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"You see a dead enemy soldier and you say, At least it wasn't one of ours. You see a dead American soldier—one of your own—and you say, At least it wasn't me. You lose a friend and you say, To hell with this. Get me out of here."
― Donald Malarkey
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The snow creaks heavily under Malarkey's boots. He sighs, thinking about that time he bantered with one of his friends from Oregon about how the snow was thousand of times better than the rain. Now, a few years later, he wishes he could have some rain just as much as a cup of hot chocolate, and he wishes the snow would be fucking abolished from nature. He hates snow, now. Snow is evil. Snow took his best friend away from him. Technically it was German artillery, but it doesn't make so much difference now.
Malarkey hates the snow.
He sighs again, letting his body drop heavily in his foxhole. He hides his hands in his pockets, trying to warm them up a little without really succeeding, when his palm meets something. At first he frowns, he's quite sure he only had a pack of cigarettes and a wet tissue in that pocket.
Then he remembers.
A black cross. The black cross.
Malarkey rolls it carefully in his hands, with a touch so gentle as if he's afraid to break it, the corner of his mouth quirks up and suddenly his head is filled with memories; a lot of memories, all of them fighting with each other like they were waiting impatiently for him to touch the cross to come back to life. All of them so confusing, but he is so vivid it's like having him here in this very moment.
But he's not.
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Skip Muck reaches him at the table as Malarkey attacks a piece of bread that was laying on his plate.
"What's this supposed to be, Malark?" Skip asks, sliding in the chair in front of him and tossing his plate as if it 's burning his skin.
"Mashed potatoes, I believe."
"Friend, I'm telling you, if this is potatoes I'm Glenn Miller," Skip moans. "I swear this is Perconte's vomit from the other day. Isn't mashed potatoes supposed to be yellow-ish? Why is this stuff brown?"
Malarkey barks out a laugh. "Stop complaining and eat, smartass."
Skip Muck has been his best friend since day one. He's everybody's best friend, actually - how could he not be? - but he and Malarkey have been inseparable almost from the start. Muck is a fun bloke to have around, smart, carefree and sometimes Malarkey wishes he could be at least half the person Skip is.
"Oh, by the way," Malarkey says, rummaging in his pocket. "I found this near my night stand this morning!"
Skip's eyes lit up as he stretches his arm towards his friend to take the item.
"My cross!" he shouts a little bit too loud. "I thought I'd lost it! Thanks, Malark, you're a life saver."
Malarkey smiles at him, shaking his head at his friend's way too exaggerated reaction.T ypical of him.
"How come it was there, though?" Skip asks then, his brows knitted. "That's a long journey from my bed and I swear I placed it on top of that book I borrowed from Penk."
"You mean the book you stole from him," Malarkey comments, raising an eyebrow and restraining himself a laugh. When it's clear Skip won't answer that, Malarkey adds: "Dunno, man. It was just there."
Skip sighs, looking fervently at his black cross as if he's asking it 'why did you leave me?'. "Perhaps it wanted to fulfill my wishes... a little too soon, though."
"What wishes?"
"Nothing too overwhelming, just--" Skip snorts fleebly, "It's stupid. I just wish you'd take my cross, when something will happen to me."
Malarkey blinks once. Twice. Thrice. "What on earth are you on about? You're implying you'll die when we don't even have our jump wings yet?"
"That's surely not what I meant, bro, chill!" Skip laughs at him, leaning on the other side of the table to ruffle his hair. When he realises Malarkey is not convinced at all, he continues: "Maybe I phrased it wrong, I'm just saying, if something happens to me - if, okay? - then I'd want you to have my cross. To remember your friend Skip. That's why I find it funny it came to you the very day after I prayed about it."
Yeah, very funny, Malarkey thinks, but doesn't dare to say it out loud. Then he looks up at his friend and can't help but smile.
"You're a menace, Warren Muck."
"Hey!" The other one protests, trying to smack him in the head but failing miserably. "You don't have to worry, though. I'm strong, I'm invincible, fuckin' Germans won't get me because I have to marry Faye first, have a handful of babies, get a couple of dogs and take you to Tonawanda to see my home."
And Malarkey believes him.
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"You alright, Malark?" Someone says behind him, making him startle.
It's Lipton. Of course it's Lipton. Malarkey isn't sure how to answer: he isn't alright at all, hasn't been alright since he threw himself out of a plane what seemed like a decade ago. How could he be alright? He hasn't had a shower in months, his beard is way too long and thick, his feet are sore from the cold, his best friend fucking blew up in a foxhole, his other friend happened to be in the same foxhole, so, well, he lost him too, and another one of his closest friends was sent home due to a breakdown.
He's pretty sure he's not going to be alright anytime soon. Fucking snow.
"Yeah," he says instead to Lipton, with a small smile. "Yeah, thanks, Lip."
Lipton gives him a comforting smile, patting his shoulder as a reassurement after seeing what Malarkey is holding in his hands.
Breathe, Don, breathe, he tells himself. It's not easy to breathe when you have a tornado in your head and the cold pressing on your lungs. But he needs to breathe, he needs it for Skip.
Malarkey snorts at himself when the lyrics from a song come up in his mind. I just quarreled with Sue, that's why I'm blue, she's gone away and left me just like all dolls do. It's Paper Doll, the song Skip was obsessed with. Their favourite song to listen together, and those were Skip's favourite lyrics. Sometimes Skip was so deep into singing it that instead of calling him Don, he went for Doll. From that, Skip became Sue. And they would laugh together, and people would ask them what was wrong with them. Always. They were just being them, together like they were supposed to be until the end of the war and beyond.
Life didn't take the same view, though, and now Malarkey is alone.
He holds back some tears - he doesn't know why, but he hasn't had the time to even cry properly -, while gently wearing Skip Muck's cross with no intention of getting rid of it, like, ever. As he wears it, he swears he hears his best friend voice: I knew it would come back to you, eventually.