Howdy, this here is a newly-finished Guy Sajer prologue for Grossdeutschland; Stories From Another Timeline. It may or may not change, and it will be up here for free for a limited time as a reward to my regular followers. Hope you enjoy it. Yes, this is heavily borrowed by The Forgotten Soldier. Any comments, DM me on Telegram @LenGilbert
Guy’s head bumped against the wooden back of the seat, on a train rolling through the sunny French countryside. Other people, who seemed to belong to a different world, were laughing. As for Guy, his comrades, comrades that Guy was attached to by all the terrible memories of the war, filled his thoughts.
The train rolled on, carrying him minute-by-minute away from the Eastern Front and all his experiences. If that train had gone on for days and carried him to the other side of the world it would not have mattered.
Then there was a station. His worn boots, which had tramped across Russia, scraped against the cement platform, and his worn eyes took in the details of a place he knew well. Nothing had changed. The meadows of Alsasce seemed to be sleeping, although Guy’s arrival may well have awakened them. Everything looked as it had. Only he had changed.
He stood for awhile, staring at all the details, which seemed to him so small, walking slowly and hesitantly.
After some time he felt the glare of the two station employees. Guy was the last person left on the platform. Everyone else had hurried away.
“Let’s get going,” one of them said. Guy went over to him with his papers.
“You’ll have to show those to the station master. This way.”
The stationmaster leafed through the sheaf of documents, clearly unable to make out the German spelling of Russian cities. He rubber-stamped the lot of them.
“Coming from Mannheim,” he said.
“Yes sir.”
The stationmaster eyed him suspiciously. “Go on, then,” he said.
Guy was still five miles from his house and from the end of his journey. It was a beautiful day, but the reality surrounding him, the sights, tastes and touches, and the imminent prospect of seeing his parents again, were so overwhelming that he couldn’t even begin to think about it: The front of his house, which he left three days ago, the vines growing around it, the door cutting into it, and an old man standing there.
The reality that Guy had almost forgotten was about to impose itself on him again, as if nothing had ever happened. His village became visible in the damp, green hollow. His head was spinning like a boat with a broken rudder, as he walked slowly toward the encounter he had longed for for years, but suddenly feared.
A plane flew very low across the sunny countryside. Unable to stop himself, Guy plunged into an orchard ditch on the other side of the road. The plane throbbed overhead for a moment, then vanished as quickly as it came. He pulled himself up by the trunk of an apple tree.
The grass was short, but otherwise reminded him of grass on the steppe. It seemed familiar, and he let himself fall down again. Sunlight rose over the blades and forced him to shut his eyes. He lay down and fell asleep.
His sleep must have lasted for several hours, because the sun was setting behind the hill. Guy arrived at twilight, afraid that he might meet anyone he used to know that hadn’t forgotten him. Someone recognized him in a stripped down German tunic may have been nothing, but maybe not. He tried his best to slink down the street discreetly, but each step toward home sounded like a parade step at Chemnitz barracks. When he turned the corner to see his house, his heart pounded so hard that his chest ached.
Someone appeared in the corner; a small, old woman whose shoulders were covered by a worn cloak. Even the cloak was familiar to him. His mother was carrying a small milk can. Guy was afraid to move, afraid to frighten her, but he summoned up the courage and spoke.
“Maman.”
She stopped. He took several steps forward, then saw that she was about to faint. The milk cam fell to the ground and he caught her in his arms.
Carrying his mother, he hurried toward the doorway, where a young man had just appeared. The young man was his brother. It was amazing how much he had grown.
“Papa! Someone’s bringing Maman home! She’s sick!”
Hours went by. Guy remained motionless and mute, surrounded by his family, who gazed at him as if they had forgotten the earth was round. Over the fireplace he noticed a photograph of himself as a young man. Beside it stood a small vase which held faded flowers.
He had a feeling it would take all of them, himself and those who had waited for him, quite some time to believe their senses. His return would complicate things.
Time passed, and Guy collapsed in the room of a sister, who had married during his absense. For the next few days he fell into an anesthetising sleep.