I Was Gently Waltzing When Life Boogied In, Part 5

The loud blast of a tank’s canon was the last thing that Nikolai heard before losing consciousness, and another loud blast was what brought him to. This one belonged to an enemy soldier’s rifle, walking through the bodies strewn on the floor, carrying out his order to “clean the area” which consisted of retrieving all weapons and dealing with the dead and the injured.

The policy on the dead was clear, there weren’t many options really: collect valuables and leave alone. What to do with the injured, however, needed to be determined, and this had been the subject of a short meeting a few months ago, in a smoky room where a few generals gathered with their cigars, ice-clinking scotch glasses, oiled mustaches and tidy attire to come to the final decision that those injured and unable to walk were to be shot. “A conquering army is constantly moving forward, and a moving army can not afford the deadweight of injured prisoners” one of the generals had exclaimed with confidence and pompous nonchalance before taking a big drag of his cigar.

And so the soldier was walking through the room, checking pulses here, ending pulses there … nothing but orders being followed, nothing personal. Nikolai was sprawled on the floor, eyes coming to focus slowly on the black muddy boot moving among the bodies, stopping, a loud shot, walking again, this time towards him, a hand descending on a neck to check for a pulse, five or six bodies away. He figured he had about thirty seconds, might as well wait here, wait for him to come near then try to grab the rifle. But he wasn’t even sure if his hands could move, and if they did, whether they can do it fast enough.

The soldier walked out of view. Nikolai was not going to risk moving his head and blowing his cover to be able to see him. He could hear his steps; along with the crescendo of his heart pumping blood with increasing, anxious fear.

The next shot was too close, right behind his head. It sent a jolt through Nikolai’s body which the soldier didn’t miss. He took a quick step and was now standing right over him, gun pointing at Nikolai’s head, the darkness of its barrel the thick darkness of death. “Death” Nikolai thought “It’s here … that was it … that was my life” and felt a strange melancholy take over him thinking of the contrast of the noisy bustle of life and the silent soil he will be buried in and become one with.

“Not him”.

It was Julie, standing in the door frame, a tear leaving a trace on her cheek, her voice shaky and filled with plea. The soldier looked at her and then at Nikolai and her again. Nikolai having lost a good amount of blood was weak and that mixed with the anxiety was causing him to fade into unconsciousness again, but in the fixed eyes of the soldier and Julie a wordless negotiation was taking place.

The soldier understood why Julie was doing what she was doing. He himself had loved and had been loved. But he also longed. He longed to touch, to hold, to slip into the warm, soft, inviting embrace of nature and to leave, though be it for one night … even one hour, leave the filth and blood and the weight of the war that had been around him for much too long, leave it behind and taste the sweeter side of existence.

So he walked toward Julie, slow, with no signs of threat or haste. There was an unspoken mutual understanding between the two, each wishing things were different yet stoically content that they were not worse.

to be continued