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Sybrina’s Phrase Thesaurus March 2005 Newsletter |
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March’s Featured Vignette “Dust Is Thicker Than Water” by Stephen D. Rogers
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In-between the protagonists and against everyone was the desert itself: the dust, the windstorms, the miles of uninterrupted terrain which sucked the petrol dry. The desert was cold at night, hot during the day, and nearly unbearable for any number of reasons.
There were accidents as there are during a war. Cover everything with a layer of dirt, hide equipment in dust storms and smoke, draw lines in the sand which shifted hourly. Winston once burst firing through a convey of supply trucks only to find that they were ours. Luckily no one had been hurt. I sit here now alone and infirm, my skin as taut and dry as if I've been stretched out in the desert all these years. The Second World War is long over, and yet I feel that I'm as much a prisoner of the event as the many young men who didn't come back.
Jeremiah was killed three days later during a Stuka attack, struck down from above by that screaming bird of prey. I wonder sometimes whether we would have become closer had he returned without his older brother, and I wonder too whether Jeremiah might have thought so, might have hoped so.
His barmaid visited me today for the first time in years, having just received a letter from a man in Jeremiah's unit. Apparently there was some old tanker's reunion, and one of the men had decided to seek her out to document Jeremiah's bravery in the days before he died.
Disbelief must have shown on my face, because she leapt into a defense of Jeremiah saying that I had always misjudged him. She screamed that I was still under Winston's spell and then she stammered an apology. As she ran from the house in tears, she confessed that she knew what that was like ever since the day that Winston had forced himself on her.
The Honey had 51 mm of armour at its thickest part, but I thought that I might have it beat. Somewhere along the line I became impervious.
How much of what happened during the battle for Sidi Rezegh was my fault? Had I been blind to Winston's shortcomings, and blind to Jeremiah all together? Had my uneven feelings created a situation that culminated in one brother taking the opportunity to strike back for the thousands of little inequities?
Take away the dust and the smoke, and I think that Winston's last words were "Jerry got me." I can only guess that Jeremiah reported them nearly correctly because some part of him wanted credit for finally bettering his older brother. He might have thought it his only chance for winning my love. The winds may blow, the sands may shift, but the skeleton underneath remains.
Copyright 2003 Stephen D. Rogers |
