Kipling's Choice by Geert Spillebeen Page B

A boy who was burning with energy. A second later there he was, blown to pieces. Not a pretty sight."
    ***
    The map is jerked from above John's face. There is a flash of light. The German soldiers look up in alarm. The smashing blow from the mortar shell comes quickly, taking them by surprise. Unable to run for cover, the three are blown away. Although John lies protected in a ditch, for a moment he can feel himself being lifted up in the air. The explosion sucks all the oxygen from his lungs in one fell swoop. He lands hard on his side, unconscious.
    Minutes later his eyelashes begin to flutter. From the corner of his eye, John looks in a daze through the blades of grass. He sees a gray cap with gilded piping a couple of steps away. Thinking is painful. The German officer, yes, now he remembers. A contorted body lies a few meters beyond, smashed against a tree. Between the cap and the corpse are the blood-spattered remains of his map. John is suddenly aware of a total silence; he has been completely deafened by the explosion. The pain begins to pound in his brain like a battering ram. Once again blood oozes from his open skull onto the remains of his neck.
    Jesus, no!
John screams without a mouth, without a voice.
Oh God! Let me go!
His body twists and shakes. For many minutes.
    Â 
    My head is about to explode. How can I fight off the pain? Swallow, gasp for air, clench a fist. Help me! Isn't there anyone coming this way? Then let me drift away, please! Or die, perhaps?
    The pale evening sun reflects off the chalky-white wall of the limestone quarry. The mysterious glow that it casts over Pit 14 is in sharp contrast to the darkening surroundings. The eerily calm trees of the Bois Hugo and Chalk Pit Wood are veiled in the twilight. Silence rules; the void is complete.
    John Kipling is quiet now. He draws on the last reserves of his strength. He has never felt so lonely, not even in the dreary dormitory of Saint Aubyns Prep School. He realizes that no one can see him. All hope is lost. As he lies near the pit, he thinks about Celle once again.
    Â 
    "
Ne pleures pas,
don't cry,
ma petite,
" John whispers. He has had only two minutes to give Celle the bad news, for her mother is coming around the corner. He wants so very much to comfort the girl.
    It is Monday, September 20, 1915. John is spending the whole evening in the company of his host, the mayor of Acquin, and his wife and daughter. His marching orders came this afternoon. Tomorrow they must move up toward the front. Their destination is Linghem, twenty miles to the southeast. Their quarters in the cozy little French village must be evacuated in a hurry. The battalion spent the entire day breaking up camp, packing, and loading up the horse carts.
    A carton full of tinned goods has been set on the kitchen table. It is a gift for Celle's family: fish, meat, and fruit, all overstocks that the battalion doesn't want to drag any farther.
    Celle's father, an admirer of Rudyard Kipling, is surprised at the sudden departure of the troops. He wants to ask for a favor, and quickly. On the table next to the tins is a pile of Kipling's books in French translation.
    "
Mon papa
Mister Kipling is coming to France at the end of the week to report for the newspaper," John says. "To Rheims."
    "
Une petite chance
perhaps that he'll corne visit Acquin?" asks the mayor, beaming.
    "
Ah non, désolé, monsieur.
He knows that I'm moving. But I'm not allowed to tell Daddo where I'm going."
    "Daddo?"
    "
Son Père, Papa.
" Celle jumps in to help.
    "
Ah, bon,
" says the mayor.
    During this whole time the girl has been staring at John with a dreamy look in her eyes. The young man can barely keep his mind on the conversation; the mayor must explain everything two or three times.
    "
Ah, mon anglais,
" says the good man, who hardly knows the difference between "yes" and "no." "My English is not that great,
excusez-moi, mon lieutenant.
"
    "I often think about my
pauvre maman,
now that the big