Illumination Rounds - Round 6

Middle Ground
The sun was sinking closer to the horizon. Charles, who had struggled during burial duty stepped up to a German soldier.
“Fritz, can you spare a tree for our brothers?” Charles didn’t wait for an answer but continued, “I don’t want to bury them today and forget about them tonight. At least, not on this particular night. They weren’t the broken shells we buried today. I want to remember my brothers tonight”
The German looked out over the field, “My brothers were there too.”
Fritz turned to the German line and walked toward the parapet where a Christmas tree stood. He jumped over the parapet and Charles watched him disappear. Charles waited, holding his own Christmas vigil. Unseen by Charles, but seen by Sophy, Fritz’s head was bobbing as he worked to gather something. And then Fritz stepped up on the parapet. He dropped his hand into a cloth bag, pulled out a candle and lifted it up to show Charles. Fritz dropped it back into the bag, and then with the free hand took hold of the 2½ foot tall tree. He walked back to the intermingling soldiers and looked around. “Where is the middle ground?”
The soldiers looked back at their sectors for a comparison point. There was a flurry of responses in different languages suggesting where middle ground was and how best to calculate it. It seemed the question of middle ground could lead to hours of discussion. Charles piped up, “Let’s just place it here, where you’re standing. Fritz, you have the tree. Release it and that’s middle ground.”
Fritz smiled, and gently let go of the small pine, which dropped to the ground.
Fritz took hold of the trunk and pushed it firmly into the chewed up earth. “Medius humus. This is it - Centro.” He secured the tree’s balance with a few rocks.
“This is for them,” said Charles as he waved his arm across both sides of No Man’s Land.
Charles looked at Fritz, “Gratias ago vos.”*
Charles glanced at his buddies, “I’ll be back. They need more than a Christmas tree.” Soldiers from both sides remembered the morning and scattered back to their posts. Fritz placed candles on the tree and lit them. The little tree in the center of No Man’s Land flickered with lights. Charles came back with a bottle of rum. He lifted up the bottle, “For you my brother, Merry Christmas” and swallowed. He took a postcard out of his pocket and placed it on the ground by the tree. “One day I’ll take the trip for you, I promise.”
He passed the bottle, and another soldier took it. “Merry Christmas, Heinrich.” The rum got passed around and each soldier honored at least one fallen comrade-in-arms, but most took a few swigs. Toasts, favored jokes, and laughter ricocheted from side to side but always returned to the center. Some left a simple memento, a photo, a cigar or a cigarette that would never be smoked. Cigarettes began to pile under the tree. One burly soldier stepped out of the flickering shadows and picked up a cigarette from the offering that rested on the ground. As he lit the cigarette with the flame from a candle on the tree, Sophy reacted with a thought, “That bastard, he’s ruining it.” A similar judgment circulated in the group.
The flash of tension didn't stop the soldier. He raised the lit cigarette high into air, and held it there, waiting. Eyes caught the effort of his outstretched reach that also exposed him to the below freezing temperature. The tip was a miniature beacon of light. He waited until silence entered the moment.
“A silent night for you.” He paused.
“Peace, my brothers.”
He brought down the cigarette to his lips, took an inhale that reached into the deepest recesses of his lungs, and then slowly, ever so slowly, exhaled into the clear great silence of the night. They all watched in wonder as the smoke alighted and swirled, luminous in the moonlight. All eyes followed the smoke taking flight into the wide open space below the star filled sky.
One steadfast voice called out, “Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh.”
Another voice repeated the wistful call, “Sleep in heavenly peace.”
Candlelight pulsed, the light stretched toward the soldiers, brightening foreheads while shadows of their noses danced across their faces. Sophy glanced to her guides, who stood by her. They were as spellbound as the others. Gary felt Sophy’s attention; he glanced at her and whispered, “This is Christmas.”

*have not validated the Latin words for "middle," "center" and "thank you"
© 2009 Jean A. Niedert