Damned!

Sabotage Plans

The letter arrived at the post office exactly one week after Father Heinrich had first sent his correspondence. He could always count on Pummel. It was not a regular correspondence, more like once every five years. However, like clockwork, whenever he reached out to his old school friend, there was always a prompt reply. Usually, the common themes of work and family were addressed. Pummel kept contact with Heinrich's sister, for which Heinrich was grateful. His mom had passed ten years ago and his sister was the only remaining relative. She was not one for correspondence and had only visited him twice.

As for the strange method of snail mail, it was merely a habit of theirs, their friendship spanning the days before the advent of the internet, before even the draft that Heinrich had deftly avoided. Pummel on the other hand, had been drafted into a war (what kind of war) and with his leadership skills had quickly climbed the rank to captain in the armed forces, bravely charging the enemy with weapons beyond what many boys had ever dreamed of using in their childhood play. Like many who had managed to come back unscathed in body, Pummel had come back marred spiritually, questioning his existence and his fortune of survival, when many of his friends had not lived or had to sacrifice parts of their lives and bodies. In this way, he had at various times sought out the counsel of Heinrich to sooth his troubled mind.

"What justifies this war Heinrich? What madness do we do to each other as human beings?"

"Pummel, do you not feel justified? When you save a population of people who have been so discriminated against as to be tortured by their own countrymen?"

"Of course. But still, what is worth all this destruction? Where are our politicians that are skilled in communication and negotiation? How much of this could be avoided?"

"How much indeed? And you soldiers, on the sidelines, had to bear the destruction when the negotiations failed."

"Yes, as inhabitants in this world we have to accept the evilness and the good. To be held against your will, to have your land taken from you. There is nothing more that breaks a man. I dare say, when our politicians come up short, the use of force is justified- however horrible, and darkness falls on the land."

"We all mourn the loss of lives, I promise you. God remembers through brave men and women, like yourself. We are all instruments of his will." In this way reminding Pummel of the purpose and the nobility of his work that justified his efforts, Heinrich would attempt to console his friend, and bring peace to his mind

Heinrich opened the letter slowly, accompanied by a box with a fine residue leaking out. He carefully placed the box under his bed with the wooden frame. Looking up, his eyes caught the tiny hanging Jesus cross he had nailed on his wall when he had first moved here. He had a premonition that the little idol was watching his every move. "Blessed are the meek: for they shall possess the land." In penitence, he made the sign of the cross as if already repenting his actions.

Then he bent forward to light the candle on the small offertory held in place by a makeshift shelf. Clutching the rosary beads around his belt, he diligently counted them one by one. Outside his open window, a passerby coming home from his day at the market heard the fervent prayer, the three Hail Mary's, followed by a silence of meditation. He stopped in respect for the old priest and proceeded to recite in unison the entire Our Father, knowing the next part to be meditation of the mysteries, the merchant cast his vision to the Gandan river hoping for a miracle that would safeguard the plentiful waters. His thoughts were interrupted by the voice through the window uttering with ten Hail Mary's. The merchant looked for a sign, but all he could see was the setting sun. The merchant turned to continue his way home, whispering a final prayer, just in case, to Roshana- the god of the river.