safe now, and no harm will ever come to them again.”
Silence settled in the room. Gerhard’s calm returned.
“Shall we find that brandy?” Michael asked.
Gerhard nodded and swung his feet to the floor. “I need to wash my face first. I can still see them, dead in the field.”
“Yes, of course. Come down when you’re ready.”
CHAPTER TEN
FOR THE REMAINDER of his furlough, Gerhard and his father worked in the fields, assisting with the fall harvest. Labour was in short supply. Most capable farmhands had enlisted in the war effort and had left long ago. Many women and older children had volunteered to help, including those from nearby towns. Otto assisted where he could, often supervising the townsfolk.
“Looks like Farmer Schmidt will complete the harvest before an early frost can do any damage.” Gerhard stood with his hands on his hips, observing the training of volunteers and the results of a day’s hard labour.
“Yes,” replied Michael. “The volunteers have come each year, and offered what they can, but their time is limited, too. They have their own business to tend, but understand that we must get the crops in, processed, and shipped. The boys at the front need to be fed.”
“I, for one, am grateful for their effort. I know what it is to have to fight, hearing the growl of an empty stomach drowned out by mortar fire. We need sustenance—decent food. Hunger plays havoc with mind and body.”
“Well, I think we’re done here for the day,” Michael said, slapping Gerhard on the back affectionately. A plume of dust exploded from his son’s shirt. “Let’s go investigate what magic Cook has managed for lunch, shall we?”
“I think we’d better wash up first, Vater. She won’t appreciate our tracking muck through the house, let alone the dirt under our nails.”
“And the straw in your hair! What were you doing in the barn, anyway—wrestling one of the milking cows?”
Gerhard ran his fingers through his hair, looking sheepish. “No, Vater, Emma surprised me when I went to fetch the tractor gear. She tried to stuff a handful of straw down the neck of my shirt.”
“She’s a nice girl, Gerhard. Don’t keep her waiting.” Michael’s voice was deep and encouraging.
“I know, but … I just don’t feel I can offer anything good to her. My head is so messed up. Every time I close my eyes, I see … things. Things no one should ever have to see.
“I shouldn’t admit this, but I’m glad I don’t have to go back to the fighting just now. I don’t like the idea of paperwork, though. Hopefully, I can help with training. You know, give the new recruits better survival skills.”
“I’ll speak to Depot. See if we can’t use som
e of your experiences, as you say, to better prepare the new recruits,” Michael suggested.
“Thanks. I worry that folks—Emma—will think me a coward. I wouldn’t dare repeat my feelings to anyone but you,” Gerhard mumbled.
“Come along. We can talk more after lunch,” Michael said. Together, they waved good-bye to Farmer Schmidt and Otto, and set off home.
“I think I’m ready to talk, Vater, if you don’t mind listening.”
“Good, good. We’ll have a drink in the study after we’ve eaten, shall we?”
A cloud of worry and fear passed over Gerhard’s eyes. He nodded agreement, and they walked on in silence.
After lunch, father and son retired to the old study. Michael poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Gerhard.
“It’s a little early,” Michael said, chortling, “but I thought some false fortification might be helpful.”
Gerhard accepted the glass, indicating his thanks, and took a small sip. He held the amber liquid in his mouth and felt its warmth. Its vapours wafted through his sinuses. Slowly, it sweetened, and he swallowed the mixture of brandy and saliva. He lowered himself into an armchair, feeling the familiarity of the room cocoon him in comfort.
“I don’t know where to begin,” he said, pausing to collect himself. “We were so naïve. We believed we would win the war in a few months, then come home to tell a story of great adventure. Instead, I come home empty-handed, but for Otto. Oh, God! Otto.” He moaned, jamming his fingers through his hair and dropping his face into his hands. “I failed them all.”
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