"Bonjour, je m'appelle Elsie Taylor, mon mari et je souhaite réserver une chambre."* Elsie smiles at the tired woman seated behind a small desk.
I turn to her with a raised eyebrow, "your husband?"
"Yes my husband," she leans up to my ear, "they won't let us in if we're not married."
"Oh righto." I shake my head, grasping her smooth hand, running my thumb over her knuckles.
"oui, viens par ici."* the woman smiles and removes a key from the set of hooks behind her. She guides us down a hall, passing door after door. Finally she stops, turning the key in the lock before pushing open the door.
"Enjoy." She lets us in.
"Merci." Elsie smiles before closing the door gently behind us.
She kicks off her shoes, removes her veil and cape, she rests her hands on my chest.
She looks up at me through her eyelashes, before pressing a light kiss on my lips.
"When did you last bathe?" She asks, running her hand along my tunic and discovering the mud caked to it.
I think about it for a moment; "the last time I washed myself was in the ocean at Gallipoli, my uniforms never been washed and my boots have never been polished." I look down at my scuffed boots and silently thank god that I still have my feet.
"First thing tomorrow, we're washing our uniforms, but how about a bath?" Elsie smiles softly, I nod and she guides me into the bathroom.
She puts her hand into the tub full of water.
"It's warm." She sighs, "and smells of lavender and suds, can this get any better."
I chuckle as she pushes me into a chair, she begins unraveling my laces and she rips off my boot. My foot aches and I groan with the uncomfortable sensation.
"That really hurts." I cry out, as she pulls off my sock.
"I'm sorry, I'm trying to do it quickly." She removes the other boot and she orders for me to get undressed and into the water.
She turns her back, unbuttoning her grey blouse and skirt.
After removing my tunic, trousers and underwear, my body is engulfed by warm water and lavender smelling suds.
"Close your eyes!" Elsie orders, waiting for me.
I feel her clamber into the water, her smooth legs brushing over mine as she lowers herself into the tub.
"Ouvre tes yeux."* She whispers.
"I love it when you speak French." I lean back against the edge of the porcelain bath.
"How amazing is this country? I can't believe I'm really here." Elsie slides over, grabbing the soap from the dish.
"Well from what I've seen it's pretty beautiful." I say as she begins running the soap across my chest and shoulders.
"Look how filthy you are?!" She gasps, scrubbing a little harder.
"You're hurting me!" I curse when her finger nails dig into my shoulders as she spins me around. She trails the soap from my chest to my shoulder blades then her hands loosen, the soap dropping into the water.
Her dainty fingers trace the three scars on my back. She kisses each one in turn, before wrapping her arms around my neck and resting her head between my shoulders.
"I forgot they were there." She mutters sadly.
"Me too." I reply, "they don't hurt anymore."
"That's good." Elsie's bottom lip wobbles, I turn around and pull her close, running my fingers down her side, grasping her hips and loving the touch of her skin on mine.
"This will all be over soon my darling," I promise. "You won't see anymore dying, no more blood or bullet wounds, we won't have to miss anything ever again." I cup her cheeks. They're flushed, perhaps from the warmth of the water or the fact that my hands are roaming her silky skin in the early hours of the night.
She presses her lips against mine, slipping between my legs and grasping my shoulders. The night slows down, the air is humid and heavy. Her hands send tingles of passion over every inch of my skin, I'm just as sensitive as her as love grasps our souls.
"Promise me something Clancy." She moans against the skin of my neck.
"Anything."
"You'll never, ever, forget this moment."
I capture the desire and passion that lingers on her lips, in her eyes and in her words. I nod vigorously, kissing her lips and pulling her closer to kiss her harder.
I am weak for her. I crave her lips against mine, the taste of her skin, her touch, her love. Every inch of her sends me crazy.
'I love you' is silently exchanged as she collapses in my arms, our bodies coated in perspiration. Exhausted and full of love, I carry her to the bed. Naked and vulnerable, we huddle underneath the quilt just staring at each other. Soaking up every moment we are being gifted.
"Tell me about Hamish's death Clancy." She whispers, as my finger counts her freckles.
"Why?"
"Because, it's been on my mind, did he die quickly? Was he in any pain? What did he say? I was engaged to him, his parents keep offering me money." She sighs, I kiss her softly.
"He died fairly quickly, I picked him up and carried him back to the trench, he thanked me for giving him a headstone instead of him being buried in a mass grave. He pointed out that I'd been shot. He said something about you not being heartbroken and that I have to love you like he should have." I swallow hard, trying to wipe my mind of the memory.
"Really?"
"Yes, I took hundreds of men back to our trench during Lone Pine, I can hardly remember but I do remember Hamish." I explain.
"You're a hero." Elsie mutters. "Everyone heard about that, everyone was talking about it, I was so proud, still am."
"No, far from it, you can't be heroic by doing something humane, just because I got a medal of valour doesn't mean I'm a hero." I tell her.
"You're a hero to me Clancy Taylor, you always were and always will be. That moment we had down at the creek, changed my life, you've saved me, Clancy, and that makes you a hero." She smiles softly, caressing my cheek.
"Thanks Els, I love you." I whisper.
"I love you too." She replies groggily.
I watch as she closes her eyes.
Her body at peace and mind content.
Smiling, I close my own and just like that, I'm home.
-
TRANSLATION
-Bonjour, je m'appelle Elsie Taylor, mon mari et je souhaite réserver une chambre:
Hello my name is Elsie Taylor, my husband and I wish to book a room.
-oui, viens par ici
Yes, come this way
-Merci:
Thanks
-Ouvre tes yeux
Open your eyes
YOU ARE READING
The Echo Of Youth
Ficción histórica"I didn't realise that I could miss something as much as I miss my innocence." It's 1914, the world is at war, and it's unlike anything anyone has seen before. The men of cities and country towns are leaving for a cause much bigger than they realis...
