Date: Sat, 09 Jun 2007 09:56:47 +0200
From: A.K. <andrej@andrejkoymasky.com>
Subject: Malgre tout 05/13 (Historical)

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MALGRE TOUT
by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2007
written on October 18, 1993
translated by the author
English text kindly revised by John

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USUAL DISCLAIMER

"MALGRE TOUT" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes
of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and
so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this
story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you
think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.

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CHAPTER 5 - Deserters

(NOTE -- the words between < > are pronounced in German, a language that
Jacques doesn't understand. The words between * * are in Latin, and are
parts of the Mass rite.)

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Jacques woke up numb with cold. Daylight was seeping inside from the low
door opening. The thin rays of the sun were illuminating the small room.
Jacques sat up tightening the blanket around his body. He saw the stone
table with his wet uniform on it piled up in a shapeless pile. And saw
that on the wall behind the table was embedded a stone cross with on it
a bas-relief of a squat Christ.

And he suddenly understood that the table was in fact an altar. A small
room with an altar and in front of it a platform the size of a small
bed... What could that be?

Jacques never heard about hermitages and hermits and could not know that
it was a sacellum where, about four hundred years before, a monk called
Sylvain lived, venerated as a saint by the inhabitants of the nearby
villages, even though the Church had never canonized him.

The writing carved on the door lintel read, "Here lived Saint Sylvain"
but Jacques was not able to read.

He got off the platform and, with bare feet, went out into the small
meadow. He saw that the low wall enclosing it also had an opening that
he had not noticed the day before.

The sun's rays were warm and Jacques arranged the blanket around his
hips leaving his chest uncovered.

He went back into the small room, took his uniform from the altar,
brought it outside, wrung out it again and laid it out on the low wall,
under the sun, smoothing it to make the wrinkles disappear.

The tall and soft grass was still wet. Also the trees' leaves all around
were shining, covered by small and trembling water droplets. The air was
pure, the sky of a clear blue still dotted here and there by white
clouds that were rapidly gliding away towards the west, almost as if
withdrawing from the just risen sun, driven by a wind not noticeable at
ground level.

Jacques understood that the thick cloth of the uniform, even if the sun
continued to shine, would require several hours to dry. But anyway, he
didn't feel like wearing those clothes again, saturated with moisture.
He was feeling good, as he was, half naked, in the open air.

He took deep breaths. The sun was rising and gradually becoming warmer.
Autumn was mild and Jacques hoped it wouldn't start again to rain on the
following days.

He asked himself if it was not sensible to go down towards the fields to
check what the situation was there. He could envisage three different
situations:  he could meet the Prussians, and in that case he had to be
very careful not to be seen, or else they would shoot at him, kill him;
or he could meet the French army, and then he had to show himself and
rejoin them, but he didn't feel so sure he wanted to do so -- they would
surely send him to the front again to make war, to kill and get killed
and neither of these two solutions appealed at all to him.

So he decided in his heart that, for as long as he could, he would
become a deserter. Even though he knew that he thus risked being killed
-- their sergeant had explained it very clearly to them: deserters were
shot.

And third, he could be lucky not meeting one or the other army. In that
case how would people of the place welcome him? Could they understand he
was a deserter and report him? Or could they help him? Or...

Jacques for a moment got the impression that all of a sudden the entire
world had become his enemy, and felt a deep sensation of uneasiness.

No, he thought, if he met common people, he had just to explain to them
what had happened to him and tell them, although lying, that he wanted
to reach the French army and possibly that people would help him. He
would ask them if they knew where the French were and where the enemies
were, so that he could choose a safe direction...

But the best would be if he could find some civilian clothes, so that he
could abandon his rifle, uniform, military rucksack... abandon everything
that could make him recognized as a soldier.

After all, people didn't know he had replaced master Sylvestre... He could
pass for one lucky enough not to have been conscripted... he could even
possibly find a job on one of the farms of that region and quietly earn
a living...

When the sun was high in the sky, he turned his uniform so that it could
dry on the other side as well. He took the blanket off his hips
remaining totally naked and, taking out his rucksack from the low
building where he had spent the night; he took some food which he slowly
ate. He drank a little of his water, then put everything back again.

Now his rucksack was only for two thirds full. He had food for just a
few more days, but sooner or later he would finish it all.

He didn't have the slightest idea in which direction his village could
be. But he knew he could not go back there, or else everybody would know
he was a deserter. It was better to let everybody there believe he was
dead in the surroundings of Epinal, together with his friend Michel.

By doing so he would never see Sylvestre again, it was true, nor his
family... But Jules would keep his job as a stable boy and his family
would have a better life any way. Possibly his mother would mourn his
death, or rather, for sure she would. But all summed up, it was better
so.

Rather, he thought, if the French army found him, he could say he was
Michel Lacroix... No, he could meet somebody who knew him or who knew
Michel... possibly even Sylvie... and his fraud would be brought to light.

No. He had to simply to not be found either by the French army or by
that of the Prussian enemies. In every respect, if he didn't want to
die, he had to be thought dead... he thought with bitter irony.

By afternoon his uniform was dry in the thick parts as well, so he wore
it again. He folded and rolled the blanket tight which he secured on his
rucksack, at whose back he hung his almost empty canteen. He again wore
his big and heavy boots, brought his rifle at firing position and,
finding the path again, he went again down valley.

When he started to see, through the trees, the fields of the plain, it
was already evening. He stopped, his heart in his mouth, and looked. The
whole plain below him was dotted with bonfires, with groups of soldiers.
Farther, he saw covered guns, military tents, horses tied to trees.

He was almost certain it was the French army even though the impending
darkness didn't allow him to clearly see neither the uniforms nor the
flags colors. Anyway, whether the French or the enemy, he had to go back
into the forest and leave before risking being seen.

He went up the path in the growing darkness. He tried to go as far as he
could, until it became almost impossible to see his way. He was about to
stop and look for a place to spend the night, when he noticed he was
near the low building again where he had slept the previous night.

He went inside the small dark cell again and laid down without
undressing. Sleep at once received his tired limbs.

That night he dreamed. He saw Sylvestre again, naked under the sun - he
wasn't near the small lake but just outside in the little meadow
enclosed by the low stonewall. He also saw himself sleeping inside, his
naked body lit by the morning sun. He dreamed he woke up, called by
Sylvestre, He dreamed he went out going towards his young and beautiful
master, who stood up waiting for him, then he took Sylvestre in his
arms, made him turn round and took him from behind, penetrating him by
just leaning against him, just how it had to happen, with extreme
naturalness and simplicity. And at once he was invaded by pleasure, a
delightful, a very beautiful, an intense pleasure.

He came so, without moving, from the simple fact he had united with the
one he loved. And when, smiling, he made Sylvestre turn again, so
agreeably warm and naked in his arms, he realized he was instead Michel,
all naked too, his beautiful chest torn and bloody.

Jacques woke up, trembling, scared. It was still dark. He felt his
trousers were dampish in front -- he had had a wet dream. His heart was
violently beating in his chest.

The door opening was barely visible. He got up and went out. The fresh
air of the night made him shiver slightly. He looked towards the sky and
saw thousands and thousands of stars. Then he calmed down.

"It was just a dream." He said quietly, glad to hear the sound of his
own voice.

He then continued to talk, always looking at the stars. "Goodbye my
Sylvestre, goodbye my Michel! Tonight I finally made love with you. Even
though it was just a dream, it was so real! You possibly really came to
visit me, melted in just one body that you offered to my desire, to my
love. I love you, Michel and Sylvestre. Who knows if I can see you
again, at least in my dreams?"

He became silent. Emitted a deep sigh and went again to sleep in the
shelter of the low building. He moved up against the wall, almost to
leave some room for his beloved ones, so that they could lie there near
him. He fell asleep feeling them near him, mysteriously melted into one.

He woke up again when the sun had already risen. He went out and
stretched for a long time, breathing deeply. He gathered his belongings
and, following the path, clambered up into the forest until the path
disappeared, obscured by the rugged ground. He proceeded going upwards
amongst the trees and bushes and walked all day long, stopping only to
gather herbs and wild fruit to eat. He also found a brook and filled his
canteen again. At night he found a good spot to sleep and the following
morning, he resumed his way. He stopped again to eat part of the
preserved food he had in the rucksack. He had already used half of his
provisions. As usual he was chewing each bit slowly and carefully,
sitting on the ground.

Suddenly a noise caught his attention. He stopped chewing and pricked up
his ear, attentive and slightly worried. The noise recurred and he
realised it was coming from in front of him, a bit lower, where some
leafy branches were moving. He again heard the noise of trampled twigs
and understood that somebody was climbing up to there. He gathered his
things, put the rucksack on his shoulders, seized his rifle and looked
for a hiding place. He saw a big dead, broken trunk, big enough to hide
him. He leaned on his back, holding his breath, nervously clenching the
rifle.

The noise was approaching. It had to be one only person. But who? Friend
or enemy? Man or woman? Young or old? He waited, his heart in his mouth,
his blood pounding dully at his temples. The creaking was now really
close. Jacques gripped his rifle more firmly almost to get a feeling of
safety. He was coming. He had to be close to his tree. Where would he
pass, on the right or on the left? He hoped he would pass there to his
side without noticing him. He could then understand who the newcomer
was... and possibly take him at his back...

The noise was now coming from just to the left of the dead tree. Jacques
was about to jump out when he saw him, or rather, they saw each other at
the same moment.

He was a Prussian!

Jacques leveled his rifle at him and shouted, "Halt!"

He read terror in the other's eyes. And then he saw he was just a kid,
barely eighteen, his hair of a blond that recalled to him the gold coins
of master Teissier, his eyes of the color of the sky, wide open. He was
bare headed, he had neither weapons nor rucksack on him. His uniform was
soiled at least as much as his own. The boy was a little smaller and
thinner than him.

"Raise your hands!" Jacques yelled again menacingly waving his rifle.

The other said, "<Don't shoot, please...>" but he said it in German and
Jacques didn't understand. "<I'm not armed...>" he went on.

Jacques perceived in his words a supplicant aspect, but it was a calm,
almost resigned tone. "Do you surrender?" Jacques asked, now without
yelling, his rifle always aimed at the boy.

"<Your rifle hammer is lowered, you can't fire, so...>" the Prussian boy
said, now sketching a smile, with a cautious expression but less scared.

"Raise your hands!" Jacques repeated again, waving his rifle. But he
thought the boy, younger than him, so handsome... he could never kill him,
especially now that they were looking into each other's eyes. This was
so the enemy? But why was he an enemy? Jacques confusedly asked himself.

For a while they remained still, standing one in front of the other,
continuing to look in each other eyes.

"Go away, boy, go away. I don't want to harm you..." Jacques said,
lowering the barrel of his rifle just a little.

The Prussian didn't understand the French's words, but detected their
tone, no longer bellicose.

He then gave a shy smile and asked, "<Is it true that you will not kill
me?>"

"I can't understand you, boy. But go away, please."

"<Who knows what are you trying to tell me, Frenchman.>"

"I don't want to be your enemy. If we didn't wear these damned uniform,
we could even be friends..." Jacques said, lowering his rifle barrel some
more.

"<Now your voice doesn't seem wicked any more.>" The boy said, smiling,
still somewhat hesitant.

"Why don't you go away? What are you telling me? What are you trying to
say?" Jacques asked, almost with gentleness.

"<Your eyes are good. Your eyes are gentle. And so, should you be the
hated enemy? You are the first one I've met face to face, do you know?>"

"Why are you so beautiful? Why are you so young? Why are you... here?"
Jacques asked him sorrowfully, now lowering his rifle completely.

"<Well, let's shake hands, French.>" The blonde boy said stretching out
his hand towards the other, and a friendly smile bloomed on his lips.

Jacques looked at that offered hand, at the inviting smile of the other,
again at his hand, then said, "You would like making peace with me... but
is it really possible? If it were only about you and me, possibly yes,
it could perhaps be really possible. But there are also the others,
those like me, like you, who on the contrary are persuaded they are
enemies, and they kill each other, they go on killing each other. What
can we do, you and I?" Jacques asked sorrowfully, feeling he was getting
lost in those limpid and clear eyes.

"<You don't want give me your hand? You don't trust me? It is because of
these clothes?>" the Prussian asked with gentle regret, pointing at his
uniform.

Jacques saw the gesture of the other pointing at his own uniform but
didn't understand.

Then the Prussian boy seemed to lighten up and said, carefully
articulating the words, "*Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum.*"

Jacques knit his brows. In spite of the strong German accent, he
recognized the Latin words of the Mass, and almost by instinct, he
answered, "*Et cum spirito tuo.*"

The boy then smiled and repeated, offering again his hand, "*Pax!*"

"*Pax...*" Jacques repeated, but still without taking that hand, "*pax
hominibus bonae voluntatis.*"

"<Yes>, *bonae voluntatis!*" answered the blond boy smiling again.

"Don't smile at me like that, please..." Jacques almost moaned.

"<You and I>, *bonae voluntatis*. <You and I>, *pax...*" the boy repeated with
conviction, then added, "<I can't recall more Mass words to communicate
with you, but I would really like it if you and I weren't enemies.>"

Jacques looked at him for a long while, then cautiously put his rifle on
the ground and moved a step towards the blond boy. The Prussian was
waiting, trustful. Jacques stopped in front of him, opened his arms
showing his empty hands, and said, "I don't want to make war against
you. But what can we do, you and I? You are disarmed. You too possibly
escaped from the war... Are you a runaway like me? Are you a deserter as
well? In that case, for you everybody is an enemy too... besides me? If we
could just understand each other... if we just didn't have these uniforms
on... if we could just be far from this war that divides our peoples..."

The Prussian boy didn't understand even a single word, but heard the
question tone of the other, the subdued and almost sad tone of the
French, and his gesture of renunciation of brandishing his weapon. They
looked in each other's eyes.

Then the blond boy, pointing at himself, said, "<My name is Kurt Steiner,
I am Kurt, Kurt, do you understand?>"

"Kurt?" Jacques asked, pointing at him.

"<Yes, Kurt.>" The Prussian answered, smiling, then asked, pointing at the
French, "<And you?>"

"I am Jacques. Jacques Marandin. My name is Jacques. I Jacques and you
Kurt." The French soldier said pointing to himself then to him.

"<Yes, you Jacques, I Kurt!>" the Prussian boy answered smiling. Then,
lightly touching his chest with his hand and then the Frenchman's chest,
he repeated, "<Kurt and Jacques.>" Then he again offered his hand.

This time the Frenchman took the boy's hand between his own and in a low
voice said, "*Ave*, Kurt."

"*Ave*, Jacques..." the other answered with a smile.

At the contact of their hands, Jacques felt a pleasure shudder run
through him, and their smiling eyes looked each other for a long time.

Then Jacques, leaving the other's hand, asked, "You have nothing with
you, not even food. Are you hungry?"

"<I don't understand...>"

"Do you want to eat something with me?"

"<What are you saying?>"

"Wait..." Jacques told him making also the gesture with his hand, then
thought for a moment and pointing at his rucksack on his shoulders,
said, "*Panem nostrum quotidianum...*"

"*Panem nostrum?*" Kurt repeated, then nodded and smiled and, making the
eating gesture, repeated, "<Yes>, *panem nostrum*!"

Jacques slipped his rucksack off his shoulders and sat on the ground,
beating with his hand on he ground near him to make the other understand
to sit down. Kurt sat near him. Jacques opened his rucksack, took out
some food and divided it between himself and the Prussian boy.

"Take it, eat." Said giving it to him.

"<Thank you.>" Kurt answered taking the food.

Both started to masticate, looking often in each other's eyes and
smiling.

Jacques pointed at what they were eating and said, "Food."

"Food?" the boy asked showing what he had in his hand.

"Yes, food."

"Food."

Then Jacques pointed to his mouth and made the gesture to masticate, "To
eat."

"To eat?" the boy asked making at his turn the gesture of chewing.

"Yes, to eat." Jacques again nodded smiling him.

"Kurt food to eat."

"Yes, Kurt eats the food."

"Yes, Kurt eats the food <and> Jacques eats the food. <And> Kurt... *gratias
agimus tibi* Jacques. <Do you understand?>"

"*Gratias?* Thank you!"

"*Gratias* thank you?"

"Yes, thank you..." Jacques repeated and mimed the gesture of giving and
receiving and repeated, "Thank you!"

Kurt nodded, then said, "Jacques *pax* <and> Kurt thank you."

"*Pax* is peace..." Jacques said making the gesture to shake hands and
repeated, "Peace!" Then shook hands with Kurt and smiling repeated,
"Peace."

"<Yes>, peace. Kurt <and> Jacques peace."

And so they went on, eating and drinking the water, while Jacques was
trying to teach some French words to Kurt, and he some German ones to
Jacques.

It was as if the two boys had forgotten the war, the world, everything.
Each of them, inside his heart, was grateful to the other to be there
with him, to smile with him. They were sitting there in the forest, each
one near the other, and wrapped up in each other.

And Jacques, suddenly, looking at the boy and sure he could not be
understood, said, "You see, Kurt, you are so beautiful... I like you so
very much and would like making love with you. But you too possibly have
a fiancee there at your village, waiting for you. Thus I cannot do
anything. I can just look at you, admire you, and desire you... I can only
dream that you, besides making peace with me, you could also... you would
also love me. But sooner or later, life will also part me from you... At
times I think that it would be better for me to die..."

Kurt listened to him, and then in a subdued and sweet tone, said, "<They
told me that you are the enemy. They took me from my village, from my
fields, to come here and to kill you. But I'm tired of killing. I ran
away when I saw my comrade Heinrich sinking his bayonet into the chest
of a wounded French soldier, who with his eyes was imploring him not to
kill him. He was young like you and me, and at that moment I felt as if
he wasn't a French boy any more but my brother... He didn't resemble my
brother at all, but his eyes were the same as those of my brother when
we were fighting for fun and I, unwittingly, once hurt him and then he
looked at me telling me with his eyes he didn't want to fight any more.
I let him go then  and he smiled gratefully at me, and...>" Kurt
interrupted what he was saying, moved by his own memories.

Jacques was listening to him, without understanding. But he had the
clear feeling that the other was opening him his heart.

"I've always loved... and desired to be loved by a male, Kurt. But they
say it is wrong. And on the contrary they say that waging war is right,
killing each other is right. The world is going upside down, who knows
why? Also the priest blesses our weapons, the same priest who, if I told
him about my love for men, would for sure not bless me. You too,
possibly, Kurt, despise those like me... who knows? You are the first one
to whom I can say these things, possibly just because I know you can't
understand... But it makes me feel good being able to say these things
aloud, to talk about it..."

"<If each soldier could get to know his enemy like I am getting to know
you, and if he shared his bread with him as you have shared with me, I
believe that all wars would become impossible, don't you think so too?
After all, are we not all brothers? Are we not all praying to the same
God we call father? Are we not all eating in the same way, like you and
I now? We are talking different languages, wearing different uniforms,
and yet, don't we all have two arms and legs, a mouth and two eyes, a
heart and a brain? They took us away from our lands, from our houses,
from our lives to teach us to hate! To slaughter each other. Thus... I
decided to desert. And I am now feeling a lot of more a man than before.
And I am glad I met you, Jacques.>"

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CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 6

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In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to
read them, the URL is

http://andrejkoymasky.com

If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English
translations, so that I can put on-line more of my  stories in English
please e-mail at

andrej@andrejkoymasky.com

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