The Great War

“How are you feeling?” I asked him as he blinked open his eyes. Well, one eye anyways. The other was covered with a bandage that wrapped around his head, hair, and part of his face. The other half was bruised a greenish-purple. I thought of a lavender plant.

“Ughnmmmdf” he answered in response, his eye still half closed. Patient feeling...poorly I wrote on my report sheet.

“All right Sleeping Beauty, nice to meet you. My name’s Bernadette. I’ll be looking after you as you’re recovering.” When I had finished talking, his one eye opened all the way, fully alert now. I smiled my best knock-your-socks-off-you-were-wounded-I-know-it-hurts smile at him. He began to reach for me, then groaned in pain, mumbling incoherently all the while.

“Yes I know, I’ve quite a way with the gentlemen, haven’t I? Relax, sir, let’s check your-oh sir, please don’t, you’ll only make the pain worse!” I said as I flattened him back onto the cot after an attempt on his part to sit up. He kept trying to reach for my clipboard, my hand, anything. Poor thing wasn’t the first to do so. Seeing a female face, warm and comforting after weeks of battle often cheered them for a while. But this one was a fighter, I could tell. Perhaps I reminded him of someone he knew. A storm cloud darkened my thoughts as I thought of all the trials this particular man had gone through… a bullet to the head, for Pete’s sake. The poor man’s mental health might need a check up.

“Nnnnn!” He spoke firmly through gritted teeth as he vainly struggled against my firm hold on his shoulders. I put my hands on my hips and mock gasped.

“Now Mr., didn’t your mother teach you any manners? Don’t tell a nurse no, especially when she’s trying to help you!” He succeeded in knocking my pencil out of my hand, onto the dirt floor of the tent. Hmmfing as I turned around to pick it up, I heard the faintest whisper, so soft I could’ve dreamt it, say “Bernie.”

I froze. My papers clattered to the floor, my pen all forgotten by now. My blood was pulsing, hot and fiery with hope, with anxiety.

“What did you just say?” I whispered, my back still facing the patient. I turned to face him then, and through his exhaustion, with extraneous effort, I saw him open his eye fully to look at me. The color of a murky pond, and I was swimming in it now, swimming as the tears filled my eyes.

“Oh, Harry!” I stumbled over to him, kneeling next to him. I took his face firmly between my hands and began kissing it everywhere I could-his forehead, his eyebrows, his eyes, nose, cheek, chin; dozens of little kisses, selfishly I lavished them upon my wounded, broken, lovely Harry.

Oh Harry! He was alright, he was safe, he was here. Nothing mattered more to me than giving kisses to my beloved, kissing through my tears. At last, I came to his lips, the beautiful bows now swollen and rough.

I didn’t care. I kissed them anyways.

I was gentle because I knew he was exhausted, but selfish me had to know he was real, that those were his lips I was touching with my own. Tenderly, I brought his head to the hollow in my neck, cradling him to me as best I could in our positions. How could I have ever doubted? He’d said he’d come back; why did I not trust? Love never stops being. I had my love now, with me. I wanted to shout to God for joy, cry from the mountaintops my thanks. Harry was home. Harry was safe, in my arms.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you-how could I be so stupid? Oh, Harry I love you. I love you, and you can never make me go away. And I’m sorry for this-” I softly touched the bandage over his eye. “I love you, Harry Ludlow. I thought I would never see you again, and now-” my voice hitched, and I heard a low, soothing mumble from against my chest.

Harry’s eye was closed, but he reached up with one of his hands to grip my wrist and bring it to his heart. I felt his pulse, Harry’s blood running an inch or two beneath my fingers. Oh, my poor Harry! He looked as though he had been run over by a tank and then pulverized with shrapnel. I had exhausted him. War had exhausted him.

I wiped my nose on my sleeve and tried to brighten up my eyes.

“Hmm. Looks like you’ve missed me, yet all you want me to do is check your pulse? Well, it’s definitely not the welcome I’d pictured. Guess I better go see how the other guys will do it…” I snarked, my usual self sneaking through as I dashed away tears.

Though his eye was still closed, Henry smirked, his mouth tugging up at the left corner just like I loved and remembered. I readjusted his head on the pillow, looking up sheepishly to see if anyone around had noticed us, then realizing I didn’t give a flying goat’s arse what they thought. I fussed over Harry for a minute, then told him I had to go check on the other Don Juans in the tent, but he still gripped my hand possessively. I probably could’ve ripped it away (seeing as he was currently...incapacitated a bit) but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He stroked my hand with his thumb and then weakly brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss onto my fingers. I don’t know how long we sat like that; it felt like seconds. But by the time Harry fell asleep, the sun was already setting in the sky. I silently pulled my hand away from his, breaking my heart all over again. Pull yourself together, Bernadette. It’s just for a few moments.

As I went around the tent, making sure the other guys hadn’t died or anything, all I could think of was Harry. How much pain he’d felt when the bullet hit his face. How awful for him to see his comrades fall, hear their screams, breathe in the noxious fumes of a gas he didn’t even know. I wondered if he’d missed me, if he loved me back...in that way. Then again, maybe he was delusional or maybe he was still upset with me.

I was bold enough though, thanks to my mother’s English blood, to sit next to him until he awoke. For hours, I was his personal care monitor. I went without dinner, only leaving the tent to give my reports to the head nurse and let her know I’d take the night shift in tent 3.

Tent 3. Harry’s tent. I knelt as comfortably as I could on the dirt floor and stroked his hair, trying to reassure myself that it was alright, ok. Eventually, my adrenaline and excitement waned in response to my fatigue. Laying my head down near his shoulder, I fell asleep, my hand still on his hair.

I woke up to gray dawn light filtering in through the cracks of the tent. My legs had fallen asleep from my awkward position on the floor, and I was sure-absolutely positive-that my nurse frock was brown all over from the dirt. Great.

Harry was still sleeping, and just by looking at his face and worn out body I felt exhausted all over again. I kissed his brow, standing ram-rod straight when Frankie walked in. Geez, I thought. How many times was that now that I’d almost had a heart attack because of her? Three? Four? My wheels in gear, I left Harry to go find some food. I was starving, and hungry nurses are notorious in horror stories told by patients.

I was still so tired, but nowadays I was used to it. We were terribly understaffed, or maybe the wounded department was just overstaffed. Whatever the case, less and less people were available for nursing duties, so nonstop shifts had become normal for me. It was barely five in the morning, from the looks of the sky. In the east, golden sunlight peeped through the ever-present clouds, while some bright, loyal stars peppered the western bowl of indigo.

As I exited the tent, I grabbed a heel of bread to munch on. Carrying my paperwork to the HQ tent, I set it down in front of Caroline. She glanced up at me, narrowing her eyes.

“What? Is it my face?” I quickly ran my hand over my cheek. Dirt was the new rogue these days.

“No...but what have you been up to? Hmmm?” Her eyes sparkled at me knowingly.

I smiled and my heart fluttered. I leaned over the table and mischievously whispered in her ear, “Harry’s here.”

Harry was home.