Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

" H ey fellas," said Stanley as he wiped his upper lip clear of the nervous moisture that had suddenly formed there. "Why don't you come and sit on the other side of me."

"What?" asked Isaac. "We'll just be in the way when he comes out."

"No, it's dryer over here. I'm sure of it," said Stanley. He made a come here gesture with one hand while he patted the damp mud on the other side of him. He got up and tugged the strip of canvas from beneath him and spread it over the mud. "You can even sit on the canvas, so your asses will be a little bit more comfortable."

"Hey, I gave that to you," said Isaac.

There was mock dismay in his voice, but his eyes were sparkling, as though Isaac approved of Stanley giving up his own comfort for that of his buddies because in wartime, that's what you did. You looked out for each other. Except nobody was moving, and it felt urgent, somehow, that they should. Right now, this minute.

"Please," said Stanley. He moved his face into its most put-upon expression, his mouth in the shape of a pout, like he was three years old and having his buddies move to the other side of him his dearest wish. "I promise I'll give you all my next month's ration of chocolate."

"Does that include what Isaac gives to you?" asked Rex. He looked like he was about to stand up, but he hadn't yet, and Stanley felt his heart start to race.

"Yes," said Stanley. "All the chocolate that Isaac gives to me I will give to you and Bertie. Upon my honor, all of it, for the rest of the war."

"I'm in," said Bertie. He stood up and straightened his uniform like he was getting ready for inspection.

"Me too," said Rex, going through the same motion of pulling his woolen tunic into place while at the same time jabbing Bertie's ribs with his elbow.

"What about me?" asked Isaac. "I don't care for chocolate, you know that."

There was a twinkle in his eyes, but even as Stanley looked at him, he was drawn to another memory, another pair of eyes, so hard it was painful. He knew his heart was breaking, so he stood up to distract himself from the sinking feeling of loss and regret and having touched something so beautiful and sweet.

He reached out his hand.

"I'll find something special just for you, Isaac," said Stanley, attempting to put humor in his voice, his expression. "Just for you. Now will you please all move over here next to me?"

"We are next to you," said Rex, even as he started walking to go where Stanley wanted him to.

"On this side, damn it," said Stanley, pointing. " This side."

He could hardly breathe as they trooped over to sit on his left side, with Isaac right next to him, and Bertie and Rex on the other side of Isaac, all in a row. Isaac was so close that Stanley could feel the warmth of his body, the press of his thigh, and the smell of sweat on the back of his neck.

Stanley closed his eyes and wanted to place his palms over them to stay in the blackness where an image of a low light danced, illuminating the top of a stove, a tiny green dot in the darkness. A place where he stirred to get more comfortable so he could fall asleep on the couch in the cottage. The clean pillowslip rustled. Warm air touched his skin, and somebody was typing. There was the scent of dark coffee brewing, but it was so distant he could barely smell it. The harder he tried, the faster it faded until it was transparent in his mind and disappeared completely.

The loss formed an ache in his chest, but he had to ignore this and move on because there was something else he needed to do.

Stanley opened his eyes with a snap and turned to his buddies.

"Close your eyes," he said. "Turn your heads, look towards the chaplain. He's coming this way, he's got news to tell, look at him, look at him—"

At the urgent, strident sound of Stanley's voice, and with their eyes wide, they all turned their heads just as a mortar shell exploded over the trench, sending black shrapnel digging into the muddy sides just where Bertie, Rex, and Isaac had so recently been sitting. Broken metal screamed as flak tore into the radio and spun into the air. Huge silver clouds descended, bits of metal pattering into the mud as leftover powder exploded, sending more metal flying.

Stanley felt his arm start to sting and looked down. There were tiny holes in his uniform. Dark red blood began to soak into the brown wool, but it wasn't very much and didn't spread very fast. He'd keep the arm, and maybe he'd get some R&R to recover and maybe his buddies could stay with him and maybe they'd all walk into the village again, their boots clanking on the damp cobbles as they wandered about and listened to French voices.

Only the French voices had been silenced, and the village had been bombed to bits. Somebody had told him that, and also that a new community had been built around the foundations of the old village, left as a war memorial. He couldn't remember how he knew that, but the thought of it filled him with a growing sadness, and as he turned to look at his friends, he scrubbed at his face so they wouldn't see the tears.

Except as the chaplain went into the bunker and Lt. Billings came out to meet him, Isaac, Bertie, and Rex were all looking at Stanley with eyes round as saucers.

"We were just sitting there," said Bertie.

Rex was studying him as if he'd been a newsie who'd just sold all of his papers at full price in under half an hour. As for Isaac, he was as white as iced paper, his eyes the color of ancient moss that has grown over a stone.

"We were, Stanley," said Isaac, almost accusing, pointing at the place where they had just been, that the chaplain was gesturing to while he talked urgently to the lieutenant.

Stanley couldn't understand why he couldn't hear what the chaplain was saying when the chaplain was as close to him as Isaac was. But he couldn't.

"It was like you knew," said Isaac. "Did you?"

"You accusing me of being a German spy?" asked Stanley, jokingly serious to cover up the growing sense of panic within him.

"No, of course not," said Isaac. He shook his head and reached out his hand.

"Please don't touch me," said Stanley, half-choking on the thickness in his throat. "I don't think I could bear it just now."

His friends were alive, and though the war would have continued with or without them, Stanley knew there was no price too dear to have them with him.