A Polar Bear in the Dust

Chapter 1

24th April,1915
Belgium,Ypres

Tonight was the night heaven decided to open itself.

It was like someone threw a dark canopy around the earth,embedded with thousands of twinkling stars that shined and pulsed their radiance. They seem to crowd around the full moon like a choir of angels around God. Indeed,the silvery crona around the moon was as radiant as an angel's halo. I felt like tonight was the closest I've ever been to heaven.

Maybe here was the gate between hell and heaven. Here was death and darkness and smoke and mud and the stench. The stench I remember was horrific,the type that filled your nostrils and lungs and invaded your body until you could feel it on you as mud and damp. You could see it too,amongst the reeking corpses that were unceremoniously tossed to the side of the trench, hopefully out of the way of soldiers running through to die and die some more.

"You'll get used to it soon," I told the boy who sat beside me. He looked like someone you could meld into the mud and filthy men,someone who you would forget after turning away. He had shaggy blonde hair that was matted with mud and visible under his helmet. He wore spectacles, framing these strange violet eyes that was the only part of him that was noticeable.His face was streaked with dust as well as his clothes, but he was new here,judging from the slightly better off uniform and the obvious distaste on his face.

"Really? I guess you would adapt over time..." The boy replied with what I suspected was an Canadian lilt that was as quiet and fleeting as the wind.
"Say,are you Canadian?"
"I am."
"But you're in the British army?"
"My father was English,my mother was French-Canadian. I grew up in Canada and moved to England. And here I am."
"I see"
"My name is Matthew Williams," he offered,"it's a pleasure to meet you," Matthew extended a polite hand. I eyed it,and took it with caution.
"And I'm Arthur Kirkland. Pleasure to meet you too."

An awkward silence wedged between us after our exchange . Matthew began to polish his bayonet whiles I took out my flask, causing Matthew to swerve his head with a nonplussed expression.

"Is that alcohol?" The Canadian asked incredulously.
I raised an eyebrow as I took a swig.
"Rum. You want some?"
"No thanks," Matthew seemed to be on edge about something something as I continued to drink before finally busting out:" Is it wise to be drinking at the front lines of a war?"

I chuckled darkly before answering him.
"Lad, take away the drinks and the higher ups would get a rebellion on their hands"
Matthew looked from my flask, to me and to the other men around him, who were indulging in cheap rum like me,or talking quietly while drinking rum or cleaning their weapons with the ceramic flask in their hand or at their side.

I watched him in amusement. This lad obviously never has touched alcohol. He was quite juvenile looking,maybe just reached the age of conscription. It was quite funny how innocent he was to alcohol. I gave him a friendly slap on the back, starting him.

"Don't get your pants in a knot, they give us just enough to keep us sane. Unfair really. I heard that those Frogs gets a pint of wine a day while we Brits gets sixteenth of that."
"Frogs?" Matthew asked bemusedly.
"Ah, sorry-you said your mother was part French? I was referring to the French Army."
"But....frogs?"

"Monsieur Kirkland, I'll say adieu to you and your overgrown eyebrows now. Try not to terrorise God with your presence,I'm sure they'll drive the angels into Devils,oui?"
"You...frog! I'm so glad I never have to see your cheese drunken face again!"

I pulled my knees forward, resting my face on my knees.
"Never mind."
I could feel Matthew's concerned glance through his spectacles. I ignored it as I drained the last drop of rum, and glared at the unfulfilling flask. What I wouldn't give to be properly drunk right now. If I was drunk, it would mean I was in a warm pub with a fire and I would be clean and away from this damp hell hole with the skeletons as my companions.

Again we sat in silence,watching the rats scurry around. A side long glance told me the young lad was chewing on his lip,obviously fretful that the conversation led to touchy waters.

"Do you have family?" I inquired,intending to loosen his guilt.
He jumped a little,obviously not expecting conversation. Matthew sighed sadly and pulled out from his breast pocket a photograph followed by a keychain with a white bear-a polar bear. It was clean,cleaner than anything I've seen in a long while and it was obvious it was very close to his heart if he took the liberty of protecting it from the trenches.

"My mother- she's French-Canadian, over here," he pointed to an elegant woman with a kind face," and my stepfather, and my American stepbrother."

"He's obviously very...boisterous," I commented. In the photograph the tall spectacled lad was almost strangling his brother in a affectionate arm around Matthew's neck, his face lit up with a joy that placed a small smile on my own . He looked a lot like Matthew, except with shorter hair.

"He is. He's also blunt and comically stupid. Once, on our farm he tried bullfighting with our bull."
"Dear God!" I exclaimed,shocked that anyone could be that foolish,"how on earth did that turn out?"
"He ended up changing his mind at the last second,shouting 'Mattie, this is how you perform a heroic tactical retreat!"

I bursted out laughing with Matthew snickering beside me. I could really imagine this energetic young lad in this photograph goading a bull and running away screaming from it. I rubbed my aching cheeks. I haven't laughed like that in a young time.

Matthew's laughter fade softly away.His eyes looked extra shiny as he gazed at his brother laughing. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. He fingered the polar bear,stroking its fur,his wistful eyes never leaving the photograph.
"He's an idiot and really loud... but he's the best brother in the world," he whispered softly, so soft that I almost didn't catch it. He gripped the polar bear, if it was the last thing of his brother and his family, and it is and knowing his chances, he'll never see them again.

It was people like him, who had to leave their families like every other soldier that made me so tired and angry of this war. I was tired at the Germans for shooting at us. I was tired at having to shoot back. I was tired of people dying.People like him, who just had their lives started shouldn't have to deal with so much death and to say a final goodbye to their families. He should be at home, drinking or trying to stop his foolish brother from doing stupid things. He shouldn't be waiting to die.

I shouldn't have to pretended I didn't see the moonlit tear slide down his face.