The End of the War

 

            The bullet that killed the soldier has burned my heart as well.  Sometimes it seems to me that I AM that soldier, that it was I who bent down that day – an aloof bow that lasted longer than I had anticipated.  The sniper is ruthless.  It is easy for him: he doesn't know me, nor the perished soldier.  And even if he did, it would not stop him, for a bullet launched blindly always finds the one it's after.  Maybe the bullet is still flying, circling the Earth time after time, waiting for the right moment to collide with the obstacle and to drill a tiny hole in it.  I am flying above the ground.  I am looking for the one I want.  My taste is refined, I won't consent to just anyone.  I have gained the right of choice, and now I will take advantage of this right.  He is waiting for me in the trenches.  He thinks he hates me, but in fact he is waiting for me – impatiently, like a lover.  Trenches ...He created trenches out of his life, just the way they always do.  But could a trench help? ...I love, I love tortuous ways!  Maybe he will summon enough courage to get up, to stand straight, to press me to his chest?  – and then my passion would drop him to the ground and I would teach him the mystery of final love.  Could he really be unable to appreciate the cold elegance of my flight, the sensual rapture of my victori­ous song, a song-dream, a song-invitation, a song that awards him the chance to dissolve in eternal bliss?  Oh, am I preparing for him a glorious celebration!

            The soldier is silently bent over the map.  He is hoping that tomorrow the area will stay the same as today.  But even if so, I have the day after tomorrow at my reserve.  The mountains will become ponds, the trenches will turn into elevations open to all winds.  And then the destiny will bring me to him as a long-awaited, precious gift.  Oh, this soldier, so suave, I cannot express how much I love him!

            Yes, I understand now: there IS no sniper, the bullet exists on its own, it might have existed before we were born.  The soldier is bent over the map, and he doesn't notice that I am bent over him, resisting the temptation to put a friendly hand on his shoulder, to express that way that I am quite aware of what is going to happen.  His position reveals resignation; this stooping figure staring at the lines on paper in the semi-darkness of the trench – is he not ready for what has to take place, and even for things that don't?  One bullet or another, there are so many of them flying in the air around us.  What difference does it make if we don't notice?

            This map, I think it is outdated like all maps.  I cannot make anything out.  It seems that this brook has already dried out, at least I didn't notice it yesterday, during the position exchange.  I should stick my head out and look, but I'm afraid: what if I get killed ...If at least I knew whom we are fighting against¼I have never seen a live enemy.  Of course I haven't seen a dead one either.  When we launch an attack, they remove their wounded, their dead.  We wage war blindly, we open fire in a random direc­tion (if there is any difference between directions)¼Sometimes I even imagine that there IS no enemy, and we are being shot at by our superiors, just to check our fighting capacity.  But on the other hand, the existence of superiors is in its turn only a common belief¼

            I heard that in other trenches nearby there are other soldiers.  It was revealed to me in a dream.  The shooting had stopped, and I thought that the war might be over, but I still could not believe it, was afraid to leave the trench; and even when someone whispered in my ear that in other trenches there were other soldiers, I was still afraid to come out; and then I woke up, and that's why I don't know now how to perceive what I dreamed.  But apparently it is true, since otherwise who would it be that is fighting on our side?  I can hear shooting around me, and it helps: I simply would not be able to withstand the solitude were I not convinced that other soldiers exist.  But when I dreamed that the war was over, it was so relieving, and even though I didn't completely believe it, it was wonderful to cherish at least a little bit of hope that it was true, that my dream was going to stay with me forever (for I suspected it was a dream: only in dreams do such happy occurrences take place).  But who knows, maybe the dream was no less real than anything else?  Oh how much I would like to believe that there, in the dream abandoned by me, I am still sitting, appeased, leaning on the side of the trench, gradually becoming more and more convinced that the war is over, ready to leave the trench and to see everything with my own eyes; other soldiers will meet me on the surface, I'll finally be able to see my brothers-in-arms, we'll take our uniforms off and lie down to tan on the glittering grass, selecting the spots spared by explosions.  For I know somehow (but how do I know it?) that the ground is sometimes covered with grass.  I haven't noticed it during position exchanges, but maybe it was my fear that prevented me from seeing the surrounding world the way it really is¼

            A most strange side effect of this dream: sometimes I really do feel like getting out of the trench – after all, I finally have to take a good look at what is going on up there!  Just to get out, to stay there for a few minutes, and then to get back in.  I am afraid to do it, the risk is too great, but for some reason it is so tempting!  What if I manage to see the grass!

            The soldier is absorbed in his thoughts, or maybe he dozed off, the map fell out of his hands – here it is, lying on the ground, partially covering his patched-up right boot; a lonely ant has climbed onto the map's surface, it is crawling, crawling, paying absolutely no attention to colors and lines; obstacles don't confuse it, it conquers rivers and hills with equal ease, never stopping even for a second.  It is already approaching the trench, and little does the sleeping soldier know of what is awaiting him, but at the last moment the ant changes its mind and direction, and I sigh in relief, since even from inside the trench where I am sitting guarding the soldier's sleep I could hear the ant's sinister breath.  Little by little I calm down, I fall asleep noticing at the borderline half-awake instant that the map has fallen out of my hands and is now covering the amateur patches on my boot.

            This is the last round!  I am bored with flying.  I am tired.  I don't have wings like birds or airplanes.  I have nothing to help me lean on air.  Self-confidence is the only force that supports me.  The soldier is ready for the meeting.  He will leave the trench.  He will overcome the narrow-minded notion of self-preservation and rise to breathe in full lungs of freedom I am preparing to give him.  Even the trench would not save him from my love.  It would be so sad – to fly for a long, long time, and not to be reciprocated.  I am worthy of more!  Yes, I can already see him!  He is coming out to meet me!

            Yes, I AM coming out, I have to finally check, to find out, to learn why all this, whom I am fighting for, who is my enemy, who is hiding in the trenches nearby¼I want to see the world, to see the grass I have so often seen in my dreams, while I was imprisoned in these holes in the ground dug by who knows whom.  Nothing can stop me now!  The soldier is climbing up the side of the trench, and I watch him with pity.  He woke me up, and now I cannot decide what to do.  I was dreaming of a beautiful meadow in the forest: thick green grass, I was walking through it inhaling fresh air of the woods, when suddenly I heard shooting, and then I realized they were shooting at me since the bullets were whistling right by my ears.  I lay down in the grass (even with bullets hissing so close it was wonderful!) and started crawling, not even caring about the direction, and then I stumbled on a bunker halfway hidden underground – they were shooting from inside it.  Without a second thought, I rolled into the bunker and realized: the machine gun was working on its own, which reminded me of something familiar, something I had seen or heard about (but where?)  There was a lifeless body by the machine gun, and I wasn't even surprised when I found out that it was mine, that it was my corpse looking at me with such reproach; I must have been shooting at myself, or shot at by myself; and then I heard a strange noise, I woke up and saw that the soldier was already getting out of the trench; I jumped on my feet intending to stop him, but immediately I realized that he could no longer live without knowing the truth, even though I knew he would not live even if he did find out; and then I followed him, and we were on the surface at the same time, and then I noticed that other soldiers were getting out of other trenches, that they were running toward me, cheerfully waving their hands.  But for some reason they were falling one after another – strange, unnatural movements of collapsing bodies; I could also see the grass, and it was even more wonderful than I could have imagined in the most colorful dreams; and at this very second I finally reached him, I intrepidly leaped into his arms; and I stopped, feeling a blow, finally feeling happy (not like before, when it only seemed to me that I was happy), falling face down into this newly acquired grass.

            And inhaling its fragrance, I felt a shadow of regret about falling asleep ...