Harry Parker - Anatomy of a Soldier

Many others were in motion around me, churning the air with kinetic energy. Some slapped past but most were ahead or behind and converging on our target. I flew in a flat arc towards my terminal event. An irrigation ditch flashed below me, and then another and another as the fields whipped brown, green, brown and then I was over the ruins of compounds.

The round that had been below me in the magazine was in the air now, following behind, its tip glowing red. Friction sapped my energy and my arc deepened as I started to drop.

My target was ahead but he pulled away and I silently passed him before my noise cracked against his eardrum.

I travelled to the far side of the derelict building, where I slammed into a mud wall. I dragged my shockwave in after me and it lifted flecks of stone and rock up in an explosion of pressure.

The room I was in looked over the garden. I wasn’t used much, only when guests came to stay.

Your father and brother stripped my mattress and twisted me through the door and down the stairs. They took me across a hall into a room that was used at Christmastime and smelled of fire and scented candles. I was positioned against the wall.

Your mother was there, moving tables and rearranging ornaments on the mantelpiece. The men helped her with the sheets and blankets and she plumped the pillows and pulled my duvet flat. She took a few things away and brought in some others.

Your father looked around and told her to stop fussing, then they went and I was on my own. The shadows of trees swayed across the windows that overlooked the garden and squares of sunlight tracked over the cream carpet.

A car crunched over the gravel drive and the dog barked with excitement. Your mother brought you in and you rolled up to me in your wheelchair.

‘Do you think this will be okay, Tom?’ she said as she put your bag on the sofa.

‘Of course, Mum, it’s great,’ you said.

‘How about a nice cup of tea?’

‘Great. Thanks,’ you said and hopped onto me, my springs bouncing under you. ‘You didn’t need to bring the TV in.’

‘We thought it would help, just for a bit. You don’t want to keep wheeling around the house.’

You pulled yourself up on me and looked at your phone and then around the room and thought about the last time you’d been in here. There had been ripped wrapping paper and a fire; your grandparents had been drinking sherry.

She came back with a tray, passed you a mug and sat at the end of me. ‘I hope it’s okay. We just thought it would be easier than trying to get upstairs.’

‘It’s fine, Mum.’

‘The occupational therapist inspected the house last week. She said this was the right thing to do. It won’t be ideal with the shower but we’ll have to make do.’

‘Mum, it’s great. It’s just good to be home,’ you said. ‘The garden looks nice.’

‘Your father’s been at it any chance he gets. You know what he’s like. He should be back soon,’ she said. ‘Biscuit?’

‘Thanks. And is David still coming?’

‘He should be back for supper. I’ve cooked your favourite.’

‘Thanks, Mum, I can’t wait. The food’s been okay but I’ve been looking forward to coming home.’

‘I thought we could drive up the hill to the woods if you wanted. Freddie needs a walk. You could sit in the car. I’ll just give him a quick run.’

‘Great.’

You left with her and struggled to push your chair across the thick carpet. When she asked if you needed a hand, you said you’d manage.

*

When you came back you were tired and pulled yourself into me and under my covers. You felt safe in me and you slept deeply.

Your father came and sat on the edge of me and turned to look down at your face. You seemed untroubled and stronger and he smiled. He placed his hand on your shoulder.

‘Tom,’ he said. ‘Would you like some food?’

You rolled onto your back, opened your eyes and stretched. ‘Hello, Dad.’ You smiled. ‘God, that was a nice kip.’

‘Do you want something to eat? It’s seven o’clock. David’s back.’

‘Sure.’

He pushed your chair closer and you transferred into it and followed him out. The sun set and it was dark. The garden was quiet but there was laughter from another room and the sound of family and food.

But when you came back you were drained and pale. You hauled yourself onto me and stared at the ceiling.

Your mother came in. ‘Are you okay, Tom?’ she said.

‘That was delicious, Mum. Thank you.’

‘I hope it wasn’t too much.’

‘No, I’m just tired. It was so great to be with you all. I started to feel a bit odd.’

‘In what way?’ She sat down on me.

‘Please, Mum, it’s nothing. I just need a good night’s sleep.’

‘I’ll go and get you a bowl,’ she said.

She came back with a blue plastic bowl and a flannel and put them on my covers. You pulled off your T-shirt and shorts and started to wash yourself.

‘I’m going to let Freddie out,’ she said.

You dunked the flannel in the bowl and wiped it under your armpits, then across the back of your neck, over your body and down around your stumps and groin.

Tears filled your eyes as you started to wash your face, and you wiped at them with the flannel. You leant forward and held your face in your hands. The flannel was pressing against it and water dripped onto my covers. You sobbed, the sadness overwhelming you, and your whole body heaved. You slapped your hand down on me with all your strength and grunted in frustration.

‘Stop it,’ you said, ‘for fuck’s sake, stop it,’ and pulled the flannel hard against your skin.

But sobs shook you and she came back in. ‘Tom?’ she said, then walked over and gently sat on the edge of me. ‘Oh, darling. It’s okay.’

‘Please, don’t,’ you said, but you were crying now and couldn’t fight through the tears to speak. ‘Please. I’m fine,’ you whispered.

You held the flannel to your face and cried into it. Your face creased up and your mouth pulled down with saliva strung across it.

Your father and brother came and sat next to her. Your whole family was on me.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said. ‘It’s pathetic.’

She put her hand on your shoulder. ‘Tom, don’t worry. This is normal.’

The three of them looked at you.

‘It was so nice tonight at supper, and I forgot all about it,’ you said. ‘It was just all of us together.’ A sob fought up through you and stopped you speaking and they waited. ‘It was so nice,’ you whispered, ‘being back here at home with everyone around the table. And I’d forgotten. But when I slipped at the table it suddenly reminded me of what’s happened.’ You sniffed. ‘I’ve been stuck in a hospital, in this weird existence. It’s all been so unreal and suddenly I’m here. And it is real. This is me.’

‘It will get better,’ she said, her face sad.

‘I’ve got no legs. That will never get better.’ You cried again and then spoke through the tears. ‘I used to go out that door and run up on the hills. And now I can hardly get across this carpet.’

You wept and covered your face with the flannel again and bent forward so your head was between your stumps.

‘Let it out, Tom,’ your father said. ‘You’ve got to go through this. If you didn’t, something would be wrong.’

‘It’s all wrong.’ You smiled at him and laughed through a moan. ‘It’s all wrong. I feel like I’ve been chosen for a main part I never wanted to play and everyone’s come to watch. They’re all watching me, looking to see what’s happened, what’s gone wrong. Half of them I don’t even know. I don’t want them to see. They should mind their own fucking business.’