September 10, 1916
My dearest Emily,
It has already been 21 months since the war began. Right now, I am sitting where we first met, where you took hold of my arm and where the best moments of my life began, without me knowing it. At first, I was terrified, but then I learned to know the land of the dead, and to know you. When you left me by disappearing before my eyes, I immediately regretted not holding you back and not drinking that cup filled with poison. I could have avoided living through this dreadful war, and I could have stayed with you forever. If someone told me that I would join you upon my death during this war, I wouldn't hesitate to take on the most dangerous tasks to be with you. Unfortunately, I don't know. Sometimes, I hesitate to pull the trigger when the barrel of my rifle is pressed against my temple, but then I remember that you left so I could live a better life, so I could be happy with my wife, Victoria. You left for nothing. I live with a woman I absolutely do not love. How can you love someone while loving another?
At this moment, I am home because I have contracted tuberculosis. They allowed me to come home for 15 days to recover, but returning home after so much time spent at the front is very difficult. When the town crier shouts and rings his bell, it makes me feel like I'm back there. Every time a door slams or someone shouts, I jump, thinking I have my rifle in my hands. There is a name for this: post-traumatic stress.
My mother is happy that her son is also fighting in the war, believing that it will boost her public standing. My father, on the other hand, seems to better understand what I am going through.
During my leave, I live with my wife Victoria, but it exasperates me. She is not unkind, but I will never love her as much as I love you. In secret, I have drawn a picture of you that I will keep in my wallet; perhaps it will help me hold on to hope and courage during the war. While walking around the house, I came across a piano, and of course, I played the piece we played together. I miss you terribly. If I had to fight in this war for 10 years just to see you once, I think I wouldn't hesitate for a single second.
At the end of my leave, I will be joining the Battle of the Somme. It is one of the bloodiest battles of this war. At least I will have this drawing of you to keep me company.
I no longer have the words to describe what I feel for you. I will keep these letters and this drawing in the front pocket of my jacket; at least I will be able to see your face when I die.
With love and tenderness,
Your husband, Victor Van Dort
To be sent to:
The person who was most dear to me