Author's note: Well, this is it. I hope you've enjoyed reading this story. If you've gotten half the fun out of it, that I had in writing it... well then, I really should be getting some money for this! (Just kidding - though, you know, if you really want to...)

Emanations of Hate

Chapter 20

Newkirk watched as Lebeau cut across the compound carrying a covered tray. Wilson had - reluctantly - agreed that Carter could leave the infirmary on one condition: that he personally witnessed Carter getting a good night's rest (or day's rest since they made it back just before roll call) and one good meal. Newkirk sauntered over to the infirmary and sat on a crate outside to wait. Soon enough Lebeau and Carter came out, Lebeau telling Carter how happy everyone was going to be to have him back.

"Andrew mate," Newkirk called after them, "Can I talk to you for a few minutes?"

He saw Carter shoot a slightly worried glance at Lebeau, but the Frenchman whispered something to him and then pushed him gently towards Newkirk.

"Sure Newkirk, I guess so."

Newkirk didn't want to talk in front of everyone, so he got Carter to follow him to an isolated spot behind the delousing shed. The guards up in the tower could see them, but they were too far away to hear anything, and no one else liked to come around there. Bad memories Newkirk supposed; no one liked getting deloused, especially the first time, when they dragged you in already scared out of your mind because you were in a POW camp.

The two of them sat down on the ground with their backs to the shed and stared at the sun, which was just starting to sink down in the sky. Carter waited for Newkirk to begin, which he did rather abruptly after first lighting a cigarette.

"I 'ad a letter from me mate Bernie who works at the Red Lion. Said 'e caught some Yank trying to 'ave a go at Mavis. He didn't get what 'e was after, but when she told 'im to shove off 'e got rough."

"Holy cow Peter! Is she alright?" Carter asked, absolutely horrified.

Newkirk didn't say anything right away, smoking for awhile and staring sadly out at the barbed wire fence. "Bernie sent 'im packing. Got 'er away before the bastard could really get to it, but ever since then Bernie says she's been in a bad way. She ended up with a few bruises, but it's 'er nerves that's the worst according to 'im." Newkirk ground his cigarette out fiercely on the ground. He had said all this calmly - if bitterly - for the most part, but now the frustration in his voice suddenly came through, "I should've been there! I should've been looking out for 'er!"

Carter didn't know what to say. "Are the police looking for the guy?" he finally asked.

"Hunh!" Newkirk said, throwing his hands up, exasperated. "She won't even go to them! And she's got a point; she can't identify 'im and all she'd end up doing is getting 'erself a reputation. People 'ear something like that about a girl, and they get the wrong idea about what sort of girl she is. All those damned, gossipy old biddies; I can just 'ear 'em. They'd all be saying, "that Mavis Newkirk, she's no better than she should be," and giving 'er all kinds of looks. I've seen'em do it. She's already embarrassed and blaming 'erself; she doesn't need that sort talking behind 'er back."

"Well, you just tell her from me, that she shouldn't be blaming herself!" Carter exclaimed, indignant on behalf of a girl he hadn't even met, "Boy oh boy! I think she oughta go right to - " He broke off, a bit chagrined, when he saw the pained look on Newkirk's face. "I guess maybe you want me to shut up, huh?"

"It's not you mate, and I'm glad you feel the way you do, it's just that it's still a little difficult to talk about. And it's her secret. She doesn't want anybody to know. Bernie said she didn't even want me to know. And stories like that always get around."

"Is that why you wouldn't tell us what was wrong? Did you think we'd say something mean? Peter, I'd never think that way about your sister!"

"Well, I know you wouldn't, but I can 'ardly count on everybody thinking the same way as you."

"Your friends would Peter."

Newkirk smiled. "I suppose they would, at that."

They sat in silence for awhile. Finally Carter asked, "What are you going to do Peter?"

"What the bloody 'ell can I do?"

"You could go home."

Newkirk shook his head and, surprisingly, Carter saw a rueful smile cross his face. The Englishman pulled a letter out of his inside pocket.

"I got this yesterday. It's a letter from Mavis. Bernie told 'er that 'e told me. Always 'ad a big mouth, Bernie did. Any road, she told me that if I did anything daft, like trying to escape, that she'd bat me round the earhole from 'ere to Glasgow."

"Wow," Carter said. Then after a beat, he looked at Newkirk seriously and asked, "Do you think she could hold off till I'm there to watch?"

Newkirk stared at him, absolutely stupefied. Then with a loud snort, he began to laugh. "I'll be sure to ask 'er!" he said.

After his chuckling had subsided a bit, he went on. "Look Andrew, I didn't tell you about Mavis to make you feel sorry for me. I don't mean it as an excuse, it's more like an explanation. I wanted you to know why I was so rotten to you before all of this started. I hope you can believe that I wasn't really mad at you, but I'm still sorry about it."

"It's alright Peter," Carter said, looking away.

Newkirk worried that Carter wasn't being quite honest. "No, it's not alright Andrew. The things I said to you - well, they 'ad to be the worst things I could've said to you. And none of'em, none of'em," he repeated emphatically, "were true. I wish to God I'd never said them, but I did. And I'm going to regret them for the rest of my life. I only hope you can forgive me."

Newkirk's heart sank a bit when Carter didn't answer right away. He was unaware of all the conflicting thoughts running through his friend's head. Newkirk had been hurting, upset about his sister, and had lashed out without thinking, Carter told himself. Besides, he considered, what about all the stuff he - as Townsend - had done to Newkirk? Sure, maybe it wasn't his fault, but he couldn't help feeling bad that it had happened. But on the other hand, the Englishman's words had hurt Carter more than anything else in his life. Could he forget that?

And yet, after all the things he had seen, after all of the things he had learned about the Nazis and the horrific events happening around him, his own personal feelings seemed very small and inconsequential. Staying angry over a stupid argument seemed really dumb.

"Newkirk, have you ever had Chinese food?" he asked out of the blue.

"Can't say as I 'ave, no." Chinese food, where did that come from? the confused Londoner wondered.

"Oh. Well, do you know what a fortune cookie is?"

"No."

"Really? How could you not know what a fortune cookie is? Haven't you ever seen that Charlie Chan guy in the movies? Why, one time - "

Newkirk, who only the night before had resolved to be more patient with Carter and his nattering, remained polite with only a great exertion of willpower. "Andrew, no offence, but is there a point to all of this?"

"Oh yeah, sorry. Well anyway, the summer after I graduated from High School, I went to visit a friend of mine who took me to a Chinese restaurant and after you eat they bring you these cookies. They're about this big and folded over like this," he said, gesturing with his fingers in a way that gave Newkirk absolutely no idea as to what a fortune cookie really looked like, "and they don't taste like much, only a bit sweet and crunchy, but the really important thing is that they're hollow and inside they've got these little slips of paper with messages on 'em. Mostly they're supposed to tell you your future, but sometimes they've just got sayings on them. You know, proverbs, that kind of thing. I don't know how they get'em in there…" he broke off, a bit bashful at realizing that he was babbling again. Usually the guys would have told him to shut up by now, but Newkirk encouraged him to go on.

"Well, I pulled mine out and it said, 'You will not be punished for having anger, you will be punished by it.' I never really got what that meant - till now maybe - but I always remembered it. Cause you see, I think that's what happened to Townsend. I mean, I think he was right to want to stop Schuler and everything," though I sure wish he could've found another way to do it, Carter thought bitterly, "but I think he punished himself just as bad by being so angry. It didn't even stop when he died!" Carter took a deep breath. "And I don't want to be like that," he finished. (1)

"What are you saying Andrew?"

"I guess I'm saying that I forgive you."

"Really?" Newkirk was suddenly far more touched by this than he wanted to let on.

"Yeah."

"Then thank you," Newkirk said sincerely. However, after a minute he had to check.

"You're sure now? I treated you pretty shabbily after all. You're absolutely sure you can forgive me?"

"I'm sure."

"You're not doing it because the guv'nor told you to?"

"No! Jeez, can't a guy forgive a person around here?"

"That's good then." Newkirk said, then he started to chuckle again.

"What is it?"

"I can't believe you forgave me because of a message you found in some Chinese biscuit."

"Fortune cookie," Carter corrected. Then he hung his head to hide a sheepish grin. "I know, I guess it's kinda dumb."

"No, it's not dumb. I think it's a wise bit of advice, and you were smart to realize it and remember it. It's just that 'ere I am, acting like - "

"An obnoxious jerk?" Carter supplied, eyeing Newkirk warily, yet grinning a little just the same.

"Blimey, takin' a few liberties now, are we? Alright. I 'ad a bit more of a complimentary term in mind, " Newkirk lied - he actually thought obnoxious jerk was far too nice a phrase for how he had behaved, "but after all that, you can forgive me because you once ate a cookie 'owever many years ago. That's fate, that is."

"Really? You think?" Carter asked, amazed at the thought.

Newkirk looked at him seriously. "Well mate, you being such a forgiving sort might 'ave something to do with it too."

They talked for awhile longer, until it was nearly time for evening roll call. Then the two men walked back to Barracks 2 in a companionable silence; two friends momentarily at peace on a late summer's evening.


(1) I actually found this in a fortune cookie while I was writing this story. I tell you, you can't beat dessert delivered inspiration.