Note:Just something I cooked up in my head a few nights ago, this is my attempt to put it in writing. Its the first writing I've done in months, so it might be a little rough around the edges haha, but please let me know what you think!
If there was one thing in Stalag 13 that had remained constant through the months and years, it was Peter Newkirk and his stories. If the other lads hadn't heard a story once, it was because they had heard it half a dozen times. But they never tired of being treated to another yarn spun by the master himself, not when every retelling had a new twist. That, and the fact that nearly every story he told revolved around a different girl.
It began as a game, one they played in their spare time during the day, when there were no schemes being hatched below the ground and for once they felt the boredom of actual prisoners. The game was simple, each man tried to out tell the others with any story he wanted, so long as it was true. If a man's story was deemed worthy by his audience, he became the leader of the game, if not, he was eliminated. And of course, the stories that were most often judged worthy were the ones that involved women and the storytellers various encounters with said women.
While it began as a friendly way to pass the time, eventually it became less of a game and more of a gathering. A gathering of awed listeners, enraptured with every word that fell off the lips of one Peter Newkirk. Not long after the game began, it became clear to the other prisoners that no one could surpass the incredible conquests of Corporal Newkirk. After weeks of listening to hours of subpar stories, just waiting for Newkirk to show up and sweep them all away, the others gave in and simply let Newkirk talk the hours away.
So he talked. And he talked. The stories he told were wild, and almost unbelievable, but he swore that every word was true. The women he spoke of came from every walk of life. There were rich women, poor women, country girls and high class ladies. His escapades were the stuff of novels, from sneaking off in the middle of the night to avoid a jealous lover, to high class dates paid for from the husband's pocket, to quiet walks in the moonlight. And when he finally ran out of stories to tell, he started from the beginning, except that this time he had forgotten that the woman's lover had woken when he snuck through the window, and he had to leap from a rooftop in order to get away, and return to win the lady's heart another night.
LeBeau was the first to question the irregularity of Newkirk's stories. Not only the fact that the stories changed, but he wondered at one man's ability to woo so many women in such a short lifetime. Newkirk laughed off Louis' concerns.
"Come off it Louis," Newkirk laughed, "Everyone knows a story needs a little, 'embellishing' with the retelling. Doesn't mean it's not true!"
For a while, LeBeau let the matter drop. Until one day, during a particularly romantic story, Carter made a remark that piqued LeBeau's interest once more.
"How come they never write to you?" Carter asked inquisitively.
"What's that Andrew?" Newkirk replied shortly, annoyed at the interruption.
"All these girls you talk about, why don't any of them send you letters? Mary Jane used to send me letters all the time!"
Most of the men were looking at Carter in annoyance for stopping Newkirk just when the story was getting interesting, but LeBeau looked at Newkirk's face. What he saw there surprised him. For just a moment, the frustration left Newkirk's eyes and was replaced with the gleam that only came when Newkirk was hiding something. Not only that, but LeBeau thought he saw something else in Newkirk's expression. Something warm and happy that, in all the years he had known the man, he had never before seen on Newkirk's face. But moments later, Newkirk had fallen back into his mask of irritation.
"Carter you're missing the point of the story," Newkirk said in a tone that clearly ended the topic, "Now, as I was saying…"
But Carter had raised a valid point. In the years that he had been in Stalag 13, LeBeau had only ever seen Newkirk get letters from one woman. His sister Mavis. One would think that with all of Newkirk's conquests, at least one or two would be writing him letters and hoping for his safe return. And so, LeBeau resolved to keep a closer eye on Newkirk's mail from then on. He hated to think that his friend would lie about all these stories just to win a silly game, and if there was any truth to these stories, Newkirk had to be hiding the letters somehow.
And so for the months following, LeBeau made sure that he was right next to Schultz at every mail call, even asking to help in exchange for strudel. But he only ever saw letters from one woman being handed to Newkirk. Mavis wrote to her brother often, and every mail call Schultz handed her letters to Newkirk, and the corporal would smile and sit in his bunk reading her letters again and again for the rest of the day. LeBeau couldn't find anything unusual about it, for all he could see Newkirk wasn't much different from many of the other prisoners when it came to mail from home. Eventually he gave in, although his patience for Newkirk's stories grew thinner and thinner as time wore on. It was a small thing, but it grated on him that Newkirk lied to them all so easily.
When the war finally ended, LeBeau, Newkirk, and the rest of Colonel Hogan's men were shipped back to England together. There was much celebrating and rejoicing to be had, as well as talk of what the future would hold. Carter talked of opening his own drug store, and maybe asking out the neighbour girl that his mother spoke so highly of in her letters. Kinch was going back home to a beautiful girl who'd been waiting for him all these years. He hoped to propose to her soon. Colonel Hogan wanted to get back in touch with Tiger, and maybe pick up where they left off. For LeBeau, he dreamed of opening his own restaurant in a rebuilt Paris, meeting a beautiful woman and starting a family. And Newkirk…well, Newkirk never really talked about what his plans were. Every time he was asked, he simply shrugged off the question with some excuse or vague gesture. LeBeau decided that Newkirk was simply not ready to admit that his life was not as full of intrigue as he had led them to believe.
They finally landed in London, and there was a score of people waiting to meet them. The Americans were immediately surrounded by old friends from their squadrons, clamoring to greet their long missed comrades. The British prisoners were engulfed by anxious family members, relieved to finally see their sons, husbands and brothers after so many long years.
LeBeau hung back from the crowd. His family was in Paris still, and he had no idea where his former comrades were now. He simply watched and smiled as Kinch clasped hands with old friends and Carter was pulled into yet another rib-crushing bear hug. Then he realized one of his friends was not joining the merriment. Newkirk was standing off from the crowd, standing on his toes to peer over people's heads, eyes roaming searching for someone. LeBeau realized that he must be looking for Mavis, and for a moment his heart dropped. Then he remembered that the Colonel had gotten a special message through to London just before they left Germany, and London had confirmed that Mavis was all right, soothing a worried Newkirk after the mail was no longer able to get through. She must be here somewhere.
He began to walk over to Newkirk and offer to help look for her, when suddenly he saw Newkirk's face light up with joy and relief. LeBeau stopped, glad that Newkirk had finally seen her. Then he realized that there was something more to that look. It was that same odd expression that Newkirk had when Carter had asked about his letters all those months ago, except now Newkirk did not try to hide it. There was warmth that radiated from Newkirk's smile, and LeBeau thought that for the first time in all the years he had known him, Newkirk looked at peace.
LeBeau watched as Newkirk pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring everyone around him with single minded purpose. His eyes followed the Englishman's path, and he saw a woman pushing her way through the throng of men towards Newkirk. He could see that Newkirk's sister was shorter than her brother, he only saw her through the crowd because of her bright blonde hair. Funny, LeBeau thought, they don't look anything alike. Then his thought processing stopped when Newkirk swept his sister up in his arms and kissed her full on the lips, swinging her around as the two of them laughed and kissed again.
For a moment, LeBeau couldn't move from the shock. Then he found himself storming his way towards the two of them, unable to understand what on earth was going on or why it was making him so angry. He came up behind the happy couple and tapped Newkirk on the shoulder.
Newkirk turned to see LeBeau, his arm still wrapped around his sister's waist.
"LeBeau!" he said, surprised.
"Hello Pierre," LeBeau said in a patronizing tone before turning to the woman in Newkirk's arms, "You are Mavis, I assume?"
"Yes," said the woman smiling in a happy yet confused way, "And you are?"
"I am Louis LeBeau. Such a pleasure to finally meet Pierre's sister."
LeBeau looked at Newkirk then, who was slowly turning red, unable to meet LeBeau's eye. Mavis, on the other hand, laughed heartily. The confusion left her face as she smiled happily at LeBeau.
"Sister?" she said, "Is that what he told you?"
"Yes," LeBeau nodded slowly.
"You are so ridiculous," Mavis said as she smacked Newkirk lightly on the chest. She turned to LeBeau and finally answered his questioning eyes, "I'm his wife!"
LeBeau nearly fainted.
"You are married!" he said to Newkirk, "All this time, you have been telling us that your sister, Mavis Newkirk, writes you twice a day but you say nothing else about her, then spend hours talking about your supposed conquests who must be too busy to write a single letter!"
"Louis, I can explain-"
"Was any of it true, anything you said? Or do you enjoy telling lies to all of your friends?"
"I didn't lie, okay?"
"So you have married your sister then?"
"No! Okay, I lied a little, but just give me a minute to explain will you?"
LeBeau took a deep breath, and nodded.
"Finally," Newkirk muttered, "Look, all of those stories, everything I said, it all happened. The only thing I lied about was that it happened with different women. But those stories wouldn't have been half as interesting if I'd ended them with 'and then I married her'. I don't know why it's such a big deal."
Before LeBeau could start up again, Mavis jumped in.
"Peter Newkirk," she said sternly, "I can't believe that you lied to your friends like that."
LeBeau heartily agreed, but a small part of him began to regret exposing Newkirk's lies as Mavis turned to confront her husband.
"I hope," Mavis continued with a grin, "That at the very least you told the story about how you jumped into the Thames after my brother caught us in the alley the night you proposed. And that you didn't forget to mention how I had to fish you out because you couldn't swim."
Her husband grinned back sheepishly.
"I may have left out that last bit," Newkirk admitted.
LeBeau simply shook his head in amazement as the two embraced.
"I'm sorry I never told you about her Louis," Newkirk said over his wife's shoulder, "But would you have believed me if I had?"
"Non Pierre," LeBeau answered, still trying to wrap his head around this new revelation, "I would not have believed you for a second."
"I know," Newkirk smiled contentedly as he kissed the top of his wife's head, "She's something you have to see to believe."
And as LeBeau watched the happy couple, he thought to himself that this might be Newkirk's greatest story yet.