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The gentle November breeze brushed through Eberhard's hair. Messing it up slightly. Although it had already been messy, he didn’t want to look disheveled beyond recognition after all. Patting his hair down in an attempt to keep it in my place. It kind of worked he supposed.
It had been a few days since the Major had shot himself in the head. His corpse buried deep in the soil as a poppy flower sprouted in the centre, giving the melancholy and monotone sight some sort of vibrance of life. Even if Eberhard's body had been buried six feet under quite some time ago, he still wished to stay around his own grave a while longer before finally drifting away.
Sometimes, he’d see Charon visit. Still holding that red journal, the burial mound still on his head, covering the face Eberhard so desperately wanted to see. But he knew he couldn’t, he had already suffered the fate of witnessing “the true face of death” once, and was knocked out unconscious because of it. Though he was sure that was highly unlikely to happen to him as a spirit, he didn’t wanna take the chances. So the man pushed his curiosity aside for now. After all, he so desperately wanted to see the face of the one he loved before finally “dying”, even if this wasn’t his lover—at least not completely.
Eberhard knew loving the man was strange, it would even get him killed in the army. But he didn’t care, he believed in love. That anyone could love who they wanted. But, sometimes, this would betray him. The dark thoughts in his head would tell him, deep in his heart. That loving Paul was weird, disgusting, immoral.
He couldn’t like Paul, he couldn’t. It defied everything he grew up with, everything he learnt.
After all, he was a boy. Not a girl.
But now, he couldn’t care anymore. After the war had ended, he let his love flourish in his heart. Even if he knew that the person he called “Paul” wasn’t the one he loved. It was someone else, but he chose to believe, believe that it was who he wanted. He didn’t blame Charon, he couldn’t after all. This is something Charon himself couldn’t control.
But sometimes, he wished he had died with Paul on that cold night. So the two could move on to the afterlife together.
During the grave keepers visits, Eberhard would see Charon would bring along a young girl. She looked around 17 years old, had light hazel hair, and wore the uniform of those foundation workers. Eberhard had caught her name once when her and Charon were talking, it was “Merel”. Sometimes those two would sit in silence at the grave, paying respects to the buried man. Or if Merel let her curiosity get the best of her, she’d gather the courage to ask Charon about Eberhard, wanting to hear the stories about the dead companion of his. And Charon had always answered to his best ability.
It made Eberhard feel proud, albeit happy as well. That Charon would sometimes speak of him, despite the times of their disputes and arguments when he was under the strings of the Manus. Happy that Charon still remembered him. Sometimes the grave keeper would tell the girl about the Majors “brave” stories, or sometimes what they did together in their childhood. It made the lingering ghost always reminisce about the past fondly.
While looking back on past memories, the sudden splash of water against his feet caught him off guard. The man glanced down, seeing no water. But the sounds of water splashing together, the creaking of wood. It was crystal clear to his ears, and Eberhard was sure his hearing was still fine when he died, or that he never experienced hallucinations. Aside from when he was extremely intoxicated.
He brushed it off, thinking that it was his own mind playing tricks on him. Making him hear things that weren’t there, it was a common occurrence in humans after all. But the more he heard the sounds of water, the feeling of it around his shoe. It only made him slightly more irritated, more curious if he was really hearing things or not.
Looking around, his eyes landed on the blurry image of a door. A large one at that. Its gates were open, displaying an endless river, the waters gently lapping over each other. And in the far end, was a boat and a silhouette of a man standing there. Eberhard rubbed his eyes hard with the bloodied gloves, making sure he wasn’t seeing this.
But no matter how hard he rubbed, that vision stayed. And it only got clearer as he saw the boat slowly approach.
Finally, once the boat was close enough. Eberhard finally saw the silhouette of the man controlling it.
“Paul?..”
The shock immediately brought him to attention, his back straightening tensely as his eyes widened like it never had before. The grave keeper stood on the boat, putting the paddle on its makeshift handle as he says.
“Yes, it’s me. Eberhard.”
The voice Eberhard had listened to his whole life, watching it grow from young and pitched, to calm and low. Yet, hearing it now when it was talking to him directly was different from when he heard the voice talking to Merel. When the holder of it was unable to see him.
“What are you doing here?” The Major asks, using the tombstone as a handle to help him stand up, still feeling the sharp pain in his head from the bullet. It was a lingering headache that never seemed to go away.
“I’m here to carry your soul down the river.”
Eberhard cocked his head slightly to the side, he knew Charon had always said he ferried the lost souls down the river of the underworld, but he had always registered it as a mere metaphor of him being a grave keeper. The man had never imagined Charon to actually mean it. But he didn’t question it, going along with it either way.
He walked towards the large doors and the boat, slowly putting one leg in front of the other until he was on the same boat as Charon.
“Well, since you are already here. Let's go then, I don’t want to keep you stalling here for so long.”
﹌﹌﹌
Charon himself had never imagined he would have to ferry the only soul he didn’t wish to put the rest down the river of STYX, the one he loved. Eberhard Braunn.
While manoeuvring the boat down the river gently, his hands would occasionally tighten around the wooden handle a bit tighter, his strokes getting slightly more slow or fast at times. It made his dog tags clink together, making Eberhard always turn to look at Charon.
He didn’t mind this job he had, carrying and accompanying those souls lost to the tragic fate of death down this melancholic river, watching those same souls grieve the life they could’ve had. The things they could’ve done. Some weeped, others stayed quiet. Some were mad, and some were even happy about the loss of their own lives. Charon had always been there, though he didn’t always offer consolation to those poor souls. He knew his way of words isn’t the best, and isn't as good as the vessel he uses. But he tries anyway.
Eberhard was one of those that stayed quiet throughout the long journey. Sometimes trying to make small talk, pointing out things he didn’t expect from the dark void—such as the fake moon that displayed all its phases in the sky. “Hey, Paul. Is that the moon? I didn’t expect such a place to have the moon displayed, especially all its lunar phases”
“Indeed. It is to show the “phases of life” that humans experience. It acts as a metaphor for it.” The gravekeeper replied, tilting his head up from its bowed position to look at the fake moon for a while, watching its glow cast upon their boat. “Really? That’s one way to show appreciation for human life” Eberhard said, before going quiet once again.
The silence didn’t bother Charon, in fact he enjoyed the silence more than the loud talks of the living. But it was these times when he felt the need for voices, so it would save him from falling into the hole of awkwardness.
There had been a question lingering in his mind, one he didn’t feel the right to ask. But it ate away at him, constantly distracting him from his life’s work, making everything seem harder for him. A question he knew would be sensitive, a question he knew he shouldn’t wonder about. Yet he couldn’t stop himself, as if this dead body had a mind of its own. And so, he asked.
“Eberhard, what made you do it?”
Truth be told, Charon had already known somewhat of the reason why Eberhard ended his life so early. But he still wanted to hear it from his own lips, the reason why he chose to do what he did. For a brief moment, there seemed to be no answer, the silence growing heavier by the second.
“You already know, don’t you?” The Major said, letting a small sigh escape his lungs. “Yes but, I wish to hear it from you. Your reason.” Charon replied, clutching the paddle hard , making the dog tags shake.
Silence followed. Heavy silence. The kind that makes you want to rip your hair out and scream. But Charon couldn’t do that, he could only patiently wait for his passenger to answer.
“If you must know. I couldn’t bear to keep living with the blood that had stained my hands..” Eberhard started, waiting for an answer. Charon nodded, hoping that would pass on the message for Eberhard to continue. And luckily the Major got the signal.
“The souls I sent to the frontlines, those young ones that still had so much ahead of them. All because I was pulled by the strings of that..Manus Vindictae. I couldn’t live knowing I’ve killed hundreds of innocents with my own hands. I wouldn’t be able to tell my parents, my future lover, or even children.”
And then he stopped there, not wishing to continue. Charon didn’t say anything, his head tilted downwards to look at the bottom of the raft as he kept moving the boat smoothly. What else could he say really? He was already horrible with consolation to an extent. But good for him, he had a companion that could read the room fast.
“If you don’t wish to answer. You don’t need to. I know it’s quite a shock, Paul.” Eberhard said, crossing his legs together as he looked over the boat. Letting the atmosphere around them settle down. Until Charon actually did say something.
“I’m sorry.”
It was simple, and could mean a lot in many different situations. And he felt the need to use it now. It was out of place and albeit a bit off putting. It made the non-existent “heart” he had tightened a little. But that feeling soon went away when he heard a light laugh from the other end of the boat.
“Its alright Paul, no need to apologize” Eberhard said, a lighthearted smile on his face, as though this wasn’t that big of a deal for him. The dead soul felt his “heart” loosen just a little, that small knot finally loosening back into a thin fine line.
The two soon continued to ride in silence, the only sounds were the ones of water, and the clinking of metal. The smell of poppies and flora overpowered the smell of the dead and decaying, overlapping that sad and disgusting smell. It drifted around the pair, making every breath the two took smell of poppies and fresh dew.
The silence was comforting, too much so. That it made the two want to continue talking. After all, they didn’t want to have their last interaction leave on such a tragic note.
And so, Eberhard tried striking up a conversation again.
“Paul..no. Charon, what would be your last wish if you were still “alive?”” The wandering spirit of the Major asked, sitting politely on the side of the raft as the grave keeper moved the paddle of it smoothly. Although, hearing such an abrupt question, his movements faltered slightly.
“I’m not sure, Eberhard. The dead do not have wishes, and this one is only the spirit controlling the vessel of a once brave soldier.” His voice was low, calm. Just as it always was, yet it carried only the slightest bit of hesitancy. As if scared of its own answer.
No voice came from the other end for a while, and Charon had believed Eberhard dropped the topic after his blunt answer. He let out a breathless sigh, continuing to move the boat down the river with ease, not daring to look at the corner of his eye as the blond man looked afar into the empty void.
Charon wished to be able to give a proper answer to him, to be able to seem a bit more like “Paul” before Eberhard finally had to leave again. But something stopped him, his own “thoughts”. Telling him that pretending to be someone else during these sentimental moments would somehow make it worse. And the grave keeper wondered: *”Is this what the living call, second thoughts?”*
He wouldn’t know. He was a dead and wandering soul after all.
The soldier who cheated death.
“But, what about yourself? You would’ve had something you wished for, right mein freund?” The familiar voice echoed again, turning his head away from that eternal void to stare at the grave-keeper. Charon could feel his stare on his back, a stare that felt longing—carrying the last few living emotions of yearning for someone they couldn’t have.
It was clear to Charon how Eberhard felt about Paul. But he could never give the Major what he desired most, it was out of his bounds. So, the most he could do was push those “humanly desires” down his inhumane heart.
Perhaps then it would sting less. Because he couldn’t have Eberhard. No matter how much he wanted to hold the human, to feel his warmth against Charon's cold vessel. To feel at least slightly human.
He always did feel a bit human when he was around Eberhard after all.
“I’m afraid I have to disappoint you, Eberhard. I don’t believe I have such a desire.” He said once more, the dog tags on his wrist clinking with each other as he moved the paddle again. From the other side, a light hearted chuckle came.
That laugh, the essence of the living that it carried. It somehow made the “heart” that Charon didn’t carry feel less tight. The “face” he didn’t have feel hot.
He shouldn’t feel this way, he can’t feel this way. He’s a dead soul—his only purpose being to carry those souls down the river of STYX. But yet, he couldn’t stop himself.
“Alright alright, I’ll drop the topic since you’re so persistent.” Eberhard replied, crossing his legs together. As the boat soon reached its destination, Eberhard felt the need to stand up first and wait, and that he did.
Once the boat docked, Charon put the paddle down and turned around to Eberhard. Seeing that the Major had done the same. Charon brought a hand to his chest, gently plucking out one of the poppies that grew abundantly there, and passing it to Eberhard.
"Hier, Eberhard. Als Andenken." He said, placing it gently on the bloodied glove of his friend. “For me, really? You’ve grown to be more generous, haven’t you? Paul would never even let me touch something valuable of his”
The two shared a gentle moment, a quiet one that didn’t require words. They didn’t feel the need to say anything, but felt that the longer they stared, the more awkward it would get. So Eberhard could only break the comfortable silence first.
“Well, it’s time for me to go now.” He started, setting a foot out the boat before the other. Now standing at the dock. He smiled, a warm smile that still seemed full of life. A hand clutching the vividly red flower as the other waved at the grave keeper.
"Dann lebe wohl, mein Freund." Were his last words before turning around, his silhouette slowly fading away from Charon’s view.
“Farewell, Eberhard. May you rest in peace”