MonoMay 9

The Deserter

The room was sparsely furnished. Just a table and three very basic, and very uncomfortable, chairs. Ivan Dodds had been brought from his cell a few minutes before. The warder had told him to wait. He knew why he was here. They wanted him back in the trenches. He knew that wasn’t going to happen. Waiting gave him time to reflect. He thought about why he was here, losing everything he loved, which now included his freedom. It had begun with the letter. Although truthfully, he had been disillusioned for some time. The letter was just the catalyst. He closed his eyes.

In his head he could see, feel, and smell the mud mixed with the familiar smell of cordite. He could hear the constant rumble of the guns mixed with the chatter of those around him. He could see his comrade approach and hand him the letter from his mother. He remembered opening it, reading that his wife had killed herself. He didn’t believe it. She wasn’t that sort. Only reading it for the third time made it make sense. Ivan had needed to know more and remembered the hours it had taken to come to a decision. He knew that running away, would get him shot on sight. He remembered the dispatch satchel lying there. He had his answer. With the satchel over his shoulder, he could just walk away, and no one, at least initially, would ask any questions. He was so surprised that it worked. Three weeks later, he was back home in Shoreditch.

There was no time for pleasantries and welcomes. Ivan wanted to know just what had happened.
‘Right mother, now tell me why Cathy killed herself, she would never do something like that.’
‘You are not going to like it.’
‘I don’t care. Just tell me.’
‘Well, it was that officer friend of yours, the one who picked you up when you went away.’
‘Dixon? What the hell has he got to do with anything?’
‘It was the last time he was home for a spell. He raped Cathy and left her pregnant. I knew she was in a bad way, and that she couldn’t face telling you, but I never thought she would drown herself.’
‘That bastard, I never trusted him.’
‘But he was your friend.’
‘Only in the loose sense, better to have him as a friend than an enemy. Now he has an enemy, and doesn’t know it, that can work to my advantage.’
‘Now don’t do anything silly lad.’
‘I have nothing to lose mum. They are going to put me in prison, if not shoot me, for desertion. But I will make damned sure he has something to remember me, and make sure that he knows what he did to earn it. Now I need a beer.’

Before his mother could reply he was out of the door heading for the Pig and Bucket. Ivan was halfway through his first beer when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard the words
‘Well, well, Ivan. They told me to keep an eye open for you. I have to take you in you know.’
'Of course you do, but have a beer with me first, and I’ll come quietly, I have nothing left to run for.’
‘I can’t drink on duty.’
‘Constable Short, we all know you here, and we know that you often have a beer while on duty. No one, least of all me, is going to say anything. Have a beer, hear my story, and I will come with you.

Short reluctantly agreed, and they found a table. Ivan related how he had become disillusioned with the war effort, and how he thought it was all one big con, and how the letter from his mother telling him that Cathy had killed herself was the final straw.
‘So why didn’t you get compassionate leave?’
‘That would have taken forever, especially given that Dixon was my CO. Bloody Dixon. He was hardly likely to make it easy for me to leave.’
They had known Dixon since school, and nobody ever called him by his first name. No one could even remember what it was.
‘That explains why it was him that asked me to look out for you. You do know that he will be him coming for you, don’t you?’
‘Doesn’t surprise me, after all he knows exactly why I am here, after all it is all his fault.’
‘How do you mean?’
Ivan explained that Cathy had killed herself after Dixon had raped her. He also said that he suspected that he had raped her to get back at him for things which Dixon had seen as insubordination.

Now here he was sitting in the interview room waiting. A month in this shithole had given him time to reflect on both the public and private conflict that was consuming him, He had come to realise that those at the front, getting killed and wounded on a daily basis, were being lied to. Whilst back home those running the show were living the life of Riley.

The door opened, Dixon walked in with all the braggadocio of a strutting magpie, followed by Sergeant Major Hawkins. Unlike Dixon, Hawkins was a decent enough fellow who stood up for his men. Dixon addressed him.
‘Do you not stand to attention and salute an officer then Dodds?’
‘Nope, not one like you.’
‘You are going back to the front Dodds, even you know the Germans must be stopped.’
Dodds remained silent, a stony, sullen silence. Hawkins spoke.
‘He won’t go sir.’
Dixon paused for a moment.
‘He doesn’t have a choice, he signed up for it. You are going back Dodds’
Dodds remained silent. Hawkins was about to speak again but Dodds made eye contact and shook his head.
‘Do your worst, you will have to shoot me for desertion before I will fight again.’

Dodds could see the expression on Hawkins’ face and wondered if he indeed knew what was going on here. In fact, even whether Hawkins was even on the point of turning anti-war. Hawkins caught his eye and nodded. He was an older more sympathetic man who understood that the conflict Dixon and Dodds was in some way personal. Dixon looked at the Sergeant Major.
‘So, what do we do with him Hawkins?’
‘No idea sir, but I do know that he would rather die than fight.’
‘How the hell do you know that?’
Dodds caught Hawkins’ eye again and shook his head again. He got the message.
‘Just a hunch sir, take him back and he will just be off again.’
‘Then we just shoot him.’
‘Is it worth all the effort sir, taking him back under guard, watching him constantly back there. Don’t you think that would be a complete waste of time if he won’t fight?’
‘The alternative is that we leave him here to rot.’
‘Indeed sir, and that costs us nothing more than the time we have spent here today.’
Dixon thought for a moment as if weighing up the options and seemed to come to a decision.
‘Then we leave him here to be a pain in the arse for someone else.’
Dodds smiled, he knew the time for revenge was close.
‘Well, if I ever get out of this fucking shithole, I’ll still have my arms and legs, which is more than most of the other poor bastards will - Sir!’

Dixon called for the warder. Dodds knew that he had only a couple of minutes left. He remembered his training. Not his army training. The training to fight in the streets as a kid. He had always been quick on his feet. He leapt at Dixon, grabbed his collar and smashed his forehead into Dixon’s nose. He knew how to rearrange a face, to break a nose in a way that it would never be straight again. Hawkins eventually got between them, but not before the damage had been done. The way he saw it was that Dixon must have deserved it. The warder arrived, and Hawkins told him to take Dodds back to he cell. As the warder came to him Dodds stared at Dixon.
‘That’s for Cathy you bastard. You know what you did, and she killed herself for it. Now every time you look in the mirror you will know who rearranged your face, and why.’
Then, looking at the warder,
‘Now, take me away from this piece of shit before I decide to kill him.’
Back in his cell Dodds reflected on what had happened and did not regret a single second of getting revenge for Cathy. He had no idea what was going to happen to him, and quite frankly didn’t care. He had lost everything he loved. He no longer cared if he lived or died.

Author's Note
The Prisoner is a story that has been hanging around for quite a while. I was never quite satisfied with it and eventually decided to sit and have a real think about it, why he was there etc. etc.. This is the result of an extensive rewrite.