Where Saints Do Not Speak

The blonde woman crept among the ruins of the war as soldiers slept fitfully in their trenches. With lithe, quick steps, she bobbed and weaved between rubble-strewn streets, her heels clicking against the cobblestone as she walked with fervor.

The soldier watched her from his post, his hand resting against the butt of his rifle. He was ready to draw it from where it rested against his back at the slightest indication the young woman was acting suspiciously. She clutched a white cap tightly in her fist, and her apron fluttered in the light breeze that swept through the city of Amiens—almost like a sigh, perhaps, as it braced itself for battle. A nurse, then. From what country or organization, he didn’t know.

It was the secrecy with which she crept through the city that intrigued him the most. As she glanced over her shoulder once more, he found himself nervously adjusting the khaki tunic that hung loosely from his frame. She wasn’t where she was supposed to be. That much was certain.

He kept a close eye on the woman as she hurried toward the cathedral that loomed over the town square, veiled only in the darkness of night that clung to her skin. The grandiose arches and spires of the building seemed almost sinister in the limited light of the crescent moon—a reminder of the ghosts of years past buried deep within its walls. A promise to the ghosts of the future. On this, the eve of yet another world-shaking battle, the stone carvings of holy relics peered down at the nurse in the white apron as she slipped through a side door and into the chapel.

The man, only halfway through his eighteenth year and still lacking the confidence to alert someone of this nighttime disturbance, whipped his head back and forth to see if anyone else had seen her. His only companion was another soldier from his company, at least a dozen meters away, who looked suspiciously like he could be asleep standing up.

After hesitating for only a moment, the soldier abandoned his post and followed the young woman into the darkness of the chapel. He walked with less caution through the square, sidestepping chunks of buildings and kicking past smaller pebbles. He didn’t care if he made the smallest of noises. After all, he was allowed to be there, and she was not.

The door through which she’d whispered barely squeaked as he pried it open. He’d assumed that sandbags had been piled to block all entrances to the chapel, but the way in was mostly clear. As he searched the floor further, he found that several of the sandbags had been dragged haphazardly out of the way, leaving a space just narrow enough for a small person to squeeze through.

A massive room greeted him, lit only by a few candles that were melted down to the bottom of the wick. He crept forward, hand still resting on his rifle, as he caught sight of the woman sitting in a rickety chair in front of a figure of Christ on the cross. She didn’t seem to notice him as he took one step toward her. Another.

He knew that he was due back at his post. Knew that he didn’t have time to waste in this room, staring at a stranger, and that he should tell her to get up and get out. That it wasn’t safe in here, that she should go back to wherever her head nurse needed her to be. Instead, he watched as she bowed her head. In the dim light of the candles, he could see the golden glint of her hair and the sheen on her lips as she parted them, whispering words so softly he wasn’t sure if they even existed. After a moment, she reached into her pocket and pulled a sandwich from the depths of her dress.

His shoulders began to relax slightly as he studied her, looking for anywhere she could have concealed a gun or a grenade on her person. Her cap was thrown haphazardly onto a chair beside her—not very indicative of a crazed murderer hiding a weapon in her clothing. He took another step forward, vying to see her face in the dying candlelight.

“Do you want some?” she asked, not moving a muscle as she continued to stare at the ground.

He jumped, so unused to hearing another person’s voice—much less a woman’s—that he was thrown a bit off-kilter. “Er...sorry?” His own voice came out a bit strangled.

In response, she held up her sandwich. “Do you want some? You soldiers are always hungry, aren’t you?”

He cast a nervous glance toward the door. “I’m not sure if that’s the best idea, ma’am. I should really be getting back.”

She shrugged, taking a bite. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

It did look quite good, and he hadn’t eaten in hours. As if in protest, his stomach growled loudly. From his limited view of her face, he could just make out the faintest touch of a smile as it grazed her lips. He teetered back on his heels, knowing that his urge to take a quick rest was going to win out over reason. Without saying another word, he shuffled forward, keeping his gun firmly within reach and moving a chair away from her before sitting down. The smile didn’t leave her face until his eyes fell on her.

Beautiful was an understatement. She had to be around his age, with hair that was swept up at the nape of her neck and the most piercing blue eyes he’d ever seen. Her skin was drawn and pale despite the summer heat—no doubt from time spent inside hospitals—but her cheeks were rosy, and when her eyes met his he could’ve sworn hers widened ever so slightly. Her dress underneath the apron was dark blue. American.

Mutely, she broke her sandwich in half and handed it to him, watching him with curiosity as he sniffed it. After far too few hunger-driven moments he deemed it safe to eat, tearing off a large chunk with his teeth and swallowing it quickly.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” she said at last, her voice swallowed by the emptiness of the room.

He cleared his throat, pulling at the collar of his uniform. “My company just arrived in the city yesterday, and we’re moving to the trenches in a matter of hours. I’m not from around...here,” he replied, waving his hands around to indicate that of course he wasn’t from France.

A smirk kicked up the corner of her lips. “I didn’t expect a soldier in British colors to be from around here, sir.”

A blush threatened to creep up his neck, and he rubbed his hands against the legs of his trousers. “Right. Well...what’s your name then, Miss? If you’re so familiar with the cathedral, surely some of the men stationed here know of you.”

A pause. “I think I’ll keep that information between myself and God, Private,” she murmured, leaning farther back in her chair. “After all, you never know who’s watching.” The last bit was said with a pointed look in his direction.

He held up his arms in response, conceding her point. “Could you at least tell me what you’re doing here? So I know you’re not an international security threat?”

A laugh slipped out of her, louder than any noise either of them had made previously. It echoed off the walls, ricocheting between stone pillars. “I assure you that I am completely harmless. This is just where I choose to spend my breaks. The Canadian company that’s been stationed here for the past week doesn’t seem to mind, as long as I don’t cause any disturbances.”

He felt uneasy. Whether it was about her presence in the church, or his presence in the church, he wasn’t sure. Still, he felt it best to continue to gather information on her. Just in case it proved useful in the future, of course. “Why would you want to spend your break alone in a massive tomb?”

This was clearly the wrong thing to say. She looked over at him a little incredulously, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she did so. “Is that really what you think this place is?”

He sighed. “I mean, obviously I know it’s a cathedral. It just...it feels so macabre in here, doesn’t it? All boarded up, completely silent and devoid of life?”

She contemplated his words for a moment, then nodded ever so slightly. “I suppose I could see how you feel that way,” she said, gazing at the empty chairs surrounding them. “I find it peaceful. I get maybe thirty minutes of complete silence a day, and twenty-five of those are spent here.” As the last words left her mouth, her shoulders slumped. All at once, it

looked as though tiredness had completely taken over her frame.

His ears burned from embarrassment. “I’m sorry, ma’am. About what I said, and about disturbing your peace and quiet. I should leave you be and—”

She waved a hand at him. “No, don’t be sorry. You’re not screaming or dying, so you’re a welcome disturbance. Please, at least finish the sandwich before you go.”

So he did. Despite his better judgment, he took another bite of the sandwich, this time choosing to savor it before washing it down with a swig of water from his canteen. For several moments, they sat in silence, with only the sounds of chewing filling the space between them.

“What do you think happens after all this?” she asked suddenly, brandishing her half-eaten sandwich toward the ceiling.

He didn’t know her name. Barely knew his, even. She was an utter stranger to him, found amidst the rubble and ruin of the Great War as it raged towards them, breathing down their necks in a false imitation of past lovers.

Sliding down in his seat, he stared at his boots, tucked underneath the chair in front of him and caked in a layer of dirt and grime. The floor spun out before his eyes: marble decorated in patterns of black and white. He made sure to swallow the bite of sandwich, so graciously given, before speaking. “After the war? Hell, who knows if that’ll ever—”

She held up a hand, the long sleeve of her nurse’s uniform speckled with dark stains. “No...I mean, what do you think happens after all of this?” On the last word, she pinwheeled her arms wider.

He knew what she was trying to get at. At least, he thought he did. Still, he enjoyed seeing the exasperated look settle on her pale face when he raised his eyebrows in confusion. She sighed, giving him the tiniest shake of her head as if his simple mind couldn’t

comprehend the most basic of questions. “What do you think happens after we die, soldier?” she asked at last, looking at him earnestly.

He tried to keep a smile from creeping across his lips as he tilted his head back and gazed upwards. Far, far above their heads, vaulted ceilings soared, bedecked in ancient tiles and rigid lines of stone. On all sides, stained glass windows loomed, the saints depicted in them staring down at him. Emulations of some more ancient colossus. Representations of an all-powerful deity.

The chapel in the center of Amiens stood as a sentinel to its people, its very walls boasting their devotion to God with every whisper of fabric against stone, every caress of wind against the gargoyles that kept a watchful eye over the town.

He shook his head, drawing his eyes from the wonders that had trapped the attention of sinners and saints for centuries. “Well, I don’t know about all of this,” he began, gesturing at the statues of various religious figures surrounding them. Even after the city had tried to cover all of the most valuable and sacred elements of the chapel, they still watched over the pair where they sat, quiet and mostly unnoticed.

The young woman looked around, her soft blue eyes falling on a depiction of the Virgin Mary. A smile lifted the corners of her lips, and he found himself transfixed. He’d always had a fascination with beautiful art, and this night was no exception. “On religion? Or just Catholicism?” she breathed, still looking toward the image of the young woman.

He shrugged. “Maybe just Catholicism? Maybe the whole lot of it? I’m not quite sure. I was raised Protestant, but now...” he trailed off, unable and unwilling to go into everything that hid behind that sentence.

She nodded, seemingly unperturbed by his admission. “So? Is it nothing, then? Is it just cold, dark dirt and a long nap for you, at the end of it all?”

Again, he shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. I’d like to believe there’s something...more, you know? It can’t just be this.”

As if on cue, an explosion ripped through the air in the distance. She winced, rubbing the back of her neck as her gaze turned worried.

In an effort to distract her, he continued. “What about you, ma’am? What is it that you expect will happen?”

It seemed to work, because she blinked and shook the distress from where she carried it in her shoulders. She began rummaging through the pockets of her white nurse’s apron, and he watched with a sense of muted fascination as she pulled three nubs of what used to be candles from the depths of her dress. She set them on the chair in front of her in a neat row, producing a match from her other pocket and proceeding to light each one carefully. Before relaxing back in her seat, she crossed herself, bending her head and muttering words under her breath that were too quiet for him to hear.

It was like watching a play—something so other from everything that he’d experienced in the past eight months. Something a little bit beautiful, in the midst of the death and the carnage and the killing.

She leaned back once more, the soft light of the candles dancing across her eyes as she stared at them. “If you haven’t noticed, I would consider myself to be devout,” she answered at last, her words just loud enough to float to his ears. “More than anything, I believe in the concept of forever. I need to, I suppose. The thought that the things I do here will mean something for longer than my body can carry me from task to task is what drives me. The thought that no goodbye is really goodbye...I need that. I strive for forever.” On the last word, her eyes shuttered and grew a little glassy.

He almost felt like he should avert his gaze. Instead, he reached out just a little, letting the tips of his fingers graze the back of her hand. “I understand. Especially here. Especially now. I understand.”

She laughed softly, brushing her knuckles against her eyes. “Of course, I’d prefer that forever didn’t come quite so soon. The promise of a life after this one still seems a little daunting when this one has still been so short.”

He chuckled, even as a symphony of warfare grew to a crescendo in his head. He knew what she meant, more than he’d like to admit. “Well,” he started, taking one last bite of the sandwich she’d shared with him before offering her a small smile, “I hope that forever finds you slowly, ma’am. And as a willing participant.”

She tilted her head to him, her eyes lined with silver as a watery smile flitted across her face. “The same goes for you, Private. May something more be everything you’re hoping for, after all of this.”

He tipped his cap to her, and rose slowly from his chair. As the nurse and the soldier parted ways, the city of Amiens slept peacefully amidst the hailstorm of gunfire to the east. Their saints stood over them, frozen in colorful silence, watching as a slow-creeping horror descended upon their city, and did nothing at all to stop it.

Mckenzie Kolstad

Gilbert AZ, USA

Mckenzie Kolstad is from Gilbert, Arizona. She just started her first semester of her master’s program at Roger Williams University in forensic mental health counseling.