Govinda’s Postcard

There was another explosion.  He awoke confused, still unused to the muted world of his recent deafness.  Debris rained down on him stinging and lacerating his face, bruising him; he didn’t raise an arm to shield himself.  Violent flashes outraged the open space above him, issuing hot blasts of wind that swirled furiously about the trench.  He asked a dead soldier whose bloated corpse was propped beside him for a drink of water.  Realizing the man was dead he looked at the dirty bloodied post card in his hand, and being determined to meet the naked girl with mahogany eyes on the front, fancied that one day, when all this was over, the retelling of the time he asked a dead man for water may even be a little humorous.  Several rats were eating the face of a corpse lying in mud at his feet, he tried to kick them away; the movement so wracked him with pain he was convulsed by coughing and retching.  Certain he was about to die, clutching the post card ever more tightly, he screamed to those of his fellows’ still fighting, as though with his very last breath, again and again – For Claudia Jean, For Claudia Jean, For Claudia Jean, For Claudia Jean – until at last he fell unconscious.

Part Two

Carrying the news paper Govinda went to the bedroom – Where is it?  It wasn’t there.  Avoiding his wife, he went outside to the small garden shed – That’s the only other place it could be.  She rapped on the window and spoke crossly at him through the glass.  Ignoring her he went into the shed and found it.  The tin hinges were rusted, straining he forced the lid.  Briefly held his Silver War Badge, tossed it back among his effects and snatched up the corner of an old post card.  It was the same photo as the one in the paper, that of the legendary then infamous, then unheard of Claudia Jean.  It all came back to him.

Lost in thought Penny Grant tipped her glass back and realized it was empty.  Internal Conflict - she repeated to herself – is the cause of cancer.  She phoned the woman next door, ‘Do you have any wine? I’ve run out.  I’ll pay you back.’