by *Sugar Princess*
Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge, so don't give me credit for 'em. I can only wish for such brilliance as Baz Luhrman has.
Claimer: All the bonnie soldier laddies (I love that phrase!) belong to me me me me!!!
Reason for my madness: I read some where that the beginning of Moulin Rouge was to have been Christian dying on a W.W.I battlefield. This just kinda sprung from there.
Lyrics: 'Weeping Sad and Lonely (When This Cruel War Is Over)': words by Charles C. Sawyer; Music by Henry Tucker
Of all my years of battle, there was one man who continues to stay in my mind.
Many a bonnie soldier laddies died for their country, fighting a battle that had nothing to do with them. Fighting in hopes of glory, but being met with death and pain.
By appearance, this one was not unlike the others. He was middle-aged but didn't look it, was handsome, a bachelor, was charming.
He wasn't very talkative, preferring to keep himself to himself.
Polite enough, generous, kind ... same as millions of others.
But something about this one ... something about him was different.
This one was sobered by some terrible thing that had happened in the past ... long ago.
He was in my division ... about 10 years older than me. His real name was Christian, but everyone called him Cat.
He was called Cat because his amazing survival of countless attacks ... by which he had survived merely by luck and his incredible agility.
Some joked that he had nine lives, thus giving him the nickname.
Other said he had an angel on his shoulder, but only when he was out of earshot. The one time anyone had hinted that, he'd turned on them furiously, telling them never to say that again.
Nice guy, good temper.
He and I became real good friends. We cowered in a pit together while grenades burst over out heads. That tends to create some fond memories and strong bonds.
He never received letters, but he sure did write a lot. When asked about what, he replied, "Oh, you know. This and that."
That's the way he always was ... vague.
¤~¤~¤~¤~¤
The day of the big battle dawned clear and bright. Not a cloud in sight, the wind just blowing slightly.
While eating breakfast, one boy- possibly no older than 18- piped up.
"Do you all realize by this time tomorrow we could all be dead?"
All noise stopped while we glared at him.
Cat and I exchanged glances.
While we got up to leave, he looked at me sideways.
"You know, he's right."
I looked back at him.
"Of course it's right. We're at war." I snapped.
Cat was quiet for a moment.
"I had a dream last night." He said quietly.
"Fascinating." I spat back, still a bit miffed about my unwanted reality check. Remorse came over a few seconds later. It wasn't Cat's fault that the kid was a jerk. "Sorry, Cat."
"Forget about it." He replied.
"So..." I said easily. "What about the dream?" I figured if clammed-up Cat actually wanted to talk about something I should probably want to hear it.
"I'm going to die today." He said.
I just stared.
For someone who was proclaiming his own death, he seemed remarkably calm about it.
"And how did you find this out?" I said, trying to laugh. Death was too serious.
"Oh ... it's my time."
He stated this all very simply, as if he was saying the sky was blue.
"And did God show you a clock last night in your dream?" I asked.
"No ... something more believable than that."
I looked at him again, my mind blank save for one thought: He's gone mad.
"And what would that be, Cat?"
"Have you ever heard the war song 'Weeping Sad and Lonely'?" he asked.
"No." I replied flatly.
"Neither had I." he said. "Do you remember when you asked me about my past and I said I wouldn't say?"
"Yeah. It's been irritating me ever since."
"Well... I wrote a book about it."
"About your past?"
"Yeah." He said, kicking the ground.
"And someone published it?"
"Yes."
Well, knock me over the head with a beanpole.
"Surprise surprise. You should have told me that while we were on furlough. I would've bought a copy."
"I'm only telling you because-"
"I know, I know ... you're gonna die. Go on."
"Anyway ... the book will explain it a lot better than I can."
Though that didn't make sense, I let it pass. Who cared? This was all crazy talk, any how.
"In my dreams for the past few weeks, a person from my past kept singing that song. One verse, then one verse and the chorus, then the second, and so on."
"Uh-huh."
He looked at me as if he expected something.
"Wha-at?"
"Don't you understand? The song is finished. So am I."
I really didn't get it. WHAT WAS HE TALKING ABOUT?????
"Um... Cat ... what's the song about?"
Cat looked at me as if I had just asked him what color the grass was.
"A war." He looked up at me. "It's a song about a girl talking to her lover who's fighting in the Civil War."
¤~¤~¤~¤~¤
The battle was rough. Terrible.
We won, of course. We always did.
Or so we wrote back home.
So many were dead.
More were injured ... and even more were missing.
One of the lost was Cat.
"CAT!" I called, trying to find my only real friend. The other guys told me to let the others handle it, but I couldn't.
Cat couldn't be dead.
I found him, lying stunned amidst broken bodies. His eyes were glazed over, and he was bleeding from the head.
"Cat, don't you worry, man. You're gonna be juuuuuuuust fine." I crooned to my friend.
He was murmuring something.
"Cat." I said, shaking him. He looked into my face but seemed to be looking beyond me.
"Praying that we meet again..." he muttered.
"Cat, snap out of it, man. Let's get you to the hospital." His head cocked, and I thought he was coming to.
"Christian?" I asked. Maybe it was the nickname confusing him.
"Come what may, Satine..." he murmured.
Cat grew limp, his eyelids slid shut and his chest stopped rising.
¤~¤~¤~¤~¤
There was no special funeral for Cat. It was one mass one for all the boys that died that day.
One boy said softly that his nine lives were up.
Another said something about the Angel being somewhere else.
Still, his last words bothered me. What had he meant? And above all, WHO WAS SATINE???????????
That frustrated me. Not only was his life a mystery, so were his dying words. The man was nothing but a giant enigma.
Back in the barracks, the were cleaning out the beds of guys that had lost their lives- Cat's among them.
Making room for new recruits that shared the same fate as their predecessors.
One the officers called me over and handed me an envelope. When I asked what it was, he shrugged.
I opened it. There was a sheet of paper with what looked like a poem on it, and a scrap of paper that read 'The Moulin Rouge' and Cat's full name.
The poem- no, the song- haunted me.
When we did last meet,
How you told me that you loved me,
Kneeling at my feet?
Oh! How proud you stood before me
In your suit of blue,
When you vowed to me and country
Ever to be true.
Weeping sad and lonely
Hopes and fears how vain
(yet praying)
When this cruel war is over
Praying that we meet again!
When the summer breeze
is sighing
mournfully along;
Or when the autumn leaves
are falling,
Sadly breathes this song,
Oft in dreams I see thee lying
On the battle plain
Lonely, wounded, even dying,
Calling but in vain.
Weeping sad and lonely
Hopes and fears how vain
(yet praying)
When this cruel war is over
Praying that we meet again!
If amid the din of battle
Nobly you should fall,
Far away from those
who love you,
None to hear you call,
Who would whisper
words of comfort,
Who would soothe your pain?
Ah! the many cruel fancies
Ever in my brain.
Weeping sad and lonely
Hopes and fears how vain
(yet praying)
When this cruel war is over
Praying that we meet again!
The war ended, but not before claiming the lives of many others.
Before returning home to England, I had a stop to make.
I found the book, and suddenly Cat's- Christian's- life made so much more sense.
The person in his dream was Satine ... his love beyond all time and reason.
And his last thoughts were of her.