A Love Story with a Prisoner of War - 1. Arrival

A truck stopped in front of my house. And here they came - the prisoners of war from the satanic Nazi Germany. To my surprise, all of the PoWs were teenage boys no more than 18 years old. There were a dozen of them and their gazes locked strongly on me, so strong that it made my quiver. Behind all these blue eyes, there hid the same message – please don't pick me. All of them looked as if they were all going to the guillotine. You could literally see the colors of despair and trepidation on their faces. Even we were standing more than 5 meters apart, I could see most of them were shivering in apprehension. At that moment, I had an urge to go forward to give each of them a hug and tell them it would be all right. But my hatred towards the Nazi prevented me from doing so.

A 60-year-old soldier who must be a veteran of the last war stepped out of the truck and approached me.

'You could pick anyone of them. Once you have picked one, you must treat him fairly. No violence, no torture, no corporal punishment. 2 square meals every day, give him a proper bed and enough rests. They speak nearly no English, so practice your body language.' He said to me.

'Okay, no worries.' I replied.

I looked at the frightened lads with a big smiling face. All I wanted them to know was that: I am an angel, not a devil.

In the group of PoWs, a gorgeous boy caught my eyes. That boy sat motionless on the truck, staring blankly at nowhere. He was dressed in a worn-out saffron T-shirt and a black pant. Though he looked scruffy, you could tell from his features that he was handsome. Pale golden hair, blemish-less white skin, kissable red lips and a pair of extraordinarily liquid blue eyes. Oh, well, I was captivated. I guessed he was about 18, 1-2 years older than me. He was about 5’8, and his manly shoulder made him indescribably charming. His eyes were of the same color of the overhead sky, so blue, so dazzling. I was totally mesmerized by the beauty of this young lad and I just couldn’t help staring at him. I was certain that back in Germany, this guy was the apple in countless girls’ eyes.

Without hesitation, I pointed my finger at him. ‘Sir, I want him’. And the boy turned to look at me, face to face, eyes to eyes. And my heart skipped a beat.

‘No problem’ he replied.

The soldier fished around in his duffel bag and took out a notebook.

He said, ‘this is Axel, 18, from Berlin. So I’m afraid that you may have to spend some times to teach him the proper skills. Don’t forget, treat him properly’

Then the soldier climbed up the truck and dragged the gorgeous boy down.

The boy murmured something indecipherable to his fellows and you could tell from his blank face that he was sad, depressed. No sooner had Axel landed on the ground than the truck moved on, leaving me, some smoke from the truck’s exhaust, and Axel at the spot.

Now, what should I do?

*    *    *

Ah, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Xavier Hudson, 17. Average height and average look. Nothing’s special about me. I was supposed to be fighting for the country against the Nazi; unfortunately, or fortunately, I was not welcomed in the army since I had flat feet. I tried to enroll in the army, but the army doctor said I couldn’t walk long because of the flat feet; so I was sent home right off the bat.

I am a Canadian and my family has always been living in a village called Jakon in Northern Canada. The Hudsons have been famers for centuries and I am no exception. Since I was born, I have always been helping my dad to run the 10-hectare farm. My dad died of blood cancer last year, leaving me, my mum and my younger brother, Jake, to run the arable land.

Agriculture is never easy; adding the fact that we only have 3 persons, handling such a large plot of land is pretty onerous. During wartime, food demand is sky-high; on the other hand, food supply is at rock bottom. Even my bro and I worked 15 hours a day, we can’t produce much to feed ourselves, let alone our countrymen. Besides, most men are fighting in the war, labor shortage is unavoidable. Therefore, we asked for a prisoner of war to help us out. At first, my mum objected the idea, for she worried about the possible danger that a Nazi soldier might bring. However, a prisoner of war is the only solution, so she had to step down.

And now, here he was, standing in my house.

Honestly, Axel seemed harmless. He had a gentle and pleasant demeanor that makes people feel completely at ease. And he had a kind of je ne sais quoi that makes everyone around fall in love with him. When we entered my house, my mum was hiding behind the sofa anxiously, but after she peeked at her so-called ‘extraterrestrial being ’, she came out with a visible delight. Though you could hear gravels in her voice, it was clear that my mum felt the same way as I did – Axel is not as evil as we had expected.

Axel was like a newborn chick which was both scared and curious about the brand new world. He showed no emotions on his face; but judging at his gait and hand gestures, you could tell he was less frightened than before. We tried very hard to communicate in elementary English and simple body language, but to no avail. His German accent made everything sound so… German. At most time, we needed to draw on a piece of paper to communicate. For instance, when I brought him to the attic which is his bedroom, I needed to write Axel and ‘zzZ’, and point at the bed so as to let him understand ‘you sleep here’.

Understanding what he says was another arduous task; he asked me, ‘I far ear?’

‘What?’ I replied, slightly exasperated.

‘I f-a-r eee--ar?’ he said.

Ok, I gave up; we resorted to drawing. He drew a man with a hoe, and wrote ‘Axel?’ next to the man. Oh, I got it… he wanted to ask whether he would farm here… Alas, it is apparent that I have to give him some English lessons in addition to some farming lessons…

Well, a long way to go….