Chapter 7 – I Never Knew
"To be silent oft is to learn." - Edward Counsel, Maxims
Newkirk slept deeply throughout the entire rest of that day, thankfully without a hint of the nightmares. LeBeau decided that rest was more important than food and so did not awaken his English friend in order to eat. Despite this consideration, the horror in mid-air again invaded his sleep by early evening. This time as before, he recognized the horribly contorted faces within the flames as those of his lost Wimpey's crewmates. Oh God mates! I'm so sorry, so very sorry. Why couldn't it have been me instead? So sorry I couldn't help you...
Then, as he helplessly stared at them flailing about in unbearable, excruciating agony, three of the faces suddenly morphed into those of Kinch, Andrew and the Colonel.
"OH GOD NO!" His agonizingly hoarse scream brought LeBeau running into the room.
"Pierre! What is wrong? Keep quiet, mon ami, you are hurting yourself!" The Frenchman flung himself to his knees beside the bunk, frantically trying to calm his nearly hysterical friend. "Shhh, quiet…please calm down!"
It took many long minutes for Newkirk to fully awaken and he scrabbled desperately to find his slate. He found it and frantically wrote, Where are they? Out in the rain? Are they back? Are they safe?
"No Pierre, they are not back. They will not be back for some time yet. Do not worry about the weather; the rain stopped a few hours ago while you slept. Please, please calm down! What has frightened you so?"
The Englishman struggled to bring his breathing under control as he chalked a desperate plea: I need a ciggie - please Louis!
LeBeau shook his head as he reached to grasp Newkirk by the shoulder. "I am sorry mon ami. You know you cannot smoke right now." The Frenchman leaned in to examine Newkirk closely; the Englishman's hands were trembling and he was perspiring heavily. Wilson had earlier explained the symptoms Newkirk would experience due to nicotine withdrawal. This, coupled with the nightmares and the stress of his worry over their other friends drove him into an even worse mental and physical state.
LeBeau cast about desperately for something to distract his English friend's mind and came up empty. He then remembered that he had just finished preparing a fresh pot of coffee in preparation for the team's return from the mission when he heard Newkirk cry out. Since Newkirk could not smoke right now, coffee would be the next best thing to steady his broken nerves.
"One moment, Pierre," he said. "I will be right back."
He returned with a mug of fresh, hot coffee and handed it to Newkirk, who accepted it gratefully. LeBeau stood by and waited patiently as Newkirk tried to calm himself whilst he sipped the coffee. Despite his promise not to 'push it', he decided that it would more than likely help if he could get Newkirk to talk about what was causing him such agony.
LeBeau decided to beard the lion in his den and moved to sit down on the side of the bunk at Newkirk's feet. He gestured at the slate as he said, "You must tell me what has caused you to become so upset. Please do not deny it mon ami, for it is quite plain to me that you are having the dreams again. You must talk about it like we did before, remember?"
Finally lacking the will to refute LeBeau's words, Newkirk nodded. Even though he couldn't deny the fact that he again suffered from the nightmares, he really didn't want to reveal the details to anyone, even Louis. But there seemed to be no way out of it. He certainly couldn't continue this way; he felt that the nightmares would eventually drive him mad if he didn't get some relief.
"I do not understand what has caused you to become so upset. Why have the dreams come back? Are they the same or different this time? Did we not go through this before?"
Newkirk half-shrugged at his French friend's questions. He had no idea why the nightmares had returned this time. LeBeau, however, was right; the two of them had gone through this before. Sometime after they had first met, it had been the constant nightmares that had (incongruously enough in Newkirk's opinion) been the thing that finally drew he and Louis onto the path to friendship. He swiped the slate clean to answer LeBeau's last question.
You don't know the whole story, Louis.
"Then tell me the whole story, mon ami," Louis calmly replied. "I remember before that you had terrible dreams of your plane being shot down. You were the only one to survive, oui?"
Newkirk nodded sadly.
LeBeau leaned in a bit and said, "Please mon ami, you must tell me why you are in such distress."
Newkirk took a deep breath. He honestly didn't know how to respond by writing but reckoned it was much better than having to speak about the horror he had witnessed. He decided to be as brief and concise as possible. He began writing, halting frequently to regain his composure, telling LeBeau how he had been blown out of the tail section when his plane was cut in half by ack-ack and how he regained consciousness tumbling wildly amidst the explosions. He stopped and covered his eyes with his right hand, seeking to stem the tears that were threatening to flow.
LeBeau gently grasped his shoulder to encourage him to continue. Newkirk took another deep breath before he shakily wrote, It gets worse Louis, much worse.
"Please go ahead when you are ready. You simply must purge yourself of this to get better, mon ami."
I don't want to remember.
"I know, Pierre. But unless you release them, these memories will continue to come unbidden. Trust me mon ami."
Give me a few minutes.
Newkirk closed his eyes and began breathing fast and hard as he deliberately summoned up the horrifying memory of his crewmates plunging in flames from the shattered fuselage of their plane. He clutched the slate and began writing.
LeBeau's breath caught in his throat as he read what his English friend wrote. "Oh Pierre...I am so sorry. I had no idea...oh mon ami! How terrible!"
Newkirk swiped the slate clean in order to write a bit more and finally complete his gruesome recitation. He made sure, however, not to make any mention of his vision of the Colonel, Kinch and Carter suffering the same horrible, agonizing death as his crewmates. He dropped the slate onto his lap and collapsed back onto his pillow, completely drained.
LeBeau sat in stunned silence after reading his English friend's words. He finally found his voice and spoke very softly, "Pierre, I fully understand now why you acted the way you did when I first met you. I am so sorry mon ami, I never knew."
Newkirk nodded slightly. He reached for the slate again and wrote, How could you know? I never told you. He swiped the slate clean and then wrote, But why wasn't it me instead of them? No one would've missed me.
"Au contraire, mon ami. Mavis would have mourned you greatly."
Yes, I suppose my Mave would've missed me. But Fred was engaged! Denis and his wife had a baby! Jack was his mum's only support!
LeBeau sighed, "C'est la guerre, mon ami. I do not know why you were the only survivor. It was just the way it happened. There is no rhyme or reason. Let me tell you this Pierre, it is not your fault. Do you hear me?"
That's not how it feels.
LeBeau reached to grasp Newkirk's shoulder again as the Englishman's dejection touched a responsive chord in him, one that he thought he had successfully buried away long ago. He too felt guilt; guilt at how he had treated Newkirk when they first met, as well as the same guilt that led to his hatred of all Englishmen back then. He shook himself out of his reverie and looked down at an obviously exhausted Newkirk.
"Try to get some more sleep Pierre."
Newkirk shook his head and wrote, Can't sleep.
Until the others return, finished LeBeau mentally. He suddenly remembered that Newkirk had not eaten all day and he asked, "Are you hungry mon ami?"
Newkirk smiled wanly as he wrote A mite peckish, yes.
LeBeau patted his English friend on the shoulder and stood up. "I will bring you something to eat and we will wait together, oui?"
Thank you Louis.
"You are most welcome Pierre. I will be right back."
Newkirk shook his head after LeBeau left. Sometimes I think that little Frenchman knows me too well, he mused. Somehow it didn't bother him as much as he thought it would; on the contrary, it felt rather more of a comfort. And LeBeau had been right. He already felt just a little bit lighter after his 'conversation' with his French friend.
