Today We Are Brothers

Christmas Eve Day, 1914, somewhere near Ypres

"Hannes, come give us a hand," Corporal Pär Sundström called to the youngest - and tallest - member of the platoon. "You're probably the only one who can reach to put this up there," he said, handing the young private a carved wooden star and some wire, and gesturing to the little fir tree someone had dragged into the trench from somewhere behind the lines. "Goodness knows I certainly can't do it," he added to laughter from everyone in earshot, as Pär was the shortest man in the platoon.

Hannes took the star and carefully wired it to the top of the little fir tree. Others had already hung inedible little crab apples as decorations, along with crude fabric bows that he realized were made from strips of fabric cut from a French soldier's uniform trousers. Well, they looked festive enough, although Hannes tried not to think too hard about why the Frenchman had parted company with his trousers. He tried not to think at all about the Christmas he'd be missing with his family. His father, a wealthy jeweler, loved the holiday and always held a lavish feast for the whole Van Dahl family as well as providing good dinners and small gifts for the families of their servants.

Sporadic gunfire sounded in the distance, then a heavy thud came from within the trench, followed almost immediately by the dulcet tones of Joakim Brodén roaring, "Be careful, dummkopf!"

"I am being careful, Jocke," a voice Hannes didn't recognize said. "You're the one who decided you and I could lift that thing alone. But just because you're built like an ox doesn't mean the rest of us are."

"Fine, fine... I suppose here is as good a place as any," Joakim said. "Just help me shove it right against the wall so that people can get by."

Hannes had to go look, and just stopped to stare. Somehow Joakim had found and transported an upright piano into the trench. "What on earth?" he asked.

Joakim looked proud of himself. "I spotted it in that town a couple miles behind the lines, when we came through on our way here. I think it came from a music school or concert hall or something, there were a couple of grand pianos in the place as well, but of course the officers bivouacked there kept those for themselves. But I asked if I could have this one, and they laughed, but gave written permission that I could take it, as long as I could move it." He grinned and added, "I don't think they thought I could, and I only wish I could see their faces now that it's gone - I collected it along with our resupply that I was sent for yesterday."

"You play, Jocke?" Hannes asked. He knew the sturdily built man had a good, if unrefined, singing voice as he often led the men in popular - or bawdy - tunes on the rare occasions they'd been sent back behind the lines for a couple of days' leave. But it never occurred to him that Joakim, the orphaned son of a gristmill worker, knew how to play an instrument, let alone one as costly as a piano.

"I do, actually," Joakim said. "When I was a boy, the minister's wife caught me sneaking into the church after services to poke at the piano there and try to pick out the hymns we'd sang that day. Apparently I managed well enough to impress her, and so she arranged to give me piano lessons that I paid for by working in her garden, splitting wood in winter, things of that nature. She used to joke that it was to her benefit as well, as she was the only pianist in our village at the time, and once I learned to play well enough, she could ask me to play a service in her place sometimes, when she felt poorly or whatever."

"Huh," Hannes said. "Well, I'm glad you have yourself a piano, then."

"So am I, perhaps we can sing some Christmas carols later, if we don't get fired upon," Joakim said with a smile. "We have a tree, and of course Pär has a Bible, seeing as he's a minister's son, and he said he would read from the Gospel, and we can sing while I play. It might not be the Christmas we want, but it's better than nothing, right, Hannes?"