Book Of Ruth

Ruth Tucker is a dark flame. She is cagey as a starving, feral cat. With lithe wrists like branches in winter, thin fingers and watchful eyes. A latent spark of fear, sometimes shifting to disgust, burns behind them as she studies him. Eyes that disturb Leon Wagner's sleep at night, laying on his back and blowing smoke to the canvas ceiling.

Leon fears Ruth will haunt him all the way home, if he ever makes it back. She will return to West Virginia. The thought of that foreign place makes her smile, a rare and rewarding sight. He will fade away for her until he is merely a strange memory. A story to tell her grandchildren of her brief encounter with a surrendered enemy soldier.

Leon fears Ruth will remain to him as glaring as Polaris. His constant northern star in a frenzied, revolving sky.

Leon fears Ruth as she fears him, but for entirely different reasons.

∆∆∆

Zell am See, Austria

Summer 1945

The rain is heavy the next morning. Though the storm is brief, it leaves the ground supple with mud and trampled grass. My shoes sink in the mire as I emerge into the glistening air. The sun breaks free of the cloud cover. I dump out the pan of dirty water.

"Hello Ruth."

Leon stands at the tent flap holding a yellowed piece of paper that trembles with the breeze. Absently, I muse that his hands look fit for playing piano or the violin. I find it difficult to imagine them shooting a rifle. Even harder to imagine them killing a man. He folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket.

"Did you receive a letter?" I ask, bringing my thoughts to the present.

His brow wrinkles and his eyes narrow. "I am a POW. Do you think I would?"

My face flares up. I nod briskly and turn to leave.

"Wait, I'm sorry," he calls out. "I was joking."

I glance over my shoulder, holding the tin pan to the breast of my apron. Leon shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. It's the first time I've seen him look unsure of himself.

"Bad joke, hmm? I apologize. My sense of humor has never been very keen, even before the war. I take after my father too much. But you are correct. It is a letter."

I take a step closer. "From whom?"

"My brother."

"Where is he now?"

His sharp eyes cut into the mud. "Not here."

I swallow this new piece of the puzzle. Digging into my pocket, I tug out a new pack of cigarettes. They are Lucky Strikes, the coveted brand among the troops. I hold it out to him from where I stand an arm's length away. Leon takes the offering with a nod. Opening it, he perches a cigarette in his mouth and extends the open pack to me.

"I have more. Keep it."

His hand doesn't drop. "Then have one with me."

My hand hesitates midair before retrieving one. Putting it in my mouth, he steps towards me before I can react. He flicks a lighter and cups his hand around the flame. He holds it towards the end of my cigarette. His closeness blisters into me. I breathe in the heat of the glowing tobacco and he draws away. A moment of silence passes as I gather my rattled thoughts.

"Is he older or younger?" I ask as the smoke catches the wind.

"Older." Leon lights his own and holds it lightly by his side. "I have one more below me."