The choice

The choice

« All my life I've been waiting for you... Tell me you too... Don't let me give up on you... »

This song was beautiful. I used to sing it to my wife, when we were still together. Now, I was mumbling it, while cleaning my riffle. It reminded me of the good old time. We all needed that by these days. The memories were the only ways to feel alive. Around me, everybody was preparing for the assault of tonight, to take the German trench.

...

Seated along our mud walls, we were listening to our superior, who was giving us the last instructions before the assault. They were always the same : never stop running, never stop for a comrade. And survive. In the best case.

The assault was supposed to begin at exactly 19:15 pm. I looked at my watch : 19:07. Everybody was getting more stressed. I thought of Maria. It just depressed me. Maria was my wife. We met 23 years ago, and our relationship was so romantic that we could have been Disney heroes. I really loved her... But nothing lasts forever... She was German, and I was French. Due to the problems between our two countries, she had to go back to Germany, and we never met again. I learnt through letters that we had a son, in 1900, that I knew I would never meet. I had never forgotten her, and I kept hope we could one day be together again, with our son.

-COME ON!!! LEAVE THE TRENCHES!!! suddenly shouted our superior, interrupting my thoughts.

 

"John,

My pain is immense. I don't know how to tell you this without being blunt, I'm so sorry. Your son left our house this morning, requisitioned by the German army. They announced he had to fight for his country, told him to pack his bags. Twenty minutes after, my son was taken away from his mother. He didn't resist ; he couldn't. The tears don't leave me... I don't know what to do, I'm lost, I'm nothing without my son.

John, I had to told you, I'm so sorry, I should have known they were going to come, I should have found a way to keep him, I'm so sorry... I have been a bad mother, forgive me...

Maria."

The letter had arrived this morning. When I woke up, I found it in our tent. It shocked me. I had read it a billion times. I couldn't believe my son was at war, living in the same conditions than me. He was only 18, he could never survive... I looked at the picture of Maria that never left me. I kissed it, whispering she had been a perfect mother, and a perfect wife. Her brown eyes watched me in silence. All I wanted was to be with her, and to take her in my arms, saying everything was going to be alright, and that she shouldn't worry.

I looked at my comrades who were in the same tent as me. They were either sleeping, or chatting about the victory against the Germans. I couldn't keep off my mind that, among the soldiers I killed yesterday, there was maybe my son. And this idea made me sick. I wanted to sleep, what I didn't do last night, but I kept thinking about my son, so I just couldn't. I decided to answer Maria.

"My dear Maria,

You don't know how perfect you are. I think of you every day, every night, and all I want is to hug you. Our son is gone to the war ; it is not your fault, it will never be. I can't believe you're blaming yourself for this. I don't want you to feel bad about it, you get me? Our son must be a strong man now. He'll come back to you. One day, he will come back.

John"

I was brief, I didn't talk about my fear of having killed our son. No need to sadden her even more. I put it in the box in front of our tent, knowing the man who collected the letters would arrive soon. If he hadn't get killed meantime.

The next day, another assault was given. But not by us. We lost about one quarter of our men. The weather was horrible, and defend our trenches was almost impossible. But the physical pain that I felt was nothing compared to the fear I had each time I was shooting a soldier. My only thoughts were "And if that was my son? And if that was my son...?" I wondered if I would even dare saying it to Maria. "Maria, my love, I killed our son." These words sounded so horrible, so awful, that I chose not to think of it for the moment. I had no choice. I had to kill soldiers, that was what I was here for. If I refused to, then I'd be executed. What a shame for Maria, to know her husband, who was supposed to die at war, as a hero, had finally been executed by those of his own army?

One terrible thought came to my mind, all of a sudden. And I knew it was the reality. It was me or him. Even thought there was not a lot of chances he was in the same battlefield than me, I just couldn't keep on going like this. I couldn't. It was beyond my forces. I couldn't kill soldiers that could be my son.  I had to mutiny. But that meant that other soldiers, maybe my friends, would be killed by my fault. Tortured between my duty as a soldier, and the culpability, I couldn't decide what to do.

The eyes half closed, exhausted by my remorse, I was falling asleep, seated on my wobbly wooden chair. When my eyes fell on the little knife on the table, that I had left there few hours ago, I knew what I had to do. That was the only solution. But would I have the courage?

Half lying down on my chair, my eyes set on my ultimate solution, it was a struggle between the knife and me. Between the courage and the cowardice. Between a life ended to save another one, and a life of remorse as a coward. Suddenly, I got up, picked the photo of Maria in my pocket, grabbed the knife, and, eyes up, cut my skin.  As the blood started to flow, and the pain to arrive, I whispered "For you Michael, my dear son, and for you, Maria. No regrets."

Mouth shut, trying to hold the pain as I was beginning to see red, I felt my knee give up under me. I fell on the ground, holding the photo against my chest, wanting to put it inside me to protect it forever. I could hear the song I used to sing to Maria, playing in my ears. I was happy. At least, the last thing I would ever hear would be nice. I realized someone had entered my tent only when I saw boots just at my nose.

-Oh my god what happened to you?! screamed a familiar, quite high-pitched voice.

The person fell on his knee, and took my head on his lap. I saw he was wearing a German uniform. My tent was facing the no man's land : my job was to keep away the enemy. That's what was supposed to be the boy : my enemy. But, right now, he was just a boy trying to help me. I found the war very stupid all of a sudden : pointing people predestinated to be our enemies. Why this boy wasn't he finishing me? I would never know. As I was thinking, he was getting more and more panicked. He said :

-Stay with me. Survive. We'll help you. Then he began shouting. HELP!! SOMEONE, PLEASE, SOMEONE COME AND HELP!

Despite of all the efforts that brave young man could do, I knew it was over for me. Nothing could be done. And I didn't want anything to be done. I made him understand to get his ear closer, and drawing my last forces, I whispered "Sing for me please. Sing for an old man dying. That's the best you could do for me, if you may, brave boy." So, tears in his eyes, the boy sang. He sang with all his soul ; he sang with all his heart. Even if I was dying, I felt lot better. His voice was deep, and he sang really well. It was that song so dear to my heart, that song that had lever left me during all my life, and would never leave me beyond the death. I looked into his blue eyes full of tears. And at the moment, I knew. Even if I had never seen him, I knew he was my son. I felt it, deep in my warmed up heart.

"Michael?" I heard myself saying weakly. I couldn't recognize my voice.

His eyes widened.

-Yes. It's me. Who are you?

I wanted to tell him. I should have told him. But what would it have changed ? Maria had rarely talked about me. She said I was dead. I didn't want him to lose his father a second time. So, instead, I closed my eyes.

And, slowly, peacefully, life left me, in the dark night and in the melody of the beautiful voice my son had.

The End.