Page 16 of The Voice of Wild Places
He stepped off East 72nd Street and into Central Park, utilizing the same path he walked every month for the last decade.There’d been times that he wasn’t in the City and missed his visits, but he always made up for it.It was damned cold and the sky was a miserable grey, but no snow or rain fell.Watt focused on his breath propelling into the air in great thick clouds, doing his best not to think about anything in particular at all.He’d been doing so much thinking over the past few days that his nerves were raw.
After five minutes of brooding, Watt came upon The Grove.A paved walkway demarcated a large area that held eighteen oak trees.White concrete pedestals were beside fourteen of them, and a boulder sat in the center of them all.The trees were taller than Watt, much taller than they’d been when he and his comrades planted them a decade ago.It was not a cemetery, but it felt like one.
Watt’s hands flexed at his sides, and his feet were temporarily glued to the walkway.He stood there, staring.The plaques full of names were hidden by snow, but he knew by heart they were affixed to the boulder and the pedestals.He wished Maggie were here, but he didn’t like taking her out for so long when it was this cold out.
He sighed, and stepped into the snow.His polished shoes disappeared beneath the powdery stuff, but that didn’t stop Watt from approaching the tree in the very back, the one dedicated to Company G.His heart thrashed against his rib cage, swollen with exercise and longing.
Watt brushed the snow off the white concrete pedestal situated upon its own little hill, revealing the shield shaped plaque.The names were small and the font filled with ice in places, but he knew them.Knew them all.The air in his lungs crystallized, and he coughed.He'd been smoking again, and his lungs were already sensitive from the damage wrought by measles and gas.
He knelt in the snow, shrouded by Company G's tree.
Quietly, he said, “Happy Birthday, Frederick.I—” Watt dashed a hand at the burning in his eyes.“I’m going to be leaving soon, so I won’t be visiting for a while.Not sure if I’ll be coming back, actually.I guess what I’m trying to say is, I think this might be goodbye, for good this time.It's a real dangerous route we have, and if the land doesn't kill me my companion just might.”
Watt coughed again, then wiped furiously at his eyes which wouldn’t stop leaking.He searched desperately for something grand to say, but found he had nothing.In fact there was a great nothing growing inside of him, yawning and stretching its claws, ready to tear him apart.He stood, knees cracking, and whispered, “Goodbye.”
Before he left, Watt cleaned off the rest of the plaques, saying goodbye to the rest of his comrades that he’d loved and fought alongside.Men that he should’ve been in the ground with.But for some damn reason he was above dirt, filling his shoes with snow and planning hopeless adventures into South America with a man who couldn’t stand him.
Last but not least, Watt stood before the boulder which was relatively new compared to the trees, having joined them only four or five years ago.An enormous tablet covered the back, filled with names, while an inscription covered the face of it.
Beneath the snow, the inscription read:
‘To the Dead of the 307th Infantry A.E.F
509 Officers and Men
1917-1919
A package was waiting for Watt when he returned to his apartment.
Watt did not receive much in the way of packages at his residence.Letters and such of the like, yes.But never packages.He did all of his own shopping right in the city, having never felt the need to order from any kind of catalog.The package had no return address, and the relatively small box was light enough to hold in one hand.The concierge said it’d been delivered by a non-descript messenger with instructions to directly hand it off to Watt.
After securely locking himself in his apartment, shucking his frozen outwear, and greeting Maggie, he set the box down on his bed.He sat down on the mattress, and stared at it.Maggie stared at it too, her ears perked.Surely a mysterious package with such an ominous arrival shouldn’t be opened.Right?
He opened the package.
Meticulously.
He unfolded the cardboard flaps one at a time, chiding himself all the while for treating a simple box like a bomb.The scent of paper and old smoke wafted out of the box, and the hairs on Watt’s arms stood on end.He peered into the depths of the box, and found a stack of papers.
Curiosity outweighed everything else and Watt reached inside the box, gingerly bringing the loosely arranged papers into the light.He shifted, unsure what he was looking at.Two sheets of paper.Folded in three places, like they’d been tucked into an envelope, but if there had been one it was missing.Scorch marks had eaten away most of the pages, leaving what remained a hardly legible smudge of French and ash.
Watt spoke French better than he could read it, having been introduced to the language by Cornelius, then reacquainted with it during war time.But on the first page, clear as day, was his name.Not Walter, but Watt.
He painstakingly put as many words as he could together, and what was revealed broke his heart in two.
My Dearest Watt,
August 30th, 1914
I hope this letter finds you well, there has been no news of your death in the papers so I have to assume that you’ve beaten the measles, not that I ever doubted you.I write this apology in French so its contents will be kept secret, at least from your family.My last letter to you went unanswered, but I cannot be sure you ever received it, so I write to you again in hopes that you do not think less of me, and under a name no one but you and my family knows.
I am not sorry for speaking my truth, for you will always have it from me.I am sorry for the pain it has caused you.I should have waited, should have told you in the privacy of our place.But I thought you … I thought it was the only chance I had, and how was I to know your father was there, listening on the other side of the door?
I knew he was an unkind man, but I never expected him to discard me so easily, and without thinking my father wouldn’t retaliate for my broken heart and broken bones.I do not blame you for what your father has done to Papa’s employment prospects, as I hope you do not blame him for breaking your Father’s nose.
If you cannot bear to be friends with me any longer, I cannot say that I understand because I promised not to lie to you.But I will accept it, as long as you tell me so yourself.Your father says you want nothing to do with me, but I cannot believe it.I cannot believe that you would throw away everything we had because I have grown into a man.I always thought a part of you knew and loved me for it anyway, but maybe I am wrong.
But if you do wish to stay friends, know that you have a lifelong one in me, no matter the distance.I look forward to hearing from you, whether your words are full of goodbye or hello, I will be waiting for them.
