The Mail

The Ruins of Ablain-Saint-Nazaire, Artois, France
Francois Flameng
Source

Louis and one of his messmates were walking down the main street of the village near their section of trench. Their platoon commander had sent them back to get the mail, something so important to the men's morale that their commander wasn't willing to wait for the normal cycle of delivery. He had the platoon's mail checked daily, while it was rare to get mail that often, his men appreciated that he cared enough to check. Every day.

"Is this whole province like this?" Louis couldn't believe his eyes. Ruins everywhere, not a soul to be seen except other soldiers.

His messmate, who was known for his affectation of using a walking stick, the men of the platoon called him "the Baron," turned to look at Louis. The short stub of his pipe seemed to grow directly from his heavily bearded face.

"No, just the bit near the front, and by near I mean within a kilometer or so of the trenches." He seemed to take no notice of the ruins of what had once been a thriving village.

"Where are the people?" Louis couldn't imagine that they were all dead.

"Many fled when the armies, still battling after the clash at the frontier, brought war to the region. Not that the region hasn't seen war before. There was fighting here in 1870, probably before as well. When you live in an area where armies like to fight, I suppose one has to take his chances."

"Many?"

"Of course, some stayed and died in their homes when the artillery barrages came. But most fled and no doubt live in squalor somewhere in the interior."

"Why in squalor? Can't they stay with relatives?" Louis shook his head at the indignity of it all.

"If they have relatives living in the interior, and those relatives have the means to take them in, then sure, they'd stay there I suppose. But, well take you for instance, where you're from, are your relatives nearby?"

"Of course, my grandparents live in the next village, and ..."

Louis stopped for a moment, then continued, "Most families live within a short distance of each other and have for generations. My great-grandparents and their parents are all buried in the village cemetery. So, for many here, they had nowhere to go."

"Let me guess, 2nd Company, 3rd Platoon?" the man managing the army post had looked well-fed and without a care in the world. His uniform was a bit tighter than it should be and much cleaner than the ones Louis and his comrade were wearing.

"Of course, Sergeant, my Lieutenant takes good care of us."

The overweight postmaster chuckled, shaking his head, as he sorted through a bag which had just come in.

"Ah yes, some letters, a package," he shook the box, "Hhmm, I wonder what that could be?"

He dug some more and took out one last envelope, this one of very fine paper and the handwriting on it was nearly a work of art. The postmaster lifted it to his nose and took a deep breath.

"I'm guessing that that is from your lieutenant's sweetheart back home. She wears expensive perfume!"

"I'll make sure my Lieutenant knows that you appreciate his fiancée's good taste in perfume. Now can we get all of our stuff so we can get back to the lines before supper?"

"Alright, alright, here you go."

As they headed back to the front, Louis was in no hurry to return, the Baron spotted something in the ruins.

"Ha, look at that!"

Louis looked in the direction his comrade was pointing. Sitting in the open hole where a shop window used to be was a cat, a big orange tomcat. The cat was eyeing them warily, as most cats will do when confronted with something they mistrust.

"Puss Puss Puss!" Louis called out as he tried to approach the feline, who did not wait for him to get closer but disappeared like a shadow when the sun goes behind a cloud.

"I have a cat back home." Louis said, saddened by the thought of home, so far away.

His messmate chuckled, "Notice how fat that kitty cat was?"

"Yes, but who would be feeding him ..." and then it struck him.

"They eat the dead?" Louis was appalled at the thought.

"Probably not, I mean at least not directly, but have you noticed how well supplied with plump rats we are?"

"The rats eat the corpses?" Louis looked as if he was going to vomit.

"Yes they do, and the cats eat the rats. Circle of life I suppose. But come on, let's get going, the men will be wanting their mail. And this box, I'll bet there's something to eat in there. Paul's mother is always sending him goodies, well, except for last time, when she sent him socks." The Baron sighed at the thought of those socks.

"Socks?" Louis looked puzzled.

"Worth more than gold out here, laddie. You still have all of your issue socks, yes?"

Louis nodded, "Yes, though it's hard to keep a pair dry long enough ..."

Louis' face lit up as he saw the connection, "I shall write my mother, she loves to knit."

"Perhaps an extra pair for your old messmate? Eh?"

Louis smiled, "Of course, why not?"

That night as Louis stood on the firing step near his dugout, watching no-man's-land for anything even remotely out of place, he thought again of that big orange tomcat. He wasn't much different in coloration than his cat at home, though much larger than his cat, Rufus.

As a flare arched into the sky, then burst, a tear trickled down Louis' cheek. He missed his home so bad it made his insides ache.

His older brother had rushed off to join the army with his friends during that glorious August at the beginning of the war. People were so excited, they couldn't wait to join up and go off to fight. Louis had felt ashamed that he was still too young to join. It was supposed to last maybe until the fall, no longer. The boys would be home before the leaves fell, everyone said so.

His brother was not home before the leaves fell. The short telegram from the government announcing that his brother had fallen "in noble combat, face to the foe," had arrived two days before Christmas. That had been followed by a longer letter from his brother's commanding officer, addressed to the entire family, which indicated that his brother had not suffered but had been killed instantly. A second letter from his brother's sergeant had arrived two days after the commander's letter, addressed to his father.

"Louis," he remembered his father taking him for a walk out to the barn as if it were yesterday, "your brother was not killed instantly as the official letter claimed."

"He wasn't? Is he still ..."

"No, my boy, your brother is certainly dead. But he lingered in hospital for three days after he was wounded, he suffered greatly and death was a blessing for him. I know his sergeant's father, we served together when I was a soldier. He knew that I would want to know the truth. So he had his son write with what really happened. Painful, but better to know these things than to believe the government's lies. But never tell your mother, understand?"

"Yes, Father, but why know that truth, that Robert suffered so?"

"You'll be old enough in the spring, you will be called up. You need to understand that this war is real and it is no joke. You must be prepared for the very worse thing imaginable. And then know that it will be worse than that."

As Louis wiped the tear away, he heard a step behind him, he turned. It was the lieutenant.

"Sir?" he whispered just enough to be heard.

"Evening soldier, how are you getting on? Good thought to keep your voice low, by the way."

"Uh, thank you Sir."

The officer couldn't help but notice the moisture on the young soldier's cheek. Homesick, no doubt.

"Get any mail today?"

"I had a letter from my mother yesterday, Sir. Nothing today."

The lieutenant clapped Louis on the shoulder, "Good lad, keep your eyes open. Your comrades are sleeping, you stand between them and the enemy. They're counting on you, you know?"

Louis nodded, "Yes Sir, I will, Sir."

The lieutenant nodded, "Very well, carry on soldier," then turned to continue down the line.

"Sir?"

The lieutenant turned, "Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For?"

"Checking the mail, Sir, it means a lot to us."

"Least I can do, lad, least I can do. Now eyes peeled! Okay?"

Louis smiled, "Yes Sir."

Louis felt better after speaking with the lieutenant, he seemed to be a good man. One of the other platoons had a real bastard in charge, Louis was happy to be in the 3rd. As his father had always said, "Remember, things can always get worse."

He turned with a sigh and continued to watch no-man's-land. While he missed his home and his family, and Rufus, somehow he felt more content now. He knew he wasn't alone.