“Mother was sick with grief,” I said.
Mariette moved past him toward me. “No more.”
He commenced the ascent, then stopped abruptly to turn and walk back toward me, stopping close. “Do you think I wanted that, Brother?”
He pushed me suddenly, and I fell backward onto the ground.
“Stop,” said Mariette, moving to grab him, but he pushed her away also.
He then raised his voice: “Do you think that I wanted to see my friends die on the field? Do you think I had a choice?”
He stood over me. I witnessed the raw brutish power of him, the brother who had protected me, and whom I was now in fear of.
I could see that the other men had not yet moved, but Mariette hovered anxiously.
He leaned down. “Why aren’t you at home, looking after my son?”
He punched me in the face, and the pain was blinding.
“Stop!” screamed Mariette. I felt dizzy but was still able to see the two men reach for Edgar. They drew him away, each man gripping an arm to force him backward as he called out to me.
“Rudy, you know nothing about life!”
He shook free of his human shackles and then turned to disappear into the night.
Blood poured from my nose. One of the other men helped me up and into the house, and Mariette brought me a damp cloth and a bucket of cold water. I took the cloth, put it to my bruised and bleeding mouth and nose, then turned away from her to face the wall. I felt ashamed.
Mariette discussed something privately with the other man, who left then, and I heard her bolt the front door.
She came and sat on the cot beside me, but I could not face her.
“You are not safe here,” she said softly, and she put her hand on my leg.
“Then n-neither are you,” I stuttered through swollen lips.
A tooth was loose, and blood filled my mouth. My nose was swollen and split. I leaned over to spit out blood in the bucket.
“Let me check you,” she said.
I felt her hand on my arm and turned toward her pleading eyes. With another damp cloth she gently wiped my bruised and swollen face.
More than the physical pain I felt was the humiliation. I did indeed feel like a child. And I had failed to believe Mariette, to understand. Though there was no reproach in her expression.
“In case you are wondering, he would never harm me,” she said.
“I’m not so sure of that.”
And then an idea came to me.
“Did he harm the boy?”
“The boy grew up fearing his outbursts, and Edgar could see that it was not good for Samuel. Deep down Edgar is still the same good person. He cared for the boy, but his moods are unpredictable. He loves him so very much, you have to know that. He thought that no one but you could take care of him the way he wanted. And it is where you should be: with him. Not here. Samuel needs you, Rudy, more than me, more than Edgar. There is nothing you can do here.”
“Edgar needs proper help, Mariette. I have heard about people who look after such illnesses and hospitals that specialize.”
She scoffed. “They will keep him in a vegetative state, and he will die miserably condemned, imprisoned and drugged as a traitor to his country. Just as he told you. Here at least he can have a life. Surely you can see that?”
I could see that. I just didn’t want to.
“Here he doesn’t have to hide away. The men here don’t judge him. He has no one reminding him of the past.”
“I think that it’s only a matter of time before he harms you, too.”
She smiled sadly into her lap. I saw the care in her eyes toward us both, and my heart felt trapped and heavy.
“Perhaps. But regardless, if that is the way I go, then that is my fate. I can never leave him.”
I did not like the answer.
“And the other men?”
“Has he hurt them, too, you’re asking? He has been in many fights, Rudy, but everyone has accommodated the situation because they see the good also. They know the limits. The alcohol is the worst. You weren’t to know of course. I think we all saw that coming, but now he knows again. Alcohol is not allowed here. It wakes the sleeping beast that lives within him.
“You must sleep now, and we will talk in the morning. It is doubtful he will come back tonight or even tomorrow. There is a small hut he goes to when he is like this. And in the morning his friends will visit him and talk him back.”
She stood up, started to leave, then bent down to kiss the top of my head.
“You’re a good man, Rudy. He will be regretting that he hurt you. He will regret that the most.”
I didn’t feel good. I felt quite the opposite, as if I had let them both down, and Samuel, too. I tossed and turned, expecting Edgar to turn up at any moment as well as attempting to find a comfortable position, but everything ached. I deserved it. I was young and unworldly and still living in the past. And when I did sleep, I dreamed of war, of Edgar dying at my feet.
The next morning when the sun rose late, I sat up gingerly and inspected my face. My nose was painful to touch. Edgar was right. I had lived a soft life, and these past two months along with my bruises, injuries, and assaults reminded me just how right he was.
The fire had been lit, and the cabin was unbearably warm. Mariette came toward me from the kitchen, bringing oatmeal. She sat next to me and began to spoon-feed me, but I took the utensil from her.
“I am still capable of feeding myself.” The effort to smile was also painful. I imagined Edgar wounded in battle and each time having to return, patched and becoming more disillusioned. These thoughts fought off my own feelings of pain.
I blamed myself of course. There was something in me that said that I caused this, that I deserved it in a way, that I had pursued him when he didn’t want to be found, and that I should have listened to Mariette. It had to be proven that he was not the same brother. I had caught glimpses of him, the Edgar I had grown up with. We had shared the same thoughts on things, had private jokes that belonged to no one but us, and had the ability to read between each other’s words. The way he gripped my hand as we sat in the snow, like we had done as children. Those memories, feelings, senses were still there, gluing us together. Memories that would never fade, that would stay with me always.
But the air of unpredictability that enveloped him was stopping the person within, his heart unable to be freed. I felt that with proper care my brother could be fixed. But to fix someone they must first want that. And the previous evening had shown me that he didn’t, that this life was his now and he wanted the past gone. Perhaps he even wanted me gone.
I sat on the snow-covered stairs with a blanket around me, looking at the sky growing gloomy to coincide with my thoughts, the light then barely squeezing through. Mariette came out and sat beside me.
“You must not feel bad about anything. I understand why you came, and Edgar will, too, when he calms down. It is a pattern that when he loses control of his senses and fights something inside his head, he will disappear for a period, perhaps avoiding the problem, distancing himself from it, but also out of guilt. He may not want to face you again.”
I felt tears prick my eyes. I did not want to leave, but I knew I had to.
“When was he last like this?”
“Several months before I left here for England, but not since. He has really calmed. Everything from his past life seemed to be lifted away from him. And unfortunately you brought back all the guilt he carries, from abandoning you, from losing friends he believes he should have protected. I thought when he first spoke with you he might react, but only the love he had for you came through before all other memories. And that was strong enough.”
“And it was only when I talked about him and expectations . . . always expectations . . . that he became like that.”
She nodded.
“You must go, Rudy. You must forget about us here.”
I turned to look at her, the vibrant colors of her stark
against the white.
“How am I supposed to leave you?”
“You mustn’t come back here,” she said. “Your destiny isn’t here. It is with the people who need you more.”
She took both my hands and gripped them in her small ones, weathered from the harsh tasks she set herself here.
She said nothing but looked in my eyes, beseeching. I could see then that she was torn. That there was a small part of her that would have left with me, but she was a far stronger person than I had encountered before. And still I wondered if there was more to their relationship than I thought. Was she letting me down gently perhaps? Did she love Edgar more than just the promise? Regardless, I had to leave. I knew that then.
I took some writing paper from my bag and wrote a note to Edgar, telling him that I loved him and that I wished him well. I said nothing about the past and the future, only that I was pleased we met, that he had impressed me with the business and the success. I gave it to Mariette to read to ensure I had said nothing to provoke his dark thoughts.
I would stay one more night to repair, and then she would organize for someone to escort me to the closest town with my trap and to the main road that would be easier to navigate. She also reported that one of the men had returned with a message, that Edgar would be away working for several days with his crew to clean up the remaining timber.
We spent the day together. We spoke of France, of her family. She told me everything then about her childhood, about the love between Helene and Edgar, and about the changes in Edgar. How she’d returned here to learn that he’d not said a word after she left to take Samuel to England. How he had become ill from sitting outside for hours all day in the sun, and then all night in the cold. How guilty he had felt by wishing to part with his son. And how the women and men here nursed him through his fevers until she returned.
The snow fell heavily, encasing us inside the cabin. The fire roared, and the smell of the wood burning and meat frying made me feel soothed. I wished for an eternity with Mariette, but it was a matter of hours now, and I would be gone.
I had fallen asleep, and during the night she had crept downstairs. I had heard the cabin shift and the stairs creak, and she had climbed in next to me and kissed me softly. We had lain holding each other for hours, afraid of the minutes passing, and falling briefly asleep just before dawn. When I awoke she had left the cabin.
I watched her return from somewhere within the wood with one of the men. My image in the window glass was unrecognizable. The swelling in my face had gone down slightly, but the bruising had taken on an angry appearance.
“Edgar has sent back one of his work crew to make sure you don’t lose your way,” she said. “Arnaud said to get ready to leave.”
I nodded, my heart in my throat, a pain in my chest and not from the bruising. I felt it was too soon to leave, and parting with Mariette and my brother again was difficult to contemplate.
She remained on the porch as I followed Arnaud in thick powdery snow toward my horse and trap nearby. As I commenced to climb onto the seat I turned to see Mariette watching me, unsurely, perhaps suppressing things she couldn’t say, that would make the separation impossible. Her unspoken love and the same sense of loss as after I had learned that Edgar was never coming home punched hard at my chest until I could barely breathe. I felt wretched and drowning in sudden grief at the thought that I might never see either of them again.
I rushed up the stairs, and she stepped forward to reach for me. I felt her body mold to mine, shaking with the same feelings of loss, as she sobbed against my chest. I knew then that she loved me, that what we had shared was not imagined, that what she told me, all of it, was true. That the decisions she was forced to make were not impetuous and wrong, but selfless acts of honor. I pulled away quickly and strode back to the trap, my focus turning toward the small boy who awaited his future. I would tell him one day about the people who loved him, who sacrificed their own destinies to ensure his.
Arnaud rode his horse ahead, and I followed him along the winding forest track in silence. We parted at the road that would eventually lead me back to Sally. I had plenty of time on the return journey to relive the strange events of the past, which would also shape my life to come.
Sally greeted me along with her husband, who had recently arrived back.
“You look terrible!” she said, fussing.
Aghast at the bruising that still lingered on my face, Robert insisted on getting the doctor to check that there was no permanent damage.
“A fight with another traveler,” I offered.
“Did you find Edgar?” she asked.
I thought about it for a second to put her out of her misery. “No,” I said, and it seemed this endless supply of lies would continue.
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.
“Am I so transparent?”
“Yes. Even as a little boy, you could not lie convincingly.”
And we both smiled at this.
“But that’s all right. I will tell whatever story you wish me to.”
I trusted her, though I was tired of secrets.
The doctor came and checked me, and with his affable encouragement confirmed I would live another fifty years at least. For several days I rested there until Sally drove me to the train for the long journey back to England.
I watched the landscape disappear and the sea that separated me from the people I loved gradually widen. I could see the beauty in the shape of this distant but magnificent land, the expanse of sky and how this would have drawn Edgar. I hoped that he would take care of Mariette. I prayed for his torturous mind that he lived daily to control, and hoped that what she said was true, that the madness would cease with me gone. Whatever happened to both of them in the future, they deserved happiness. They had both been through much in their lives.
There was a cruel irony in loving two people but being unable to love either of them as I wanted.
For the second time, I read the letter from Edgar that Arnaud had given me as we parted. Attached to the letter was a torn photograph of Helene, her name written in Edgar’s hand behind it. It was the missing piece of the photograph that Mariette had first given me.
Letter to Rudy from Edgar, dated 17 December 1922
Dear Rudy,
Where to start . . . Just writing now seems in some way indulgent to explain my feelings, but firstly, I must ask that you do not write to me, nor think that we can begin anew. That you just remember us as we were. I think if not for the war, I would probably have made a damn fine accountant, or perhaps a poet. One or the other. Maybe both. Mariette told me she left you my diary from the war since I have no use for it, nor had I opened it in the years since I left France. There are things I don’t wish to remember. And this is perhaps the longest piece of writing I will attempt.
My head is not clear like yours, dear Brother. Sometimes I wake, and with absolute clarity I see the day ahead, and I look forward to it. The past is somewhere buried deep at these moments, and I am at peace with the world, connected to it in a small way. Joe, Arnaud, and the rest of my brothers here have taught me to respect the space around me, to not fill it with things that in the end I can’t take with me. It is probably this that heals me.
But many days I wake up with a cloud in my head that shifts and breaks and never fully dissipates, and I struggle through the fog to see purpose. I am just a man by instinct doing what I must. It is this that I fear the most, that I cannot chance. And there are those, like you, who remember me as before, who love me unconditionally. Who believe in redemption, rehabilitation. But, Rudy, I am a traitor, I am ill, and if I should return that way, it would be my end. Know that it is safer for everyone if I am here, but know, most of all, it is where I wish to be.
I was in love with dear, sweet Helene. She is there inside the envelope, and the other end of the photograph you have of me, Mariette, Jerome, Roger, and Percy. I kept it because with Samuel gone it was the only thing I had of her. But now her son sho
uld know her and treasure this image. Sometimes I dream of the life we might have had together if the world had not been so full of smoke and sadness.
I loved Helene in between the war damage. It was a desperate love, an untidy love if I can call it that. It did not fit into any category. Even the soldiers who married their French sweethearts and took them back home cannot be compared. Ours was hurried but beautiful and then over before it should have been. And Samuel is the result.
I cannot swear you to secrecy. I know that to keep a secret from Mother will feel like a crime, so, Brother, you have my permission to tell about me. On several conditions: that she does not come here, that she tells no one, that she sends no one. That she must remember me as I was.
I saw with my own eyes the look you had for Mariette, and though she covers it well, I suspect there is something there also. I regret deeply that she is here, that she cannot continue a full life. I have told her on many occasions that it is no fit place for her, but she is here all the time taking care of me, as if she must in her sister’s stead. Though I will selfishly admit she brings me joy, and I’m not sure I could live without her. You should know, little B, that there is no intimacy in our relationship. But even if I could send her back, she would not go. I sent her with Samuel half hoping that she would fall in love with you and never return, because I offer so little. But I must admit when she returned I felt a balance again in the world, and not only is she a soldier herself, perhaps selfishly she is also my link to Helene.
I know that Samuel’s best hope is with you. I hope that you know I love him in my own way and that I did not give him away lightly. But as you have seen, this is no life for him. If I were a different man, I would raise him otherwise. I cannot offer him what he needs. And though it is a big ask, I know that you will take this seriously.
I am not the man who left for France. I sometimes offer no humor, as you have seen, something that should not infect a childhood. Sometimes I have no conscience, and that worries me also. Sometimes I forget who I am. These were the reasons I sent him to you. I did not trust myself.
In a Field of Blue Page 36
