Date: Sat, 09 Jun 2007 09:56:47 +0200 From: A.K. Subject: Malgre tout 05/13 (Historical) ---------------------------- MALGRE TOUT by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2007 written on October 18, 1993 translated by the author English text kindly revised by John ----------------------------- USUAL DISCLAIMER "MALGRE TOUT" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest. ----------------------------- CHAPTER 5 - Deserters (NOTE -- the words between < > are pronounced in German, a language that Jacques doesn't understand. The words between * * are in Latin, and are parts of the Mass rite.) ----------------------------- Jacques woke up numb with cold. Daylight was seeping inside from the low door opening. The thin rays of the sun were illuminating the small room. Jacques sat up tightening the blanket around his body. He saw the stone table with his wet uniform on it piled up in a shapeless pile. And saw that on the wall behind the table was embedded a stone cross with on it a bas-relief of a squat Christ. And he suddenly understood that the table was in fact an altar. A small room with an altar and in front of it a platform the size of a small bed... What could that be? Jacques never heard about hermitages and hermits and could not know that it was a sacellum where, about four hundred years before, a monk called Sylvain lived, venerated as a saint by the inhabitants of the nearby villages, even though the Church had never canonized him. The writing carved on the door lintel read, "Here lived Saint Sylvain" but Jacques was not able to read. He got off the platform and, with bare feet, went out into the small meadow. He saw that the low wall enclosing it also had an opening that he had not noticed the day before. The sun's rays were warm and Jacques arranged the blanket around his hips leaving his chest uncovered. He went back into the small room, took his uniform from the altar, brought it outside, wrung out it again and laid it out on the low wall, under the sun, smoothing it to make the wrinkles disappear. The tall and soft grass was still wet. Also the trees' leaves all around were shining, covered by small and trembling water droplets. The air was pure, the sky of a clear blue still dotted here and there by white clouds that were rapidly gliding away towards the west, almost as if withdrawing from the just risen sun, driven by a wind not noticeable at ground level. Jacques understood that the thick cloth of the uniform, even if the sun continued to shine, would require several hours to dry. But anyway, he didn't feel like wearing those clothes again, saturated with moisture. He was feeling good, as he was, half naked, in the open air. He took deep breaths. The sun was rising and gradually becoming warmer. Autumn was mild and Jacques hoped it wouldn't start again to rain on the following days. He asked himself if it was not sensible to go down towards the fields to check what the situation was there. He could envisage three different situations: he could meet the Prussians, and in that case he had to be very careful not to be seen, or else they would shoot at him, kill him; or he could meet the French army, and then he had to show himself and rejoin them, but he didn't feel so sure he wanted to do so -- they would surely send him to the front again to make war, to kill and get killed and neither of these two solutions appealed at all to him. So he decided in his heart that, for as long as he could, he would become a deserter. Even though he knew that he thus risked being killed -- their sergeant had explained it very clearly to them: deserters were shot. And third, he could be lucky not meeting one or the other army. In that case how would people of the place welcome him? Could they understand he was a deserter and report him? Or could they help him? Or... Jacques for a moment got the impression that all of a sudden the entire world had become his enemy, and felt a deep sensation of uneasiness. No, he thought, if he met common people, he had just to explain to them what had happened to him and tell them, although lying, that he wanted to reach the French army and possibly that people would help him. He would ask them if they knew where the French were and where the enemies were, so that he could choose a safe direction... But the best would be if he could find some civilian clothes, so that he could abandon his rifle, uniform, military rucksack... abandon everything that could make him recognized as a soldier. After all, people didn't know he had replaced master Sylvestre... He could pass for one lucky enough not to have been conscripted... he could even possibly find a job on one of the farms of that region and quietly earn a living... When the sun was high in the sky, he turned his uniform so that it could dry on the other side as well. He took the blanket off his hips remaining totally naked and, taking out his rucksack from the low building where he had spent the night; he took some food which he slowly ate. He drank a little of his water, then put everything back again. Now his rucksack was only for two thirds full. He had food for just a few more days, but sooner or later he would finish it all. He didn't have the slightest idea in which direction his village could be. But he knew he could not go back there, or else everybody would know he was a deserter. It was better to let everybody there believe he was dead in the surroundings of Epinal, together with his friend Michel. By doing so he would never see Sylvestre again, it was true, nor his family... But Jules would keep his job as a stable boy and his family would have a better life any way. Possibly his mother would mourn his death, or rather, for sure she would. But all summed up, it was better so. Rather, he thought, if the French army found him, he could say he was Michel Lacroix... No, he could meet somebody who knew him or who knew Michel... possibly even Sylvie... and his fraud would be brought to light. No. He had to simply to not be found either by the French army or by that of the Prussian enemies. In every respect, if he didn't want to die, he had to be thought dead... he thought with bitter irony. By afternoon his uniform was dry in the thick parts as well, so he wore it again. He folded and rolled the blanket tight which he secured on his rucksack, at whose back he hung his almost empty canteen. He again wore his big and heavy boots, brought his rifle at firing position and, finding the path again, he went again down valley. When he started to see, through the trees, the fields of the plain, it was already evening. He stopped, his heart in his mouth, and looked. The whole plain below him was dotted with bonfires, with groups of soldiers. Farther, he saw covered guns, military tents, horses tied to trees. He was almost certain it was the French army even though the impending darkness didn't allow him to clearly see neither the uniforms nor the flags colors. Anyway, whether the French or the enemy, he had to go back into the forest and leave before risking being seen. He went up the path in the growing darkness. He tried to go as far as he could, until it became almost impossible to see his way. He was about to stop and look for a place to spend the night, when he noticed he was near the low building again where he had slept the previous night. He went inside the small dark cell again and laid down without undressing. Sleep at once received his tired limbs. That night he dreamed. He saw Sylvestre again, naked under the sun - he wasn't near the small lake but just outside in the little meadow enclosed by the low stonewall. He also saw himself sleeping inside, his naked body lit by the morning sun. He dreamed he woke up, called by Sylvestre, He dreamed he went out going towards his young and beautiful master, who stood up waiting for him, then he took Sylvestre in his arms, made him turn round and took him from behind, penetrating him by just leaning against him, just how it had to happen, with extreme naturalness and simplicity. And at once he was invaded by pleasure, a delightful, a very beautiful, an intense pleasure. He came so, without moving, from the simple fact he had united with the one he loved. And when, smiling, he made Sylvestre turn again, so agreeably warm and naked in his arms, he realized he was instead Michel, all naked too, his beautiful chest torn and bloody. Jacques woke up, trembling, scared. It was still dark. He felt his trousers were dampish in front -- he had had a wet dream. His heart was violently beating in his chest. The door opening was barely visible. He got up and went out. The fresh air of the night made him shiver slightly. He looked towards the sky and saw thousands and thousands of stars. Then he calmed down. "It was just a dream." He said quietly, glad to hear the sound of his own voice. He then continued to talk, always looking at the stars. "Goodbye my Sylvestre, goodbye my Michel! Tonight I finally made love with you. Even though it was just a dream, it was so real! You possibly really came to visit me, melted in just one body that you offered to my desire, to my love. I love you, Michel and Sylvestre. Who knows if I can see you again, at least in my dreams?" He became silent. Emitted a deep sigh and went again to sleep in the shelter of the low building. He moved up against the wall, almost to leave some room for his beloved ones, so that they could lie there near him. He fell asleep feeling them near him, mysteriously melted into one. He woke up again when the sun had already risen. He went out and stretched for a long time, breathing deeply. He gathered his belongings and, following the path, clambered up into the forest until the path disappeared, obscured by the rugged ground. He proceeded going upwards amongst the trees and bushes and walked all day long, stopping only to gather herbs and wild fruit to eat. He also found a brook and filled his canteen again. At night he found a good spot to sleep and the following morning, he resumed his way. He stopped again to eat part of the preserved food he had in the rucksack. He had already used half of his provisions. As usual he was chewing each bit slowly and carefully, sitting on the ground. Suddenly a noise caught his attention. He stopped chewing and pricked up his ear, attentive and slightly worried. The noise recurred and he realised it was coming from in front of him, a bit lower, where some leafy branches were moving. He again heard the noise of trampled twigs and understood that somebody was climbing up to there. He gathered his things, put the rucksack on his shoulders, seized his rifle and looked for a hiding place. He saw a big dead, broken trunk, big enough to hide him. He leaned on his back, holding his breath, nervously clenching the rifle. The noise was approaching. It had to be one only person. But who? Friend or enemy? Man or woman? Young or old? He waited, his heart in his mouth, his blood pounding dully at his temples. The creaking was now really close. Jacques gripped his rifle more firmly almost to get a feeling of safety. He was coming. He had to be close to his tree. Where would he pass, on the right or on the left? He hoped he would pass there to his side without noticing him. He could then understand who the newcomer was... and possibly take him at his back... The noise was now coming from just to the left of the dead tree. Jacques was about to jump out when he saw him, or rather, they saw each other at the same moment. He was a Prussian! Jacques leveled his rifle at him and shouted, "Halt!" He read terror in the other's eyes. And then he saw he was just a kid, barely eighteen, his hair of a blond that recalled to him the gold coins of master Teissier, his eyes of the color of the sky, wide open. He was bare headed, he had neither weapons nor rucksack on him. His uniform was soiled at least as much as his own. The boy was a little smaller and thinner than him. "Raise your hands!" Jacques yelled again menacingly waving his rifle. The other said, "" but he said it in German and Jacques didn't understand. "" he went on. Jacques perceived in his words a supplicant aspect, but it was a calm, almost resigned tone. "Do you surrender?" Jacques asked, now without yelling, his rifle always aimed at the boy. "" the Prussian boy said, now sketching a smile, with a cautious expression but less scared. "Raise your hands!" Jacques repeated again, waving his rifle. But he thought the boy, younger than him, so handsome... he could never kill him, especially now that they were looking into each other's eyes. This was so the enemy? But why was he an enemy? Jacques confusedly asked himself. For a while they remained still, standing one in front of the other, continuing to look in each other eyes. "Go away, boy, go away. I don't want to harm you..." Jacques said, lowering the barrel of his rifle just a little. The Prussian didn't understand the French's words, but detected their tone, no longer bellicose. He then gave a shy smile and asked, "" "I can't understand you, boy. But go away, please." "" "I don't want to be your enemy. If we didn't wear these damned uniform, we could even be friends..." Jacques said, lowering his rifle barrel some more. "" The boy said, smiling, still somewhat hesitant. "Why don't you go away? What are you telling me? What are you trying to say?" Jacques asked, almost with gentleness. "" "Why are you so beautiful? Why are you so young? Why are you... here?" Jacques asked him sorrowfully, now lowering his rifle completely. "" The blonde boy said stretching out his hand towards the other, and a friendly smile bloomed on his lips. Jacques looked at that offered hand, at the inviting smile of the other, again at his hand, then said, "You would like making peace with me... but is it really possible? If it were only about you and me, possibly yes, it could perhaps be really possible. But there are also the others, those like me, like you, who on the contrary are persuaded they are enemies, and they kill each other, they go on killing each other. What can we do, you and I?" Jacques asked sorrowfully, feeling he was getting lost in those limpid and clear eyes. "" the Prussian asked with gentle regret, pointing at his uniform. Jacques saw the gesture of the other pointing at his own uniform but didn't understand. Then the Prussian boy seemed to lighten up and said, carefully articulating the words, "*Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum.*" Jacques knit his brows. In spite of the strong German accent, he recognized the Latin words of the Mass, and almost by instinct, he answered, "*Et cum spirito tuo.*" The boy then smiled and repeated, offering again his hand, "*Pax!*" "*Pax...*" Jacques repeated, but still without taking that hand, "*pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.*" ", *bonae voluntatis!*" answered the blond boy smiling again. "Don't smile at me like that, please..." Jacques almost moaned. ", *bonae voluntatis*. , *pax...*" the boy repeated with conviction, then added, "" Jacques looked at him for a long while, then cautiously put his rifle on the ground and moved a step towards the blond boy. The Prussian was waiting, trustful. Jacques stopped in front of him, opened his arms showing his empty hands, and said, "I don't want to make war against you. But what can we do, you and I? You are disarmed. You too possibly escaped from the war... Are you a runaway like me? Are you a deserter as well? In that case, for you everybody is an enemy too... besides me? If we could just understand each other... if we just didn't have these uniforms on... if we could just be far from this war that divides our peoples..." The Prussian boy didn't understand even a single word, but heard the question tone of the other, the subdued and almost sad tone of the French, and his gesture of renunciation of brandishing his weapon. They looked in each other's eyes. Then the blond boy, pointing at himself, said, "" "Kurt?" Jacques asked, pointing at him. "" The Prussian answered, smiling, then asked, pointing at the French, "" "I am Jacques. Jacques Marandin. My name is Jacques. I Jacques and you Kurt." The French soldier said pointing to himself then to him. "" the Prussian boy answered smiling. Then, lightly touching his chest with his hand and then the Frenchman's chest, he repeated, "" Then he again offered his hand. This time the Frenchman took the boy's hand between his own and in a low voice said, "*Ave*, Kurt." "*Ave*, Jacques..." the other answered with a smile. At the contact of their hands, Jacques felt a pleasure shudder run through him, and their smiling eyes looked each other for a long time. Then Jacques, leaving the other's hand, asked, "You have nothing with you, not even food. Are you hungry?" "" "Do you want to eat something with me?" "" "Wait..." Jacques told him making also the gesture with his hand, then thought for a moment and pointing at his rucksack on his shoulders, said, "*Panem nostrum quotidianum...*" "*Panem nostrum?*" Kurt repeated, then nodded and smiled and, making the eating gesture, repeated, ", *panem nostrum*!" Jacques slipped his rucksack off his shoulders and sat on the ground, beating with his hand on he ground near him to make the other understand to sit down. Kurt sat near him. Jacques opened his rucksack, took out some food and divided it between himself and the Prussian boy. "Take it, eat." Said giving it to him. "" Kurt answered taking the food. Both started to masticate, looking often in each other's eyes and smiling. Jacques pointed at what they were eating and said, "Food." "Food?" the boy asked showing what he had in his hand. "Yes, food." "Food." Then Jacques pointed to his mouth and made the gesture to masticate, "To eat." "To eat?" the boy asked making at his turn the gesture of chewing. "Yes, to eat." Jacques again nodded smiling him. "Kurt food to eat." "Yes, Kurt eats the food." "Yes, Kurt eats the food Jacques eats the food. Kurt... *gratias agimus tibi* Jacques. " "*Gratias?* Thank you!" "*Gratias* thank you?" "Yes, thank you..." Jacques repeated and mimed the gesture of giving and receiving and repeated, "Thank you!" Kurt nodded, then said, "Jacques *pax* Kurt thank you." "*Pax* is peace..." Jacques said making the gesture to shake hands and repeated, "Peace!" Then shook hands with Kurt and smiling repeated, "Peace." ", peace. Kurt Jacques peace." And so they went on, eating and drinking the water, while Jacques was trying to teach some French words to Kurt, and he some German ones to Jacques. It was as if the two boys had forgotten the war, the world, everything. Each of them, inside his heart, was grateful to the other to be there with him, to smile with him. They were sitting there in the forest, each one near the other, and wrapped up in each other. And Jacques, suddenly, looking at the boy and sure he could not be understood, said, "You see, Kurt, you are so beautiful... I like you so very much and would like making love with you. But you too possibly have a fiancee there at your village, waiting for you. Thus I cannot do anything. I can just look at you, admire you, and desire you... I can only dream that you, besides making peace with me, you could also... you would also love me. But sooner or later, life will also part me from you... At times I think that it would be better for me to die..." Kurt listened to him, and then in a subdued and sweet tone, said, "" Kurt interrupted what he was saying, moved by his own memories. Jacques was listening to him, without understanding. But he had the clear feeling that the other was opening him his heart. "I've always loved... and desired to be loved by a male, Kurt. But they say it is wrong. And on the contrary they say that waging war is right, killing each other is right. The world is going upside down, who knows why? Also the priest blesses our weapons, the same priest who, if I told him about my love for men, would for sure not bless me. You too, possibly, Kurt, despise those like me... who knows? You are the first one to whom I can say these things, possibly just because I know you can't understand... But it makes me feel good being able to say these things aloud, to talk about it..." "" ----------------------------- CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 6 ----------------------------- In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to read them, the URL is http://andrejkoymasky.com If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English translations, so that I can put on-line more of my stories in English please e-mail at andrej@andrejkoymasky.com ---------------------------