From my vantage point in the corner I can see everything. The harsh white lights in the ceiling cast a steely glow on the soldiers spattered across the room. Meant to soften the atmosphere, the soft glowing balls of yellow light perched on top their pedestals skirmish with the white lights for atmospheric predominance. A soldier lies on a couch recovering from the day's battle. Her friend sits down next to her and lays her head in his lap. He caresses her hair, and they talk. Her friend is strong. Together they will heal.
I write from a makeshift hospital amidst a battlefield where soldiers come and go. Some are so accustomed to the battle they do not notice it anymore. Others are so afraid of the war they do nothing else except prepare for battle. Each soldier has his or her own style, yet they are all participants in this great conflict.
Across the room, two brave soles sit near each other in cushioned chairs and read the day's news comparing opinions occasionally. They are veterans and know how to survive. Rising, they shoulder their packs and prepare themselves and their equipment to weather another storm. The two soldiers leave to fight another battle.
A new casualty enters the asylum. He crashes into a couch and falls onto its cushion. Slumping forward in his seat, he rests his head in his hands. His hat falls off. Slowly the soldier lies back to relax. He must mentally prepare himself for the gruesome ordeal to come.
The green partitions spread throughout the room are meant to keep the casualties hidden, but I can tell the couple on the couch forgot about the war. She sits in his lap now, and they gaze into each other's eyes. He holds her close, and they talk in low tones. His arms pull her even closer, and they kiss. They have each other and will survive.
In an office across the room, an officer discusses tactics with someone on the telephone.
"I have the money, but I don't know what to do," he yells into the phone, his voice shattering the delicate silence. Calmly, the person on the other end explains the procedure. The general knows what to do.
More and more soldiers file in through the graffitied door. They are joyous; they are not defeated yet. Now the greatest enemy is hunger, but food is readily available this time. Thoughts of warm food lead them onward to the mess hall. The soldiers will not be famished.
Glass walls reveal the world outside, gloomy at best. Through the rain, the battle seems far off, yet the field is within sight. Soldiers wander back and forth across the field. They go to join the battle or to join the wounded. A few hearty individuals march determinedly toward the field. "Take courage," they seem to say. "Reinforcements are coming." Swords and lances wait to be drawn from their sheaths. The time will come to fight.
Inside, the atmosphere is more jovial now. The soldiers here
know they do not have to fight again until tomorrow. The only
task is preparing for the next day's battle. In this battle
called eruditio, all are casualties. Some will die, yet
many will survive. Those who are not killed will become stronger.
Current soldiers will grow old and retire, but young ones will
join the ranks and fill the old ones' places. The war is never
over; the names on the enlistment papers are the only things that
change.
- Rick Wright
Richard Wright Copyright 1999