Farewell to Arms - Fergy

She told me to take this to her husband.
"You're not married." I looked at the letter. Fresh ink on the envelope, but there was not a smear.
"We are."
"Since when?"
"Since I came here. I am his good wife. And he's my loving husband. We're happily married."
I studied her face. Bags were forming under her eyes. "Please Fergy," she said, "Take this to him."
"Fine."
"You're not happy."
"You should take night duty off. You must be tired. You never have it easy, even now."
"No. He wants me." The ticking of the clock echoed in the hallway. "Yes. Yes. But it's harder when I'm empty."
I told her that she could not know. Or maybe she does. It will all end, and she will die alone. I know. I have seen it happen. They would fight, till death do they part. Or worse. Because she is that person who is always there. He might never come back, or he will and not care.
And I told her of the wait, and how that preoccupies people to the point of when they forget the things that they were waiting for. This world destroys the brave ones. I hope she understands. She has to. For both our sakes.
She shakes her head. "I can't think about that. He's here now, and I'm happy, and we're having such a lovely time. We love each other. I'm sorry, Fergy." She smiled at me, and left.


It's been months since they left the hospital. The autumn rain trickles down the window and catches the light of the streetlamp outside. I watch for a while, before I look at the identical letters again. My brothers. The moon disappears behind the storm clouds, and there is no rain but the sound of it.