Love for a Soldier

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Josef – Major Kirsten – told me you were in Munich, and in very high spirits, so I thought I’d like to call. You don’t mind?’

  ‘Why, how could I mind? It’s sweet of you, and after all, we did meet somewhere special. How happy you look. Are you happy, Elissa?’

  ‘I’m one of the few lucky ones,’ said Elissa.

  ‘Because you aren’t dead, you mean?’ Sophia’s ready laugh echoed. ‘Some say it’s only the dead who are lucky. Some people talk that way, don’t they? Why are you lucky, considering you’re alive?’

  ‘I’m in love,’ said Elissa, deceptively demure.

  ‘Oh, that isn’t supposed to be lucky, but it is considered fashionable,’ said Sophia with the sweetest of smiles.

  ‘Fashionable?’

  ‘But yes,’ said Sophia. ‘I mean, who is not in love? Everyone I know is in love with everyone else.’

  ‘How confusing,’ said Elissa. ‘Is there no selective factor?’

  ‘Darling, that has all gone. Love for everyone is the thing now. There was all that beastly hate during the war. Now there’s only love. I can’t count all those who are in love with me. Oh, rapture in its way, because one does so wish to be loved, doesn’t one? But there can be little irritations. The jealousy, you have no idea. Will you drink coffee? Yes, you must. Stay there. Sit down, do sit down. I do have coffee, you know. Well, I have money, you see, and with money you can even get quite good coffee. I’ll make some now, at once. Sit down.’

  She was gone, a flash of yellow and gold, her long legs gleaming in her short-skirted dress. Elissa moved about, righting furniture and picking up cushions and glasses. She emptied overflowing ashtrays into a pretty little basket already half-full of ash and butts and torn paper. From the floor beside an armchair she retrieved a dark red silk dress and a slip of crêpe de Chine. The slip was still faintly aromatic, the scent delicate and expensive. A little sigh escaped Elissa. She smoothed the garments and placed them neatly over the back of a chair. She opened another window and the warm air came to caress her and to sweeten the outraged room. Her heart was sad for Sophia, but singing for herself. Yes, she was lucky. How good life was to her, giving her Josef. And how cruel to others. Poor Sophia, dancing on brittle glass because she thought she had murdered Captain Marsh. That was how she would look at her action.

  Sophia returned with a tray containing china and a coffee pot. She looked around the room, eyes opening theatrically wide.

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Elissa, ‘but I’ve a terrible habit of straightening things, although I do try to avoid being fussy. A place must be lived in, and must look lived in, or it offers no welcome – but overturned chairs and crumpled rugs –’

  ‘Oh, straightening things, yes, that is women’s work by common consent,’ laughed Sophia, setting the tray down on a table. Elissa noticed the attractive appearance of the laden tray, a pretty lace mat set diagonally over it, the china and the sugar bowl neatly arranged to complement the shining coffee pot. That was nothing to do with politics, thought Elissa, it was to do with a woman of simple feminine grace. ‘Men disturb everything, Elissa, and women tidy up.’

  ‘Well, women are more efficient at bringing order,’ said Elissa. ‘If we put the brooms into men’s hands, all the dust would be swept under the carpets.’

  ‘Oh, I’m trying to lose the ingrained habit of tidying up, as you’ve seen,’ said Sophia, pouring coffee. ‘I’d rather mend motor cars.’

  ‘Mend motor cars?’ said Elissa in astonishment.

  Sophia’s laugh was quick and brittle.

  ‘Did I say something silly? I do, on occasion. But we all do, don’t we? Even Bismarck had his moments. There.’ She handed Elissa hot, fresh coffee.

  ‘Thank you, Sophia,’ said Elissa, and seated herself. Sophia perched on the arm of a chair, and it occurred to Elissa, from the way the yellow dress clung to her figure, that she was wearing very little beneath it.

  ‘Who are you in love with, Elissa?’

  ‘You are interested?’ smiled Elissa.

  ‘But of course.’ Again the laugh. ‘I’m always interested in who is in love with whom. Oh, did I tell you that sweet and deliciously civilized Major Kirsten actually came to lunch with me and my friends? My girlfriends were smitten. I must tell you—’

  ‘I don’t think you’d better,’ said Elissa.

  ‘But, darling, why not?’ said Sophia. She gulped thirstily at her coffee. ‘I was holding a little political seminar here, over a cold lunch. Everyone was discussing the agonies of Germany until Major Kirsten appeared. There was a positive rush, would you believe. Well, he is so distinguished, isn’t he, and a war hero. My girlfriends were so entranced there was a quite mesmerized consultation about who should have the privilege of sacrificing herself on the altar of spontaneous and unconditional love.’

  ‘What is spontaneous and unconditional love?’ asked Elissa.

  ‘Oh, immediate bliss and an acceptance of all the risks,’ said Sophia with vivacious candour.

  ‘Who was the lady who ascended the altar?’ asked Elissa, a mote in her eye.

  ‘Oh, the let-down was disastrously humiliating,’ said Sophia. ‘He left before we’d finished drawing straws. We were shattered. He bowed to me, declared himself in the devil of a hurry and left. That, of course, was such an effective departure that we can’t wait for him to come again, and I sent him a letter of sweet urgency only yesterday.’

  ‘To discuss the altar arrangements?’ said Elissa. ‘Or something else?’

  ‘Oh, you are deliciously quaint,’ said Sophia, pouring more coffee. She was so brilliantly transparent that she seemed to Elissa like a fragile sparkling glass. ‘It’s all the thing, you know, to be madly in love with a war hero, especially as there are so few of them still alive. What do you think, darling? Do you think every thousand women should share one war hero?’

  ‘You are talking about smothering them?’

  Sophia’s laughter pealed.

  ‘Elissa, yes, you are delicious. You live in Munich?’

  ‘Yes, with my parents.’

  ‘Your parents?’ Sophia looked very amused. ‘Darling, how dull for you. Parents are fairly special, of course, as long as one doesn’t have to live with them. You should come and live with me, yes, why not? You can do the tidying up and I will pay the rent. And you can join the Party.’

  ‘Which Party?’ asked Elissa, who had long since come to a conclusion that differed from Major Kirsten’s.

  ‘The German Workers’ Party,’ said Sophia with enthusiasm. ‘There are other parties – oh, hundreds – but this is the one that will give us a new Germany as brave as the old one. The old one was rather lovely, wasn’t it? All those parks and bandstands and music? I must tell you, a funny-looking little man called Anton Drexler comes here sometimes, and charges us all with fire and faith. And have you listened to Adolf Hitler of the Army’s Political Department? Such a convincing nationalist. Well, one doesn’t want Bolshevism, does one? That awful man Lenin, a walking horror. There’d be no fun, no beauty. Fritz Gerder, a dear friend of mine who survived the war, agrees that beauty is what we most desire.’

  ‘Oh, beauty is very desirable,’ said Elissa.

  ‘And Major Kirsten must join too,’ said Sophia. ‘We must win him over.’

  ‘You seem very interested in Major Kirsten,’ said Elissa. ‘Is that because he was so involved on the occasion when—Oh, that reminds me, did you know that the English airman, Captain Marsh recovered? You remember Captain Marsh and how—’

  Sophia’s cup and saucer fell from her hand. The china broke on the polished floor and the liquid spilled. Sophia’s mouth was open, her eyes glazed, her body shaking. She looked at her empty hands and the smashed china. She slid from the arm of the chair on to her knees, her mouth working and her breathing convulsive.

  ‘There’s cognac – on the sideboard – could you – could you bring me some, please?’

  Elissa found the cognac bottle on the littered sideboard. There wa
s a little left. She also managed to find a clean glass. She poured the residue and took it to Sophia, who reached with shaking hands, clutched the glass and gulped a fiery mouthful. She gasped, coughed and shuddered.

  ‘What is wrong?’ asked Elissa gently.

  ‘Nothing – only that I’m dying – oh, my God.’

  ‘That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?’ Elissa smiled. Sophia looked up at her, mouth trembling, eyes huge. ‘But Major Kirsten was wrong. He thought you’d got over Captain Marsh. But you haven’t, have you?’

  ‘He isn’t dead? He’s alive?’

  ‘He made a complete recovery.’

  ‘You are sure, you are really sure?’ Sophia was still shaking.

  ‘I discovered, after hearing the news myself, that he was repatriated to England with other British officers in December 1918.’

  ‘Oh, dear God,’ said Sophia. She came slowly to her feet and placed the glass back on the sideboard. She saw the sticky rings that stained the rosewood. They looked very ugly. ‘This is a mess, isn’t it?’ she said in a peculiar high voice. ‘It’s a disgusting mess, isn’t it? And look at me – I’m the worst mess of all. What would he think of me? Last night I danced on that chair with very little on, and the chair fell over and someone caught me, but no one picked the chair up, or my clothes. Oh, Elissa, I am such a mess.’

  ‘Some women do worse things,’ said Elissa.

  ‘Yes. Yes. He’s alive, Elissa, he’s really alive?’

  ‘Are you glad?’ asked Elissa.

  ‘Glad? Glad?’ Sophia drew a shuddering breath. ‘Oh, you can’t know, no one can. You see, you see, there was no need to shoot him, was there? I needed only to fire that revolver in the air and the men would have come running from those aeroplane sheds. He fell, he fell from the top of the fence, and I knew as he hit the ground that it hadn’t been necessary, that I’d killed him and destroyed myself in a moment of frenzy.’

  ‘You mean you thought you’d killed him.’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ Sophia wrapped her arms around her shaking body. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you for telling me. Everyone else kept it from me, didn’t they? They knew he hadn’t died, my father knew, but they kept it from me.’

  ‘They thought it for the best –’

  ‘The best?’ Sophia began to walk wildly about. ‘Look at this place, look at me – is that for the best?’

  ‘I think it was because he was English that it was all quite unacceptable, even for you. Sophia, so many people felt that had it not been for England and the British Navy, Germany could have won the war. Major Kirsten thought your father’s view understandable.’

  ‘Is one man to be blamed for what his country did? He saved my life, he saved me from falling into a canal, he risked his own life –’

  ‘Was it gratitude, then?’ asked Elissa. ‘Was it gratitude rather than love?’

  ‘Oh, Elissa, no – no. Elissa, all this time I thought him dead, and I’ve been dying myself.’

  ‘You are sure you haven’t been enjoying it after a fashion?’ said Elissa, thinking dramatics of no use at all.

  ‘Enjoying it?’ Sophia’s laugh was bitterly brittle. ‘Do you know what it’s like to feel you are dancing on a coffin containing the corpse of a man you loved and killed?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Elissa.

  ‘No – you have been so good, coming to see me and telling me. But I am a mess, aren’t I?’

  ‘Your lipstick is a little too gaudy, perhaps, and your attire a little risqué,’ said Elissa candidly. ‘You are wearing no slip and your legs can be seen through your dress. But you have a superb figure. I think, when you see Captain Marsh, you should wear something chic. I think men like the women they love to look elegant rather than risqué. They’re very conventional.’

  ‘See him?’ Sophia began to shake again. ‘Oh, my God, how can I? I’ve bags under my eyes and I don’t even feel clean.’

  ‘May I be your friend?’ asked Elissa.

  ‘Oh, yes, yes. You knew about my feelings, all that time ago –’

  ‘That’s in the past. Let’s think about the future. First, we must give up high drama and theatricals, and thinking we can’t look our men in the face. I’m sure men have far more on their consciences than we do. We must sit down together and enjoy a sensible discussion. That is, if you are quite sure you’re still in love.’

  ‘Please don’t talk like my mother,’ said Sophia. ‘Oh, my poor mother, I have given her no peace. Elissa, please stay and discuss things with me – but how am I to see him without shaking like a leaf, even if I can look him in the face?’

  Elissa laughed.

  ‘Oh, I shook like a leaf too a few days ago. But women are more emotional than men, of course, and shake while men only cough. Josef – Major Kirsten – hardly batted an eyelash, but he did cough. I think all he suffered was astonishment.’

  ‘Major Kirsten?’ Sophia, every limb still weak, her emotions in turmoil, nevertheless smiled warmly at Elissa. ‘What are you telling me?’

  ‘That I don’t think I can allow any ladies you know to engage in spontaneous and unconditional love with my future husband.’

  ‘Elissa?’ Crimson flooded Sophia. ‘Oh, what must you think of me?’

  ‘I’m simply very glad Josef saw the danger signals and departed. I’ll tell him so.’

  ‘No, please don’t,’ gasped Sophia, ‘please don’t. I should want the earth to open up and swallow me.’

  Elissa smiled. Sophia, in an extravagance of gratitude and warmth, swooped and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘You’re very demonstrative,’ said Elissa.

  ‘I’m the odd one out in our family,’ said Sophia. ‘Oh you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you? You’re going to help me feel clean again. You’re going to help me tidy myself up. I’m so glad for you and Major Kirsten – you’ll suit each other marvellously. But Captain Marsh – Elissa, what am I going to do?’

  ‘Sit down and talk,’ said Elissa. ‘I’m still rather reserved, you know, but when one is desperate every effort must be made to slay one’s dragons. You must be positive, even if you shake so much that your head falls off. First, of course, we must find out if Captain Marsh is married.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ said Sophia, and sat heavily down. ‘Don’t say things like that, don’t. That isn’t positive, Elissa, that’s the way to new misery.’

  ‘Where does Captain Marsh live?’

  ‘In an English county called Wiltshire.’

  ‘Wiltshire? That’s all you know?’

  ‘But Wiltshire is only a little county. He’ll be known there, won’t he? I’ve looked at it a thousand times on a map.’

  ‘All this time, Sophia, you’ve been looking at a map?’

  ‘He was dead to me, yes, but a place on a map kept him alive for me because he had a motor garage there – and his parents – and I thought one day I would go, and I would see the garage and perhaps his parents, and tell them I was the one who killed him.’

  ‘Very dramatic,’ said Elissa. ‘All such morbid fancies must stop. We’ve some work to do.’

  ‘Yes. You must help me think. I can’t think for myself, not at the moment – except about him being alive. Isn’t that wonderful, Elissa, isn’t it?’

  ‘The situation, perhaps, is better than it was,’ said Elissa.

  Sophia laughed. Shakily.

  ‘Mama,’ said Sophia over the telephone, ‘dearest Mama, I want you to be very honest with me. There’ll be no quarrel, I promise.’

  ‘Sophia, where are you?’

  ‘Still in Munich, Mama, and having such late nights over politics that I’ve bags under my eyes. Did you hear what I first said?’

  ‘It’s not a very good line, but yes, I heard you.’

  ‘And you will be honest with me?’

  ‘Sophia, that is not a question you should ask of either of your parents.’

  ‘I know, Mama, but I am asking.’

  ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘Mama, I want
you to tell me if you’ve ever received any letters for me which you haven’t sent on. Will you tell me that, please?’

  ‘Letters?’

  ‘Mama, you receive letters for me sometimes which you send on. Thank you for doing so. But have there been any you haven’t sent?’

  A pause.

  ‘What letters, my dear?’

  ‘I am not to know that, am I, Mama, if I haven’t received them.’

  ‘One doesn’t always remember to send everything on. One hopes one’s daughter will come home sometimes and pick them up for herself.’

  ‘Yes, but will you answer the question, please?’

  ‘About certain letters? I’m not sure – very well, I’ll be frank. There was one. It arrived at the end of November, I think.’

  ‘Eight months ago? Eight?’

  ‘And there was another in February.’

  ‘Be my sweet and most dear Mama and tell me who they were from.’

  Another pause.

  ‘I had hoped you would never hear from him.’

  ‘Yes, I know I was supposed to believe he was dead, but I have found you out, Mama, you and Papa. They were from Captain Marsh?’

  ‘I regret, yes.’

  ‘Mama, the war is over and you are very caring and I understand why you have always done what you thought best for me. Mama, did you read the letters?’

  A third pause.

  ‘Yes. I was worried.’

  ‘You have worried excessively, Mama, but I understand that too. You knew the letters would tell me he was alive. What did he say in them?’

  ‘I really can’t remember.’

  ‘I think you can, Mama. You must tell me. Do you still have them?’

  ‘I burned them.’

  ‘Yes, of course. So please tell me what was in them.’

  ‘You are such a difficult girl.’

  ‘I am not a girl, Mama.’

  ‘The first – let me see – he asked questions.’

  ‘About me, about my welfare, about what I was doing and so on?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mama, did he mention the shots I fired?’

  ‘Really, Sophia.’