Symposium in the trenches
A short story by Alessia Vannini
Symposium in the trenches
by Alessia Vannini
On a freezing day in December, two soldiers discuss the meaning of war in a trench, sitting on cold and wet mud. While the rest of the soldiers — both allies and enemies — run around in a hurry, shooting and bombing, the two of them recollect in a one-to-one Symposium of their own, in a place that’s way far from an Ancient Greek banquet setting.
“Y’know, I’ve thought about it and I don’t think I was meant for this…” Says William. “Tiptoeing around on a minefield, trying not to blow up. I don’t think anyone was meant for this. Each day I don’t know if it’ll be my last, if I will be slain by a bomb or hit by a deathly bullet.”
Josh, his comrade-in-arms, answers with a chilling naturalness. “That’s how life’s here, man. You can’t do anything about it. In war, you got no time to think. You either shoot or get shot.”
“Yeah, but it shouldn’t be like this…”
“We’re not the fortunate ones to make the rules down here, I’m sorry to have to bring it to you.”
A sudden discomfort takes over William. Whatever happiness remained, drains from his face.
“I know, but… I mean, we humans are capable of such incredible things: Michelangelo’s The Sistine Chapel, Munch’s The Scream, Antoni Gaudí’s Sagrada Família, Donatello’s David. And men, facing these beauties, still decide to make war?!? That’s beyond my comprehension.”
Josh gives a hint of a smile, both surprised and fascinated by his friend’s naiveté and faith in humanity.
“Like Orson Welles said, during the thirty years under the Borgias, Italians lived in terror and bloodshed. However, it resulted in the Renaissance, and it gave birth to great artists like Leonardo or Michelangelo. While in Switzerland, five hundred years of democracy produced nothing but the cuckoo clock.”
“But I still believe that humans are capable of marvelous things despite war.”
“Well, you’re fantasizing.”
Incessant sounds of shooting guns and exploding mines mark the rhythm of their conversation.
“What about cavemen’s rock paintings?”
“They still fought each other for resources and land.”
“But surely there must have been some distant time in history when men didn’t wage war on each other, right?” Says William, with eyes full of despair.
“Vincere est hominum natura. Since the dawn of time, people have always fought to dominate one another — it’s rooted in our animal instincts.”
“But how can we even begin to think about engaging in war when there’s so much more to live for. There’s literature and art, majestic places to visit and tasty dishes to try. And yet, we’re sent to a remote piece of land, fighting against people that never did us no wrong.”
A grenade explodes nearby. Splashes of mud and blood stain their faces. They wipe them with the back of their dirty hands. As if nothing had happened, as if it were normal, they pick the conversation back up.
“Well, they declared war on us.” Josh says firmly.
“No, they didn’t. ‘They’…” — pointing at the opponents on the other side of the ditch — “…didn’t declare war, their mind sick leader did. And probably, just like us, they were forced to be here against their will.”
“Still, it’s our duty to do what we do.”
William, initially speechless, bursts out in a rageful banter. “Fuck the duty, man! What if we kill the next Michelangelo or a future Albert Einstein? Or simply a family man who has wife and kids patiently waiting for him to come back home? That’s not fair! I don’t want to be the one to take their lives away. No one should decide who lives and who dies, unless it’s Mother Nature.”
Josh, much calmer, but with sad and comprehensive eyes, replies. “We killed Mother Nature, brother. Now it’s only evil men deciding what country or what planet to conquer next. We polluted and destroyed this world and now it’s only a matter of decades until it greets us with a final goodbye. And we went for it, it didn’t just happen.”
A single teardrop runs down William’s face, cleaning his cheek from the dirt and outlining a light and straight line on his desperate visage.
“You know, I was like you once.” Says Josh. “But life made me this way. All the things that occurred and all the violence that was thrown over me for no reason at all.”
Josh looks at William and sadly smiles, trying to console him and make him understand that there’s no point in speculating on a different reality. Men will always be men — vicious specimens.
“One doesn’t seek war and death to pass the time. But when you find yourself in these kind of situations, you helplessly grab the gun and fight to survive with tooth and nail.”
William, with cracked voice, replies. “I don’t agree.”
A bullet abruptly hits one of their fellow soldiers who was standing right above them, over the trench. The man collapses on the soil, falling as dead body falls, just above their heads.
They turn to look at him, immobile on the filthy ground. Then, William and Josh look back at each other, staring one another for a while, continuing their Symposium in dead silence, through hopeless glances.
No words could manage to describe that human brutality. They tried to make sense of it, but language struggled to convey all that savagery.
In the meantime, guns and cannons kept on firing as usual, on their daily and incontrovertible schedule. William and Josh were in silent communion beneath ground level, but many more silenced souls were lying six feet under them.
Limbo, in story form. Loved it.
Fromtheyardtothearthouse.substack.com