Into The Trenches: A World War I Journal [2019]

Chapter 7

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE ATTEMPT MENTION. This chapter will be summarized in chapter 8.

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25 March 1915

I slept barely an hour last night. Every time I fell asleep, the same dream returned: Jacob walking into the battle, being shot, falling, bleeding, and, breaking from reality, dying.

"He is awake," said the nurse, Margot, to me this morning. I rushed to the infirmary to see Jacob propped up on pillows, his face slowly regaining color. Bandages encircled his middle, stained red on his left side. He saw me and raised a hand weakly in greeting.

"Jacob," I said, resisting the urge to sob with relief. "Thank the Lord."

"Hey." His voice was a throaty rasp. His face looked thin and sunken, though less pale than before. "Were you hurt as well?"

"No," I said, and he raised an eyebrow at the bandage on my arm. "Just a scratch. How are you?"

"Terrible," he said with his usual inscrutable expression. "Thanks for asking."

"Enough of this," I said, coming to the side of his bed and looking him in the eye. "What in the name of God were you thinking, going up and out unarmed?"

For once, Jacob could not meet my eyes. "You found the gun, didn't you?" he said. "I knew I should've hidden it. I can't even do one thing right."

My throat constricted, knowing the answer even as I stammered, "What-what are you talking about?"

A strange expression had come across Jacob's face. "You'd never have found me," he said. "It would all be over now. I just... wanted to get away from all the bloody pain, and now look at me."

My blood chilled. "So it's true," I whispered. "You wanted them to kill you."

"And so they would have," said Jacob with a bitter half smile, "if the bullet had gone a bit to the right. Or if you hadn't carried me back. I'm sorry you had to be involved. You were never meant to know. I just wanted to let them have me, because I'm too much of a coward to do it myself."

"Jacob, why?" I choked.

Jacob met my eyes again, and this time they held a steely look. "Because of what you said."

"What I-"

"Yes, Henry, what you said." Jacob's voice rose. "After my family was killed I threw myself into training, into fighting. Each German I killed was a step closer to avenging them. I told myself they were monsters, not men-that they deserved to die. And then you-you showed me the truth. I am a monster. A killer. I deserve..." His voice broke. "I deserve to die."

I forced the words past the lump in my throat. "You know full well that isn't what I meant."

"But it's true," Jacob whispered. The anger was gone from his voice, leaving only defeat and misery. "It's easy for you to say you'll make it home when you've a home to go back to. You have parents, a sister-a reason to go on. I have nothing." Tears glistened in his eyes as he sank back onto his pillows, wincing in pain. "I am... nothing."

He let out a quiet sob which became a strangled gasp as he clutched his bandaged side. Pain and regret etched into his face, he raised his tearful gaze to mine and breathed, "I wish you hadn't saved me." The words cut me to the bone.

I stumbled back as Margot swooped in to check Jacob's bandages. "You ought to leave, monsieur," she said. "You mustn't over-exert him."

Helpless, I cast one more look at Jacob, but he would not return my glance. "Please go," he murmured. Tears burned in my own eyes as I left the infirmary.

I am back in the trench now, but I can hardly think. Jacob is alive but wishes he were dead, and I am to blame for it, if blame is the word. The knowledge that I am his reason for grief, even if I am also the reason he is alive, racks me with guilt.