Soldiers

Part 7. The Little Push at the End

By late September William was back on his feet. He always found it funny to send a man back to the thing that injured him in the first place. If a man catches a disease in a foreign country, they bring him home to cure him and then send him back to the place in which he caught the disease. But they told Will there just weren't enough men left to let him go on leave. He had to persist. He hadn't heard from Smokey and didn't know where he was in order to send a letter to him. Nor had he heard from David since that letter Smokey had received in June of last year. He had written to the hospital but never got a reply. At times William assumed the worst, but there were times where he assumed the best and guessed either that his letters had been lost in the post, or that because he kept moving from trench to trench there was no way a letter could find its way to him. Or maybe David had moved or been discharged from hospital and they weren't passing the letters on. Alternatively, the letters written by William were being so carefully censored and cut down, that of the original one-hundred words he had written, only two words were left, and so when the letter arrives to David all it says is 'Dear David'. No message. No noise. No words.

Smokey was told he was well enough to go home. That, he thought, may have been one of the happiest days of his life, along with his wedding day, Sarah's birth, and John's birth. He hadn't been home in years. He had been on leave but it wasn't the same. He always knew he would have to go again in a few days. He was pretty sure the absence of a leg would keep him out of the war for at least a year or two, unless his leg decided to miraculously grow back. That's what he said to his children as they got into the taxi to go home.

"Worms can grow their tails back" John said matter-of-factly

"Are you comparing me to a worm my boy?" Smokey giggled

"Hmhm no daddy"

"We've got a surprise for you at home" said Joan, helping her husband into the car, "I do hope you like it"

"Joan, just being at home with you three is enough to make me happy. Anything more will just be a cherry on top" he said, and Joan kissed him once more. Funny. Usually when they did that the children shouted how disgusting it was, but now they said nothing, just sat and smiled as if it was the sight they had been waiting for: mummy and daddy together again.

It was the slowest drive of Smokey's life. He suspected it just felt sow because he was so eager to get into the house. He wanted to see the house. He had almost forgotten what it looked like.

The cab pulled up in the drive and Joan paid him as the children got out of the car, ready to help Smokey out onto the pavement. Smokey thanked the driver who tipped his hat and his silvery moustache generously. Smokey wondered if he should cover up his face before walking down the pavement to the house, but Joan had said "why should you?" He fought for this country, now he should feel proud walking down the road of this country. Joan took his hand to steady him, both physically and emotionally

"Ready?" she asked, squeezing his hand firmly in a reassuring manor.

"Yes" he managed and they made their way down the drive. And it was all going so well, he had practiced walking in the hospital, he had a walking stick which he had to admit made him feel rather older than he wanted to feel, and Sarah and John were walking beside their parents with pride, but then... a scream. Somebody screamed. A short high pitched yelp. Smokey thought he might have been imagining it, a flashback to the battlefield, but no... a girl from the neighbourhood had seen Smokey's deformed face and run away screaming.

"Hey!" Sarah yelled after the girl, getting revved up to defend her father, but Smokey placed his hand on his daughter's shoulder and she looked up at his eyes, "It's ok" he managed to say. Just those two words had exhausted the remaining muscles of his face. Sarah relaxed.