Port found a nice bottle of schnapps from the horde he’d gathered in his looting. In the privacy of his bedroom, he popped it open with the intention of drinking it all in one evening. He didn’t care anymore if he had an excuse to drink, he was way past those lies. Not with Edith’s New Testament glaring at him from across the room.
Down in the green below by the Zeller See lake, the sounds of a band drifted up towards his window. Another party was being thrown for the servicemen, but Port didn’t feel like having company right then. He stumbled to his feet, loosening his tie as he stared at the book. The remaining liquor sloshed in the red bottle as he jostled it in the Bible’s general direction.
“What a waste of time, religion is just man’s excuse to make one human feel more important than another,” he sneered as though he was talking to a person, “Just ask Hitler, it worked pretty well for him with the Jews.”
Port took a swig and sat down hard on the bed. The stupid thing seemed to taunt him. He couldn’t even resort to his old retreat of self-pity. The letter from his mother about his father’s failing health was forgotten by the window sill. It was just him and that book. Edith Dixon proved to be more trouble than she was worth.
Finishing off the liquor, he tossed the empty glass into the nearby waste bin. Without bothering to take off his shoes, Port curled up on the partially made bed and passed out. Usually when he fell asleep in that state he didn’t dream. But not that night.
He dreamed of Hayseed’s body being buried by flower petals and men hanging from trees with their parachutes fluttering in the June breeze. He heard his father’s voice heavy with disappointment but couldn’t understand what he said. Through the sludge of the nightmare, the scenes were broken by a final image. A hand threw a liquor bottle to the ground and it shattered. Shards of glass turned to spinning rays of light and Port awoke to another beautiful morning in Austria.
It wasn’t a surprise that his head throbbed. The first thing his eyes searched for was the Bible on the other end of the room. Port rested his face in his hands. Usually he would have dug through the text just to find ways to refute it. But for some reason, opening it again scared him.
After splashing water on his face and changing his uniform, Port decided to get some air to clear his head. He lit a cigarette on his way out, his gaze resting on the book. He snagged it and continued out the door. Fist clenched around the leather cover, he stomped down the street ignoring salutes from replacements. His head was spinning but he kept on walking. He was seriously considering jumping in the lake to wake himself up, the liquor bottle that smashed his dream haunting him in broad daylight.
He cut down an alley, boots echoing on the cobblestones. When he emerged on the other side, he let out an astonished scoff. He had never seen a church on that street before then. Where had that darn thing come from? Did it get built over night just to mock him?
Port was frozen, staring at the cross glinting on top of the steeple. He took one tentative step forward, sweat beading on his hairline. The door cracked open and a male voice echoed down the steps. Port recognized that it belonged to Burbank. He had forgotten that Ralph was seeing the pastor’s daughter.
Before he had to answer any uncomfortable questions, he turned heel and ran back towards the alley he had just exited. His breathing slowed as he noticed that he wasn’t alone anymore. A figure was back up against the wall at the end of the lane. A girl was crammed up against the brick. She held an army issue ration of beef loaf, shoveling the canned meat into her mouth with bare fingers. Around her thin upper arm was a DP band.
“I didn’t steal it if that what you think,” she snapped, her accent thick but her English nearly perfect.
Her brown eyes sliced into him, her cheeks stuffed with food. Port shut his slack jaw and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I didn’t think that at all.”
“Then what are you staring at? I didn’t do anything with one of your comrades to get this either. So move along if you think I’m an easy-“
“Hey,
hey now!” Port lifted his hands, “Slow down, Miss…”603Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBGegmEtZQO
The girl swallowed and tossed
the can into a trash bin nearby. She wiped her greasy fingers on her trousers,
“What is it to you? My name?”603Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO0VuHPTr7a
“Being friendly is all,”
Port shrugged. 603Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXPkBV3K2RS
Port had seen hundreds of
displaced persons by this point in the war. Her condition wasn’t anything new
to him. But there was something about her that intrigued him. Despite the
hunger and fatigue shading her face, her movements were electric with energy.
As though every touch she gave would omit a static shock.
“I don’t want any friends.” She spit, about to turn away. But then she paused, her eyes trailing down to the Bible at his side, “What is that?”
Port
grimaced, “A New Testament-“603Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCZ0v3s9RSO
“Can I see it?” She stepped
towards him, eyes wide and hands extended.603Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV9AuJ7DdhM
Wetting his mouth, he
hesitated but then gave it over. The girl snatched it like it was a scrap of
food. Leafing through the pages, she stopped and read silently. Port furrowed
his brow, his curiosity peaked. The girl tugged at one of the pages and it
ripped cleanly out of the book.
“Hey!” Port sparked as she pushed it into his chest.
“Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me,” she choked out, her eyes filling with tears. She ran down the alley and out of sight before he had a chance to catch his breath.
Port flipped open the book. He found where she had torn the page, it was from the book of John. But he had no idea what the page had chronicled. He ran a hand over his scruffy chin and tucked the book into his jacket.
“Crazy broad.” He grumbled as he marched away to find something to distract him.
#
The clock’s tick echoed from the sitting room. Alex laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, listening to it edge closer to dawn. He had dozed off here and there but for the most part had spent the night wide awake. The unrest in his soul had lingered since he had left the hospital a couple days earlier.
There was too much going on. The decision on Paris loomed, his future with Edith, his friend’s worsening alcoholism. Not to mention the ongoing war in the Pacific and the possibility of a jump into war torn Japan. His stomach tightened as the stress radiated through his limbs. Throwing his feet over onto the floor, he sighed. Out in the sitting room, the clock rang out four times. Grey was touching the windows. It was close enough to morning.
Throwing on an undershirt, he strode barefoot into the sitting room. He grabbed his Bible and swung open the French doors leading to the balcony. Sitting back on the dew dusted wicker furniture, he breathed in the renewed morning air. The Zeller See lapped lazily below, silvery with the lightening sky. He flipped open the book and hoped to find something to settle his nerves.
The words sifted through him. He struggled to focus but was distracted. His dark eyes trailed down towards his view of the stairway into the hotel. A figure in uniform was propped up on the railing and looking out over the same view he was enjoying. The man dropped his head into his hands. Alex knew it was Port even in the faint light. He had probably been up all night too, playing cards with some of the other officers.
“Do you know what day it is?” Port grumbled before Alex had even reached him.
Alex sighed, tucking his hands in his pockets, “June fifth.”
“We were in Normandy this time last year. Chasing Jerry out of hedges.”
Alex came to rest next to him, perching his forearms on the railing, “Did you celebrate most of the night?”
“Celebrate what? That I’m not one of those boys buried at Ste. Mare-Eglise or Belgium?”
Alex shrugged, “What other reason would there be?”
Port ran a hand over his face, “No, I wasn’t celebrating. I was thinking.”
“With your bottle?”
Port chuckled dryly, shaking his head to the ground, “Would you stop? I’m sick of talking about that?”
Alex pursed his lips, realizing that his tone did sometimes come out judgmental. Even though it was an accident, it didn’t help but hurt the situation, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push it. You just scared me the other night is all.”
“Don’t get all gooey on me, McKay.”
“I’m being honest. It’s what you do with your friends.” Alex’s gaze was drawn down to Port’s hands. He hadn’t noticed the book he carried. His heart leaped into his throat when he read the title, “Hey, what do you have there?”
Port scoffed and waved the New Testament at him, “Maybe you should ask your girlfriend? It was a get well gift from Edith Dixon.”
Alex broke into an easy smile. The news fanned the affection he held for her into a flame. They hadn’t had the chance to talk about their faiths yet. It was welcome news indeed. But all the more left him confused about his choices for the future.
“Did you know about this?” Port snapped, bringing him out of his thoughts.
“No, I swear!” Alex held up his hands as he barked a laugh.
“It’s not funny. It’s had me up for days, like its taunting me.” Port spit. Alex noticed that even as he ranted about it, his grip on the book grew tighter.
“The Hound of Heaven.”
“What?” Port’s brow puckered, the rising sun illuminating the violet shadows under his hard stare.
“It’s a poem by Francis Thompson. You’re not the only one who read a couple books in school. Give me a second,” Alex closed his eyes as he searched his memory, “Ah fondest, blindest, weakest, I am He whom thou seekest! Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest me.”
“Pretty,” Port paused a beat, “What does it mean?”
“The brilliant Michael H. Port asking me to explain something? I’m humbled!”
“Fine, don’t tell me.” Port shoved his hands in his pockets and slumped his shoulders, turning to walk away.
“It means that the speaker by running away from God, drove the purest love he would ever know from himself. Throughout the poem, the more God sought him, the harder he ran. But he could not escape Him.”
Port halted, “Love? You mean all that manmade groveling to win acceptance from an imaginary being?”
“I’m not going to argue His existence. God doesn’t need me to defend Him, He can handle that all on his own. Though I don’t suggest asking unless you want to uncage the lion,” Alex relaxed against the railing. Though his body was loose, his mind spun. Port had never listened to him this long before on the subject, “You’re at a crossroads, Port. Now it’s up to you to choose which way.”
Dawn breached the mountain range and broke across the Zeller See. Port turned his face to the light with a sigh, “So you are saying God is chasing me? Why? What’s so great about me?”
“That’s the mystery of His love and grace. It’s free. It’s got nothing to do with what’s great about you. It’s only about His greatness.” Alex’s voice trailed off as he studied his friend.
Port’s scruffy chin trembled. He leaned his back against the railing. “I’m just so tired of it all,” he choked.
Alex came alongside his friend. Gripping Port’s shoulder, he prayed for him as he had done many times. But now, he did it out loud. And Port let him.
ns 18.68.41.140da2
