Where the Sun Meets the Earth

“Well Lil’ Belle, I sure hope I don’t disappoint you. I’m headed out tomorrow. We’ll be joining a regiment in France in a few weeks. I really hope I never have to find out whether or not you were right about me killing a man. But I promise, I’ll do my best to make it home. Maybe knowing German will save my life over there. If all else fails, I’ll sing to them.

Du bist mein Sonnenschein, mein einziger Sonnenschein. Du machst mich glücklich, wenn der Himmel grau ist. Du wirst nie wissen, Liebes, wie sehr ich dich liebe. Bitte nimm mir nicht meinen Sonnenschein.”

Deep down Howard knew Lorna Belle had been right. Every time he shot his rifle in practice, his heart stung uncomfortably. He tried to push it down, as his regiment arrived in France. He tried to tell himself he had to do what was necessary to make it home. But deep in his most secret thoughts he wondered what he cared so much about going home to. Since Lorna Belle had passed it just wasn’t the same.

In the long days and endless nights that they waited to finally get to the front, his fellow soldiers talked with eagerness at the prospect of proving themselves in battle. But Howard knew he wouldn’t be the soldier to be remembered as a hero. There would be no medals draped on his neck at his return from war. He was just an ordinary man masquerading in the guise of a soldier. The closer they got the quieter the others became. The final march came in deafening silence but for the rhythm of their synchronized footsteps.

Then, suddenly, they were met with a violent barrage of blasts and shrieks. Men fell to the right and left, some to move no more, others to cower in fear. Before Howard had a moment to think a searing heat sliced through his right knee. Instinctively, he brought his rifle up, ready to defend himself. But a heartbeat later the rifle fell uselessly at his feet, something warm oozed over his right shoulder just as he felt the sharp twinge in his left thigh that knocked his feet from beneath him.

He lay there, floating in and out of consciousness, as dirt rained down, men screamed in pain, and bright flashes filled the sky. Slowly the cacophony surrounding him moved away fading to a low rumble. Around him he heard sobs and muffled moans that became fewer the closer the sun sank toward the horizon. He blinked his eyes against the blood red sun that glared angrily over the silhouettes of soldiers engaged in endless battle in the far distance. A soft breeze swept over the desolate battlefield, kissing Howard’s cheeks and carrying the haunting memory of a song he once sang.

Lorna Belle’s voice came to him, “I couldn’t bear it if you never came home.”

He felt himself slipping into a deep sleep and wondered if it was really death. But another breeze ruffled his hair and brought his sister’s voice again, “Howard, it isn’t time for you to join me. You’ve still got so much to do.”

Again, he heard the memory of her song and together they sang, she in English and he in German.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear voices.

“Tot…Tot….Tot….Sani er ist Deutsch! ….Tot…Tot… Das hier ist amerikanisch, mach ihn fertig….Tot…Tot.”

Dead…Dead…. Dead…Medic he’s German!… Dead…Dead…This one’s American, finish him…. Dead…. Dead…

The voices drew nearer but Howard was only vaguely aware that it should bother him. Lorna Belle’s soft voice swept around him and he was back on the worn rickety porch, singing their old duet.

“Sani er ist Deutsch! …Nein, er ist Amerikaner, mach ihn fertig…”

Medic he’s German! No, he is American, finish him.

“Warte, er ist nicht bewaffnet und singt auf Deutsch. Er ist nicht unser Feind. Er kann gerettet werden.”

Wait, he isn’t armed and he’s singing in German. He isn’t our enemy. He can be saved.

“You’re safe now, Howard. Sleep,” Lorna Belle whispered in his ear and darkness pulled him down into a dreamless sleep.

The pain in his shoulder almost drowned out the gut wrenching ache that radiated up his legs. He still wanted to sleep, but the nausea from the intense pain refused to let him be. Despite the searing that shot through him, he managed to roll on his left side just before retching all over the floor. His vision filled with starbursts of bright white and red so he couldn’t focus on his surroundings. Yet, he could see just enough to know he wasn’t outside anymore. Barely softer than the ground he’d fallen on, he now lay on a thin mattress atop a metal cot. He could hear moaning far to his left and the gentle voice of a woman whispering. Further away still, he could hear rhythmic chanting coming from somewhere below him, muffled but definitely in German.

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