He writes the first letter in Rachamps, by the unsteady flickering of candles in the convent. Eugene hasn't written many letters since the war started. Just a few to his mother, whenever he got the opportunity. The most pressing obstacle to letter writing was the lack of materials; he could hardly ever find paper during the month in Bastogne. Luckily the nuns have paper aplenty, and pens.
He is stuck before he even writes the first word. To his mother, he writes "dear", but that seems too familiar to use with Renée. But to use no salutation at all feels cold. He is not even sure how to classify their relationship. Acquaintances? Friends? Colleagues?
In the end he settles on just "To Renée". Having got that part down, he now wonders what he should write to her about. Not the battles. Eugene doubts she is interested in such things. Not the hardship of the men or his work. As a nurse, she has seen plenty of the horrors of war. The pen in his hand remains unmoving as minutes tick by and Eugene wonders what on earth he is supposed to write about.
Instead of battles or wounds, he writes about the convent. He writes about how glad everybody is to have a night to just relax. He writes about the choir, and what the church looks like, bathed in the golden glow of a hundred candles. It's a pathetic topic, but he honestly has no idea what else to write about.
He signs the letter with just "Eugene". He rereads it, wondering what she will think. He imagines her reactions, the way she will furrow her brow or tilt her head when reading. A butterfly starts up in his stomach as he wonders what she is expecting from him. There's no use fretting about it though, so he folds up the paper, puts it in an envelope, and seals it. He copies her address onto the envelope carefully, looking at the paper she gave him multiple times to check that he's got it right. When he's satisfied, he gives it to one of the nuns to mail, and goes to rejoin the others in the nave.
The mood of the men is relaxed, and Eugene breathes a deep sigh of relief. The choir sings angelically, and as Eugene leans back in the pew he closes his eyes, thankful beyond words for this night of reprieve. The others are no doubt relieved that for tonight their lives are not on the line, but if possible, Eugene is more so. Tonight there are no wounds to bandage, no trees exploding around them, no flares hissing as they fly overhead like oversized comets, momentarily blazing brighter than the sun. It is their first night indoors since they first reached Bastogne over a month ago. Everything about the church feels unreal, from the beautiful singing to the sulfurous glow of the candles. The men, grimy and exhausted, are out of place in this small piece of heaven. Nobody is very talkative. Instead, each man silently savors this stolen moment of peace.
Renée's reply finds him in Haguenau. She wrote back telling him how pleased she was to receive his letter, what life is like in Bastogne now that there's no longer fighting in the area. American troops still occupy the area and the town has to rebuild substantially, but life goes on. She is still working as a nurse, but the number of patients has gone down drastically now that the wounded are able to be evacuated. When he finishes reading he starts over again.
Eugene is surprised at how Renée's letter affects him. Reading it is like a breath of fresh air, not unlike the night spent in Rachamps. In the war-torn town of Haguenau, Renée's letter, neatly written in blue ink, is a reminder that somewhere out there, there is a place that war no longer ravages. That there are other people in the world beyond Easy Company and the Germans. Sometimes, it's all too easy to forget.
He puts her letter in a side pocket of his bag so it doesn't get crushed. His hand brushes the rest of the chocolate, the paper and foil folded over to keep it closed. He'd opened it when they first arrived in Haguenau, a few days ago; there is still more than half left. He breaks off a bite and pops it in his mouth. The dark chocolate is not as sweet as he would like, but it is good. Apparently some of the other guys got their hands on some Hershey bars earlier. Liebgott offered Eugene one, but he declined. He thought he should probably finish the one Renée gave him first.
It is night, and Eugene is lying flat on a bunk bed in one of the bombed out houses in Haguenau. In the room with him are Spina, Skinny, Shifty, and Luz, all asleep. Renée's letter is lying open on his chest. The room is dark, torn curtains half obscuring the moonlight that filters through the cracked windowpanes. Against the darkness the moonlight outlines Eugene's profile like the silver lining of a cloud. A cigarette is held between his lips and after a long drag he exhales slowly, pale dragons of smoke curling from his breath to dissipate in the night air.
It's been about two days since he received her letter, but he hasn't written a reply yet. He was going to, that day, but Jackson's death stopped that. Eugene thought he was over this now, but each death still cuts. In the darkness Jackson's screaming and crying come back to haunt him, echoing in his mind as if he were still alive, half his face torn to pieces by his own grenade.
"I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"
Jackson had lied about his age to join the Army at 16. Did his parents approve? Did they even encourage him, maybe, convinced as everybody was that the best thing a young man could do was fight for his country? Eugene wonders what his parents will think when they get the letter from the war department. Reading the neatly typed message in that stern black ink, on crisp, clean paper that bears the news of death, like an evil omen. Dear Mrs. Jackson. It is with deep regret that I am writing to inform you...
During the day he can distract himself with work, but at night, alone with his thoughts, they skulk their way in and begin to take root. He'd taken Renée's letter out to read again to divert his attention, to feel again that breath of fresh air he'd felt when he read it the first time. It worked, mostly, until he put the letter down and Jackson's screams started up again in his head.
Eugene folds up Renée's letter and puts it in his jacket, which is hanging off the bedpost. Once again, he wonders what he should write to her when he replies. Again, he doesn't want to include anything about the war. Eugene isn't sure why he is trying to avoid these topics. Renée is a nurse, she's seen the worst the war has to offer. In fact she might even be expecting him to write about the war, and is wondering why he hasn't. Eugene considers telling her about Jackson. How he had lied to join the Army, how he had been a bit like a kid brother to the rest of the company, and how he had died. Even as he entertains the idea he can see the sentences forming in his mind. As Eugene takes another drag, the lit tip of his cigarette briefly flares a bright, fiery orange.
When Eugene writes back he writes about Easy Company's trip from Rachamps to Haguena, what the company has been doing since they arrived, the patrol, and finally, Jackson's death. He is startled at how easy it was. The story seemed to spin itself from ink and paper, the words spilling out of the pen and stumbling over themselves. Before he knew it he had finished.
As he lays the pen down, he feels something different. It is not unlike how he used to feel in Bastogne when he saw Renée at the hospital, like a load had been lifted off him. It is a cool and cleansing relief, and he is surprised at himself for the depth of his feeling. He feels like a pent-up dam suddenly releasing the floods it has been holding back, letting everything out in a sudden rush from mind to pen to paper.
He rereads his letter. He has spared Renée little of the story, including everything that came to mind, even the grislier details such as Jackson's agonized crying, and how he seemed to choke on his own blood as he died. Again, he worries about what she will think. It's hardly the kind of letter a girl expects to receive, but Eugene is an honest man and doesn't like to hide the truth as he sees it. Besides, Renée is hardly a delicate flower either. When he looked into her eyes he saw a girl, yes, but he also saw strength, and frankness. She doesn't seem like the type to thank him for hiding the war from her.
Eugene knows all this, but still can't suppress a twinge of doubt as he rereads. But he doesn't have time to rewrite it, and anyways, throwing this one away would be a waste of ink and paper.
This chapter's a bit shorter than the others, sorry about that. I ran into a bit of writer's block this last week so I didn't get to write as much as I wanted to. But I'll still try to stick to updating at least once a week, so please look forward to new chapters! Thanks ChocAndSnow19 and airborneIMPREZA again, for being such faithful reviewers! Reviews are always loved, if you are enjoying the story so far please leave a review, I would really appreciate it. Thanks!