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Eberhard refused to call Charon by that name. Initially, he thought it stunk of a pretentiousness akin to Mr Mullenberg’s rants about Vergil’s poems, but after spending much time with his classmate, the answer was much more straightforward than he hoped. Forfeiting that name which linked the two of them together, that Paul Haumann that woke him up in the morning and helped him with his homework, would be no longer, and taking that place is the being who took his skin, Charon.
“Eberhard, forgive me,” Charon gripped the soldier by the shoulder and lifted his veil over the other man’s head. Major Braun’s mind went blank with sheer terror, his mind overloaded by the dreadful sight before him. In the midst, he swore he felt a cold touch against his cheek. Maybe it was the touch of angels coming to condemn his soul to the deepest pits of hell, or the grace of the Holy Mary absolving him of sin scratched so deep in his flesh from a conscience not his. However, the horrors and pure potent death enveloped his psyche, shrieking right before falling unconscious between two firm hands..
Charon gently laid Eberhard on a cart normally assigned for the corpses of the fallen, and took it to the graveyard where they now rest in peace. As the weight started to shift and rock, Charon halted. Once he fully woke, Braun was stunned at the clear sky above. The world he knew was rife with artillery fire and soldiers kicking up cloudy sprays of mud that blotted out everything above, but where was this place, so untainted by war. Was this heaven?
He slowly sat up, and swept off the straw on his torso.
“I’m cold, Paul.”
The silence of death was, also. Charon could barely offer cryptic comforts for his dear friend. As sincere as he could muster, he pulled up the dirty wagon shroud and laid it over Eberhard.
Paul’s touch was never this distant.
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The Foundation listened to his shaky retelling of the Manus manipulation, the radio waves doing little to hide the unease that festered in his throat. Major Braun was still rattled by Charon’s interference, but had settled down enough to be deemed sane enough by the nurses in Montpaix. Marsha let him out for walks from time to time, which helped him steady his memories but let the guilt of war encroach deeper into his psyche.
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“Paul? Where's Paul Haumann!? Why isn't he here with us?”
“He died in the last attack. I know you guys were close… but that's just how it is here. It's cruel, but you'll have to accept he's never coming back, and quick.”
…
“It was a shame too, he had so much potential.”
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Cheers roared over the trenches, beer sloshing into the air with the happy tears of many. Peace was a pipe dream for these young men for so long, and it would be theirs once the armistice was signed. Paul and Eberhard stood in the graveyard together, away from the stuffy diplomacy of Montpaix and the suffocatingly warm frontline cheers.
The former schoolboys stood atop the graveyard, casting their gaze down on the distant haze. A letter from Mr Muhlenberge was read and discarded with scorn. How cruel it was now, to be told that their sacrifices were for the noblest cause, for the glory of their country. That the disruption of their halcyon days of school was of the utmost importance, and the fall of Class 3 was something to be proud of. Eberhard could throw up at the notion.
Perhaps he could atone by the side of his dead lover.
The steel chamber weighed down on his conscience.
He spoke up amid the solemn silence.
“The choices I’ve made may be irreversible, but I’ve made up my mind. There’s only one path for me now.”
As Eberhard started to walk away, there was an unfamiliar tug at where Charon’s heart would be. They both knew what this ‘walk’ was—it was just a way to keep Paul’s image of him untainted by weakness, but he didn’t get far before a cold, gloved hand grasped his own.
“I know death might seem like a just punishment for yourself, but please, have compassion, we may find something within life itself. Our fallen brothers may not forgive you, but you can show them your change, Eberhard.”
Everything stilled for a moment, but it was always fragile, whether from the absence of gunfire or the tense relations between the two soldiers.
His fingers silently coiled around the grip of the small gun.
“You don’t know the number of men, perhaps hundreds or thousands, I’ve blindly driven to their death… I’d rather die now than be driven mad by guilt…”
“Maybe so, but I’d rather soothe your madness than be the one to bury your corpse here.”
Was that Paul?
No, there was no gentle smile or softening expectant eyes, no warm hand to cover his own in quiet moments or chaste kisses.
But Charon was so assuring. That voice that knew everything, once in class and study sessions, now in the midst of a great war. Great sorrow washed over him again.
Poppies stared at him expectantly, and the loose grip on the gun in Eberhard’s slacks faded away to nothing, as did his resolve. As resonant sobs shook his frame, Charon could do no better than to observe, and loosely grasp his figure, fingers carrying an unnatural stiffness.
“Eberhard, no longer do I want you to continuously blame yourself. War will warp consciousnesses and beliefs, many into victory assured hounds. You are not entirely at fault here.”
“...Paul,” his voice trembled, clenching at the uniform he never wanted to wear.
“...”
“I'm here, Eberhard.”
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“I cannot go with you,” Charon stroked his beloved war horse, Andreas, “The Foundation’s surveillance will only hinder my path forward, and this task can only be accomplished by me.”
“I can still accompany you though.”
“The path I take is long and treacherous, rife with danger. I do not feel comfortable with the potential that you may suffer serious injury or ailment with no medic.”
“Then why is…”
“She is a special case.”
With a clench in his jaw, Eberhard watches as the two set off on horseback, torn between stopping them and dragging them to the Foundation so they could be together longer and the freedom that Charon so desired akin to his dear Paul. And they faded away into the horizon.
Even if he was no longer the man he once knew and loved with his whole heart, his ghost would still return as Charon.