I covered the greeting with my thumb. āDonāt you have some brandy that needs your attention?ā
A boot came hurtling past, narrowly missing me but taking out both of our glasses.
āNot anymore,ā Chaffre said cheerfully. āListen, if we stick together, maybe no one will notice that weāre really just trying to be alone. No faire Suisse to worry about.ā
I couldnāt tell if he was in earnest or hoping to get another drink out of me. He didnāt look nearly old enough to be there.
āWe could watch out for each other. For boots and all that. I donāt know a soul here.ā
A damp balled sock followed, landing in a heap on our table. āI donāt either.ā
A recruit with shoulders like sawhorses stalked over. āThat doesnāt belong to you,ā he growled, and snatched the sock up from the table, spitting within a centimeter of my foot. āI donāt like thieves.ā
Chaffre exhaled as the soldier left in search of his boot. āIt would be good to have someone in this place to depend on.ā He sat straight and easy, but his hands curled protectively around his now empty glass. āWhat do you say?ā
I gestured for two more brandies. āDeal.ā
Chaffre was true to his word. He was as persistent as a burr. With him sitting on my bed, polishing boots and keeping watch, I could read or write letters without fears that my mattress would be tipped or my head doused with water from over the center partition.
Though I hadnāt heard from Clare since that last letter in the spring, the one where she talked about the expedition to Mauritania, I still wrote, as often as I could. Not knowing where else to send them, I addressed them to the general post office in Laghouat, the last address I had. Sheād make her way out of wilderness at some point. Sheād find my letters waiting.
Lundi, de 20 octobre 1913
Dear Clare,
And to think I found school a slog. It has nothing on the army. I know by now you must be tired of hearing my epistolary complaints, but egads!
Despite the drills twice a day, our bunch is still trying to master ārightā and āleft.ā Instead of a corporal, they need a dancing master. We might make more progress. But marching may be all that we can do. The rest of our soldiering, weāve thus far learned from a series of books and pamphlets, which I think half of the recruits canāt read a word of. And those are the practical books. Did you know, yesterday we had a lecture on civic duty and, tomorrow, weāre to have one on mushroom farming? France had better hope that no one challenges us to battle. We may only be able to respond with a volley of morals and morels.
Must goā¦they are tossing Chaffre in a blanket again.
Yours,
Luc
I was always retrieving Chaffre. After those first few pranks, the others left me largely alone. But poor Chaffre, they waited for him when he stepped out to use the latrine. They lurked right inside the barracks with a wool blanket outstretched, and caught up my hapless friend when he came in. It was usually only after my shouted promises to buy jugs of wine for all the next day that theyād unfurl him. That may have been their intent to begin with. Uncle Julesās inheritance was coming in handy.
Chaffre always shrugged it off with a smile and a āno hard feelings.ā He was a funny kid.
Dimanche, le 23 novembre 1913
Dear Clare,
After a month, I think Iāve finally broken in my uniform. Itās really a ridiculous getup. The jacket comes down nearly to my calves and, underneath, the trousers are pulled up to my armpits (excuse the indelicacy). But just imagine, those trousers are as bright red as a cherry. The jacket and cap are dark blue. Is the plan to make us look too patriotic to shoot? Yet another reason why I could never be a real soldier. Iād never be able to attack. Iād be laughing too hard at myself to aim.
I do admit, though, that there is something comforting in all of the wool this time of year. Itās been icy. However, our uniforms would be far more comforting if the other seventy-nine men in my barrack would, on occasion, launder them.
Speaking of, the others have hidden Chaffreās trousers again. I must go help him. Au revoir!
Luc
Chaffre sat on a bed next to me, mending his rescued trousers. āThanks so much for helping me, old man.ā His cheeks were pink. āPass over yours and Iāll fix that rip you have in the seat.ā
āYou really donāt need to,ā I said, folding the letter to Clare.
āYou donāt want to be pulled out of line during roll call over a hole that will take me a few minutes to stitch.ā He grinned. āIāll keep you out of trouble. Youād do the same for me.ā
Apart from finding his trousers and keeping him from the blanket tossing, Iām not sure I was as useful as all that. I didnāt want to turn their attention to me instead. But I passed over my trousers with a āThank you.ā I was all thumbs with a needle and thread.
He poked a finger through the hole, then smoothed it down with a finger. āWho is it that youāre always writing?ā
āClare. A friend.ā I stretched out on my bed. āSheāll never be in the army. I have to keep her informed.ā
āOf course you do.ā He looked up and smiled. A balled-up pair of socks hit him in the side of the head.
āMend these too, mamāselle!ā followed.
Chaffreās smile tightened, but he bent and retrieved the socks from under my bed. āNo problem.ā
Jeudi, le 15 janvier 1914
Dear Clare,
Weāre beginning to learn topography, and to that I say, at long last, something useful. Now, when the French army is out foraging for mushrooms, weāll be able to find our way back to the battle.
We have our first set of examinations coming up, though what theyāll be testing us on, Iām not sure. Weāve had recent lectures on mutual associations and beekeeping. Perhaps that? Poor Chaffre has been flipping through all of our books, worried that heāll get some crucial question wrong and disgrace his family forever and ever. I keep having to reassure him that as long as we can walk in a straight line and can spout off the tenets of the Republic, weāll be fine.
I tell you, Clare, Iām glad that this is all rather ridiculous. Iām not made to be a soldier. As a boy I was nervous just standing in front of the class to give a recitation. To stand and face someone across from a field of battle, to know that itās kill or be killed, I canāt even imagine that. Itās much easier to relegate worries like that to the dustbin now that Iām training to be a very patriotic mushroom farmer instead.
Luc
I found Chaffre out by the stables, sitting with his back against the wall. Blood trickled from his nose and an ugly bruise was already starting to spread up into his yellow hair.
āWhat happened, man?ā I broke an icicle from the overhang of the roof and wrapped it in my handkerchief. āWho did this?ā
He took the icy handkerchief with a grateful smile and pressed it to his head. āItās nothing. Honest. You should see the other guy.ā
āI will. Just tell me his name.ā Iād never thrown a punch in my life, but I would.
He straightened from his slouch and sighed. āIām supposed to keep you from getting in trouble. Iām not going to send you into a fight.ā
āOh, youāre not sending me anywhere.ā I hoped I sounded confident. I was furious. āLook, you tell either me or the sergeant-of-the-week.ā I got an arm under him and pulled him to his feet.
He lurched against me.
I tightened my grip on his arm. āSteady there.ā
āThank you,ā he said quietly. He exhaled. āIt was Martel.ā