I left the war behind.
I paused to listen to the river that was barring my way. I couldn’t see the water, but I caught its freshness. I breathed in its scent until I felt myself drenched. The monotonous murmur calmed my sick nerves. The darkness grew more and more intense. The sound of leaves rustling in the gentle wind blended with that of the river. I leaned against a tree. Not even a scrap of tobacco to roll a cigarette! The sky must have observed the clouds scurrying past, not I. “In order for someone to live, someone must die,” I found myself thinking. I lived thanks to the stupidity of that discovery. A series of absurd ideas surfaced: I could change the course of the river, rearrange the mountains. Suddenly one thought stood out: What river is this? Why is it here in this barren, desolate land? From where could this tree have sprung — and all the trees I sensed from the wind in the branches — if I have walked kilometers without encountering a single blade of grass? I assure you it was no mirage: I could feel the cool water against my face and chest. I was soaked.
I continued down the path, following the river, attempting to convince myself that it was real. No matter which way I turned, it never left my side. My feet stumbled on the dense undergrowth that blocked my way until finally I reached the high wall of her house, although I did not know then that it was hers. The wall was made of logs, as were the other three, the first ones with two windows each, the last with a tiny door.
I walked around the outside of the house. The windows had no shutters or blinds, and the light streaming from them drew my gaze inside, to the figure of a smiling girl. She was seated. My eyes paused on her hands, but I could not make out what she was holding. Allow me to speak of the girl. What will I gain? If I tell you that she was quite pretty, you may believe me, though perhaps you will think it a lie. Who can say? In truth, she was beautiful, but beauty is not everything in a girl. Now that I have held her in my arms, heard her sighing with love against my chest, now that I have grown drunk from the perfume of her hair, I can tell you that the shape of the eyes or the perfection of lips are not the only thing one should love.
Perhaps a certain way of speaking, looking, smiling drives us wild, but it is best to put aside what is difficult to explain, or take it up another day when we don’t know what to say.
The girl rose, moved toward the door, out of sight, then came outside to breathe the night which was suddenly filled with her presence.
My desire led me to her. She gazed at me without the slightest fear, and her voice reached me, as sweet as the bitterness of those who have suffered greatly.
“Come.”
Together we entered the room that I have often recalled. There was a faint light, a soft atmosphere.
“Sit down,” she said pointing to a low seat. “And now I would like. .” she continued, sitting on my lap as a child might, “I would like for the light to be extinguished, leaving only the glow of night.” She gently placed her arms around my neck, resting her lips there as she spoke.
“It’s as if I have always waited for you, from a moment beyond time, before I ever began to wait.”
I thought of distant loves of mine; they no longer seemed to be real love. I considered how my hate had vanished and my anxieties quieted. I would have wished to know why she was there, who her parents were, what sky had seen her come into being, what country had seen her as a child. Yet at the same time, I was afraid I might shatter what didn’t seem to exist, despite the fact that I held the girl so tightly against me that my heart could feel hers. She had always waited for me; I had always desired her. A girl like her, filled with tenderness, bringing peace to my spirit, penetrating it before making me hers in the flesh.
A calendar with the days marked with a cross hung on the wall in front of where we were sitting. She noticed my gaze and explained:
“I was counting the days. Every night I counted them. I didn’t know which path would lead you to me. I would have wished it to be through the stars.”
“I’ve followed the road of desire and will return by the road of memories.”
“What are memories?” The question seemed to frighten her, so I didn’t reply. Her lips searched mine. Nothing in this world can equal the sweetness of her kisses.
When I left her, only my body departed. My thoughts — no will was involved — could not accompany me because they were the prisoners of her soul.
There was a truce that day. An inventory of the spoils. We needed to fortify recently conquered positions. Enemy aviation appeared at dusk. I thought of Loki as I lay on the ground. Why that name and not another, since I was certain that she hadn’t mentioned it? I realized that she was becoming my obsession: I lived in her, for her, with her. She had penetrated my soul, taken possession of my spirit, as no other woman ever had. But was she real?
The sky was covered with clouds, as it had been on the previous day. The evening was impregnated with an overpowering sadness. Loki. . How could such an absurd name charm me to this degree? I realized how deeply I loved her. It was true love, its intensity perhaps possible only because we were immersed in the awareness of death.
“Loki,” I said, holding her clumsily. I had found her in her house with the tiny windows. “Listen to me. Do you understand what death is? I’m here because I’m fighting a war.” I spoke to her as I would a child. “I have to defend my country. My country’s desire for freedom.” I used my companion’s ideas, communicating them with the same faith he professed, although my skepticism had mocked them. I had gone to war out of a desire for adventure, the need to see new lands, fleeing from the person I despised — myself — leaping into whatever awaited me as long as it allowed me to feel that some good was derived from my uselessness. I was surprised by Loki’s sincerity and by the words I whispered close to her face. I saw in her eyes the reflection of the war. “War is hard, it is cruel. How fortunate to hold you in my arms, hear your voice!” In a strange surge of desperation, I screamed, “War destroys everything, everything!” Then I continued with great tenderness, “I might die one of these days. So what? You’ll always be mine, no matter what happens. I could take on the entire world and not be frightened because. . he doesn’t know how much I love you.”
I have no idea how long I spoke. I was intoxicated by the words that her eyes absorbed. The young girl of the previous day became a woman. Her incorporeal beauty became human and all my senses desired her. Her eyes were fastened on mine, incapable of closing. “I may not return tomorrow.” Did she understand me? “You are the only good I’ve encountered in life. You hold in your tiny hand all my past, all my future.” Then my hand, without my wishing it, was filled with desire and ran slowly up her waist, until it found the breast my lips longed for.
We gave ourselves to each other. Close to her mouth, I drank in a word as old as the earth. Life. She infused it with emotion and meaning. Life.
I uttered her name, as she breathed against my chest, and the day dawned.
“Loki.”
Despite strong enemy resistance, we have occupied new positions.
The soldiers advance, their uniforms blending with the earth, their bayonets gleaming in the sun. They enter the remains of a village. A dead horse blocks the way, obliging them to separate. The soldiers are from far away; they have left their homes behind. They’ve come from all walks in life, but to come this far they have had to cross rivers and march along broad roads. They arrive with their youth, which only now begins to acquire a past. If they are alive when this has ended, they will have become men. The ruined roads are flooded with soldiers. A site must be chosen to set up headquarters. Curtains of fire billowed from the village yesterday. Today silent ruins stand in the sun. The day is bright, the sky a diaphanous blue. Most of the enemy prisoners have died of gangrene.