1942

The soldier’s knee shook rhythmically in the back seat of the quiet Taxi. However, for once he didn’t notice the silence. He was paying too much attention to the snow. He disliked the snow. Or was jealous of it, he couldn’t really tell all he knew was that he wanted to disrupt it. Shoot a gun at it, kick it around, it didn’t matter how. He just wanted it to stop being peaceful. He was sure it was jealousy he felt now.

“Are you on holiday?” came a gruff voice from the front.

The soldier was reminded where he was by the smell of smoke and engine noises. His head lifted, but his eyes stayed on the snow. He allowed a sound to come from his mouth. More like from the back of his throat. A returning, inaudible sound to show he acknowledged the man’s question, but he didn’t really seem like talking. He was appreciating the silence and really did not want it to be ruined.

“Must be a good time for you, Soldier,” The cabbie didn’t take the hint, “it’s almost Christmas! You should be smiling more.” The cabbie moved his thick fingered hand to the ash tray to put out his cigar and coughed loudly into the silence. “So tell me, how’s the front. Or would you rather keep staring at your snow?”

The soldier let the silence linger before he answered, partly because he was thinking about what to say, partly because he wanted to preserve the memory of it. “You don’t get much silence down there. It’s all white noise and scatter. It gets muddled up someplace between the ground and your ears and ends up sounding like,” the soldier stopped here and thought about how to relate it to the cabbie, “the TV when it’s done broadcasting for the day.” He knew it wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

The sound that emitted from the field wasn’t like anything normal people would know. He knew that, but he had to think of something. It was loud, angry, and burning. For a second he thought that might’ve been why he was jealous of the snow. But the second was once again interrupted by the cabbie’s whistle.

“That’s rough man.” He laughed a bit, “I wouldn’t be able to deal with that for long. So then, you must really be happy you’re out here now, right? Why are you here anyway? You said no to vacation.”

The soldier continued to stare into the snow outside the cab. He bit his lower lip and blinked as he grabbed his knee to stop it from shaking. The movement, along with the cabbie’s voice, was really beginning to aggravate him. He didn’t need both things to continue on. He knew he had a better chance of stopping one thing over the other.

“Max, my friend, died a few weeks ago. They sent me to inform his wife of his passing.”

“Damn, man.” The cabbie accentuated the a’s in a way that seemed to make his phrase last for hours. “That’s really a downer. No wonder you’re so silent back there. Tough news to deliver.” He lit up another cigar, “Real tough, man.”
The soldier hadn’t thought about that before. He was too busy thinking about the silence that was to come to him to realize what exactly he had to do. He began to think about it when he felt the car stop. He looked up away from the snow to see the cabbie’s old, swollen eyes looking back at him through the rearview mirror.

“You’re here, Soldier. The pay’s $10.50.”

The soldier paid the cabbie and stepped out into the air. He looked up into the cloudy morning sky as he held out one leg, then the other to help them regain their movement. He then looked down into the quiet, white snow and repeated the movement, this time shaking his feet as he did so. He apologized to the snow quietly.