«If you didn’t want to work in the mines back in the day you
either got a job at sea or you joined the army.
Me, I joined the army, thinking it was less chance of getting
killed there than down in the mines, not knowing that we
would be going to war less than a year later.
At first it wasn’t too bad. You got up in the morning, did what
you were told, got fed and went to bed again at night. And
when they started talking about war, they made it sound like
just another adventure. I hadn’t left my hometown before
and now all of a sudden I was going out of the country.
Soon enough they loaded us up on a train and then, later,
we were put on a ship. I had never seen the ocean before
and I stayed up on deck, just marveling at the share size of
it until it got pitch black, then I tilted my head backwards and
looked at the stars and could not decide if the ocean or the
night sky were the largest of the two.
We stayed on the ship for a good week or so, maybe even a
forth night before reaching our destination, I can’t really
remember, but from then on everything sped up for a while.
My regiment were sent up to the front at once and then a
little while later my squad got sent further on, behind enemy
lines. I can’t remember how many we where, but two of
them were from around here, one of them a veteran, the
other a sergeant.
The first stretch we paddled down stream on a broad river.
We laid up during the day and paddled during the night.
Four nights and three days we travelled like this before we
were dropped off and left to march the last bit. It was a hard
land to travel through, the marshes would catch your feet
and hold you back a bit before letting you take another step,
we were exhausted long before we reached this bridge that
we were sent to observe.
When we finally got there we watched it for a long while, it
was guarded you see and if we had to destroy it, we would
have to take the guards out, we had to kill them one way or
another.»
He paused for a while, reached for his pipe, stuffed and lit it,
and puffed on it for a while before lighting it again.
«I can remember pulling out one of the shells. It had
jammed in the ejector and I had to jiggle it about a bit to get
it out. I put it to my nose and smelled it before I threw it
away.
It brought back all these memories that didn’t belong there,
memories of capercaillies in the heather by a fire with a pot
of coffee brewing on the side and the last warmth of the sun,
late in October.
I looked around and could see my comrades screaming and
shouting but I couldn’t hear a thing, only the sound of my
own racing heart that threatened to blow its way out of my
chest.
Their screams were silent yet they filled the air with
violence.
One of them pulled me up and we started running away
from the bridge, it was still silent and I remember thinking
that it was just like running across the green fields at home,
then a sudden gust of dirt brought me back and forced me
to find shelter and all my senses returned with a deafening
roar.
Never have I felt so alone or abandoned as I did in that
moment.
As I laid there, clutching my rifle, I saw movement in the
forest beside me, a hundred yards or so off to the left and all
of a sudden my hands were steady as a rock again, my
heart calmed down and I breathed with ease.
I can’t remember pulling the trigger.
I can’t even remember the sound of my rifle going off, I just
remember seeing my target disappearing in the heather».
He paused to light his pipe again and stared into the fire for
a little while.
«My heart started racing again as I walked over to the place
where he had disappeared. He was lying right there were he
had dropped, his eyes wide open, avoiding mine while at the
same time staring right through me and far, far away
towards his end.
When we got back to our observational point a storm of grey
clad men came storming across the bridge. My hands were
steady again and my heart was calm, and then, when the
bridge blew up it was all over, as sudden as it had started.
But we could not linger.
We retreated into the forest as fast as we could and ran in
the direction we had come from. I don’t know how long we
ran but we kept a decent pace until night fell, then we
slowed down but we kept moving through the night. When
morning broke the low hanging sun revealed the dust that
lifted from the ground with every step we took and stuck to
our sweatstained faces, building a layer between us and the
world, like a barrier whisking us away from ourselves.
We continued moving forward in a stupor without noticing
our surroundings, armed and ready for anything.
Night followed day until I lost track of how many had
passed, it didn’t really matter any more and I paid no heed
to weather, thirst or hunger.
Every step became a struggle as we climbed higher and
higher until we reached a point were we could look out over
this vast forest that seemed to go on forever.
There were no signs of life out there, even though the shear
size of our surroundings gave an impression that we were
looking at the entire world.
It seemed as if the forest stretched all the way across the
continent, a miserable feeling I can assure you and in a
blink of an eye it killed all the hope I had left.
We were in enemy lands, surrounded by a homely world as
dangerous as it was inviting, fleeing in both confusion and
fear.
There was a presence out there as well, I could feel it and
so could the others but no one were able to put a name to it.
I could see it in their eyes that they felt it too, that there was
something out there that nobody wanted to talk about and
we moved on in a quiet understanding of letting the
unknown silently follow.
So I walked on, side by side with familiar men that I no
longer recognized, drifting through this pristine forest who
had given and taken life since long before it had been given
a name.
There were paths there that crossed in front of us and we
disregarded them as game trails. There were trees that
were cut down over creeks and gulleys and we counted
ourselves lucky that the wind had brought down these trees
for us to climb across.
There was an ancient presence in this forest, maybe as
ancient as the forest itself but as long as we did not talk
about it or give it a name, then it was not there and we could
ignore it.
We struggled with ourselves in the same way that we
struggled through the forest, hoping to remain ignorant of
what was out there, just out of reach.
For a long time it felt like I was floating trough time, without
understanding who I was or where I was headed.
I was the hunter and I was the prey.
I was one with the forest and I forced my way through it.
One day, as I was dragging my self along, my foot hit
something heavy. There was a sound that broke the silence
and puzzled me as much as it pleased me. I dove down into
the heather and I grabbed this thing that had suddenly
appeared before me and clung to it, clutching it in my hands.
As I sat there on my knees with this massive spearhead
laying heavy in my hands it conjured up images and stories
about bear hunts and of men defending their stocks against
predators.
The point was broken yet it was still an impressive tool. It
was wider in the middle, where wood meets iron, followed
by a flat piece with two holes.
Carefully, I looked around whilst holding this treasure close
to my chest, looked for my comrades but none were to be
seen. The spearhead was mine and I wanted it for myself, at
least for a little while.
It took me away. Far away from the monotony of the march
and allowed my mind to wander in an attempt at finding the
origins of the tool I now carried with me, a tool that had been
carried by someone else long ago.
It had been lying there waiting while the wood slowly rotted
away, slowly being reclaimed by the forest it had come out
of, while the iron, that had been taken out of the earth, out of
the marshes, forged by hammer and heat, was left as a
testimony of a life once lived.
We continued through the forest. Through endless rows of
trees, of days passing by without being noticed. The canopy
had become a lid that bent our necks as we continued
onwards until one morning, as the sun lifted itself up above
the treetops, we reached a clearing in the wood.
Side by side we emerged from the shadows, realizing we
had lost one of our companions during the night.
We stopped walking at night and huddled together back to
back for warmth and protection. Above us the stars shone
bright and gave us some solace, allowing my eyes to
wander from star to star, while my mind searched for home.
The unknown continued to circle around us yet it would not
reveal itself, making the threat greater than if the enemy had
been known to us. It would have been easier if we knew,
easier if the enemy had a name, easier to defend against
something known but no new answers emerged.
One night I showed the others the spearhead, held it over
the fire, over the flames as a relic. As strange as it was
familiar it created a sense of dread and discomfort. The
questions were many and the fear of the unknown became
greater. Who lived in these forests, who had cleared the
paths, cut down the trees and forged the spear?
No longer would we walk side by side but on a single line,
watchfully letting our gaze sweep across our surroundings.
We took turns at walking up front and we took turns at
walking in the back yet we did not talk about what it was that
surrounded us.
Ever so often it felt as if the shadows were about to attack.
We would see movement at the edge of our eyesight and
prepare ourselves for battle, throwing ourselves around, gun
at the ready, ready to fight a foe who disappeared when we
laid eyes on him. As we went further and further into the
forest we seemed to go deeper and deeper into ourselves,
one madder than the other.
After yet another day on foot through this endless forest,
another night huddled together shoulder by shoulder with
comrades who now feared each other as much as they
feared the surrounding threat, we woke one morning finding
ourselves at the edge of a large rectangular field. Filled with
wonder we walked out in the grass that reached our hands,
letting the strands caress our palms. The morning dew
made our pants cling to our legs as it washed our hands,
cleansed us from our sins and let us see ourselves from
without.
We were a terrible sight to behold. Filthy, ragged, bloody.
The veteran put the bayonet to his chest and leaned into it
until it pushed its way out his back. I remember how he
gasped as he disappeared in the grass.
It started to rain and we put up a piece of tarp between the
trees were we waited for the rain to stop. We could see the
sun in the distance and knew that the rain wouldn’t last.
Still we hoped it would.
Two men were gone now. One vanished without a trace, the
other skewered by his own weapon.
We left him where he had fallen and continued the march as
soon as the rain stopped. No ritual, no ceremony. Barely a
glance over the shoulder as we left was all he was given for
his last journey. With time his body would disappear, his
bones would be picked clean by raven and crow, his limbs
carried away by predators. The wood on his rifle and his
bayonet would slowly rot away, leaving the metal to rust
alone.
The rain made the dust settle and the motionless air started
moving again. The ground was made wet and dark and
would no longer make our weary legs tremble as we strode
forward.
Everything seemed clearer and we started talking together
again, walking side by side for the first time in days.
The threat that had been hanging over us was seemingly
gone and the lid that had been weighing us down had
vanished.
The hunger had returned though and we were looking for
game to shoot but when the opportunity rose none of us
could pull the trigger. The peace that we felt were too
precious to spoil.
Our young korporal was still struggling as if he was caught
in a sinkhole, standing to his waist in a bog that he no longer
had the strength to get out of. He was worn down from the
continuous struggle and the surrounding threat was more
real to him than ever before. Whenever he spoke he would
talk of the old mans suicide as if it was constantly churning
away in his mind, a mind he no longer seemed to have
control over, that found its own paths and built chains of
thoughts he refused to find the end of.
The anxiety was tearing him apart and a long dry cough
forced him to wretch until he forfeited what little food and
water he had in him.
We looked back at him with pity while he looked at us with
eyes filled with hate and suspicion. The tears that streamed
from his aching eyes, mixed with the sweat and the dirt in
his face, made him unrecognizable. He clutched his rifle
close to his chest and struggled onwards, grinding his teeth
while silent curses barely left his lips.
Early one evening we reached a small lake and decided to
camp there even though we still had many hours of daylight
left. We bathed in the lake, washed away the dust and the
sweat and felt like men again. Then we built a fire and sat
down with our backs against opposing trees and felt like we
were home. I even climbed a tree just before the sun
disappeared in the horizon and let my eyes sweep over the
roof of the forest.
I could see that it grew thinner in one
direction, the direction we were headed.
The korporal was sitting in the shadows outside the ring of
light created by the fire, holding his rifle tight, still ready to
fight.
We kept the flames going well into the night with dry twigs
and branches that we broke off from the surrounding trees
until the crackling of the fire made us fall asleep. The calm
and the safety provided by the fire sent me back to my
childhood were I many a night had fallen asleep whilst my
parents were rummaging around, putting more wood on the
fire, keeping it alive until it all disappeared and morning rose
cold and glorious.
I woke that night by familiar sounds that readied my body
and before I was fully awakened I was on my feet with my
rifle in my hands.
I could see the sergeant laying by the hot ashes of the fire
with one hand grasping at a tree, trying to get up.
The korporal was standing above him, on the other side of
the fire, with blood dripping from his bayonet.
We both lifted our rifles and fired, lighting up the night in a
flash of white, as if the sun had risen again for an instance.
Then it all turned black.
Everything became quiet and far, far away the night passed
before the sun started to climb. In fractions I saw it drift
above the treetops that passed above as I drifted beneath,
barely an inch above ground where I hung from the
branches of the tree that I had climbed the night before.
Then it turned black again.
I was in a place where everything was mirrored and I could
see myself from above. Then I saw the wanderings of my
people and I could see the day that we left to cross the
ocean. I could see our family that we left behind, they were
gathered on the beaches where they had built fires which
they huddled around to keep warm. They were old and
weathered and some were young and feeble, too weak to
travel and maybe too attached to the land. They stood there,
hiding behind the light as they said their farewells and sent
us on our way. All the way up and down the coastline I could
see houses with lights in them and fires on the beaches
sending their final farewells.
For a long time I drifted without the ability to stop or decide
where to go, like floating in a river that eventually started
pouring into me. I could feel my heart beating and I knew
that I was going to live. My senses came back little by little
until I woke up and found myself alone and part blind but
alive and unburnt. Unable to see what lay before me I
searched the ground with my hands, sensing the sun as she
climbed up behind me and warmed my neck as I crawled
around, startling ever so gently when I touched an arm or
the face of one of my friends.
When I found the items I was looking for I sat back against
the tree that i had climbed the night before, where i had
seen all the worlds, the one that had embraced me as I
hung from its branches not knowing if i would live or die.
The world started to come back to me, becoming grey as
my eyesight started to come back. Finally I got up and
started walking, guessing at the time of day and trusting
myself and my intuition and skill, then following a sun that i
could barely see, that grew a little bit clearer before she
dove into the darkness.
I sat awake during the night, never scared of the things that i
could not see still i held the spear in my hands just in case i
would need it. The next morning my left eye was better and I
could see the world as if under water but through my right
eye the world was still dark. I followed my intuition, believing
that I kept in the cover and stumbled my way forward.
Fearing to grab on to the smaller trees I took the fall instead,
collecting bruises and cuts until it felt as if they covered my
entire body, smeared with dirt and mud that made the sores
infected. Pounding and aching they helped me stay awake
as i moved on, almost catatonic before i broke out of the
fugue, the pain making me feel electric, like my body was
pulsating and moving back and forth even as I sat down.
Like sitting in a breaking wave that finally let me fall into a
dreamless sleep where the only anchor was the spearhead
that i held in my hand. When i woke I could see the world
clearly through my left eye, still dim through my right and I
could smell that I was close to the sea and I followed the
scent until i stood knee deep in the water with tears running
down my face, adding to the saline.»
It had grown dark outside and the rain was softly tapping
against the window again. As the old man cleaned out his
pipe I put another log in the fireplace. There were only
embers left now, but they were hot enough to rekindle the
flame once given something to tear into.
He looked at me for a while then he continued: «Its all out
there, all that you seek and all that you need to know. It is
waiting for you, to shape you into something useful.
The knowledge of our ancestors, their thoughts and their
traditions are given to us and we belong to them through a
bond that stretches back in time through a long line of
people who might have been just like you.
You carry them with you in everything that you do, as a part
of yourself, because every one of your ancestors has
passed on a little bit of them selves and everyone that you
have encountered through your life has shaped and molded
you into who you are. If you know and remember where you
come from then you will know who your are and your path
will light up in front of you.»