Free Hymn From A Village by Nigel Bird Page B

stomach by sheer force of will and decided not to tell them anything more.
    ***
    O n the train home I was haunted by memories.
    We were out by the chateau where the military brass camped out.
    It was like an Easter procession they way they headed for the post. A couple of infantry marched ahead, then there was Bernard, head held high. Just behind them, a priest muttered in Latin. Must have known he was wasting his breath on this one. Another couple of guards took up the rear.
    Rousseau had the job of leading our squad. Made sure it was men from the same unit that did the shooting so we could spread their warning. Marched us in like we were about to do something splendid.
    By the time we were in position, Bernard was already tied.
    Rousseau checked the knots that held Bernard to the post. Looked like he offered him some final words.
    Bernard spat in Rouseau’s eye when he offered him a blindfold, the crazy sod. I wanted to cheer. So did everyone else, it turned out.
    Instead my eyes watered.
    It was all so wrong. I remembered pointing my gun at Rousseau in the bunker back there.
    Thought about blowing his head off right there in front of the generals and the rest of the scum lined up for their morning’s entertainment. Didn’t though.
    Something got in the way. Fear, I suppose. I guess it was me who was the coward just then.
    Rousseau wiped off the spit. Turned and marched to where we were lined.
    At least his moustache had the grace to tremble.
    He took out his sword and lifted it into the air.
    The injustice had me shaking. I could hardly keep the gun straight.
    As the sword was raised Bernard winked at me. Like I was forgiven.
    As it fell, the triggers clicked. All except mine.
    I cursed my rifle. Said it jammed. Not that it did Bernard any good – he was slumped at the post like someone had removed his spine.
    When I got inside I unloaded. Picked out the bullet that should have gone and slipped it into my pocket.
    I’ve had it with me ever since.
    ***
    S till had one piece of unfinished business. A little job over in Tours.
    Took a room at the Hotel Du Nord. Cost more than I wanted to pay, even with the discount for a week’s stay, but I needed to be opposite the bank.
    On the windowsill, a bottle of Bordeaux and a platter of sausage helped to pass the time as I watched. The wine was too new, the sausage had me chewing more than I like, but it wasn’t important.
    Rousseau didn’t come out for air until the end of day. He’d grown and extra chin and put on an extra tyre round the belly, but I’d have recognised him no matter how much he’d changed. His suit looked expensive, but he wore it like a scarecrow, jacket too tight, trousers a little short.
    Still had the watch chain and the shiny shoes, though.
    It took 3 keys to lock up.
    When he was done, he turned and bumped an old lady. Took off his hat and practically bowed before her, as aware as ever of rank, then marched off up the street.
    I too, was done for the day.
    I closed the shutters, lay down on my bed and blew smoke into the darkness.
    ***
    I ’d fantasized about the moment on many occasions, tying the bastard up and having him begging for mercy, watching the piss puddle at his feet. Taking my rifle and the bullet that had Bernard’s name on it and shooting him right between the eyes.
    It was never going to end that way, more’s the pity.
    Instead I got up early on the Thursday, while bakers still worked their ovens and the sweepers cleaned the gutters.
    I waited at the bank. Leant against the door.
    Rousseau strolled up whistling some happy tune. Turned into me.
    I waited for recognition to show on his face and then raised the gun.
    The first shot was enough.
    I bent down and placed Bernard’s bullet in the pocket of his waistcoat, then stood and popped another into his skull.
    A little of his blood sprayed my leg, a little of his brain, too.
    I waited for him to tell me to wipe myself clean.
    The order never came.

A Whole Lotta Rosie
    F ifty