Live, Love, Lose - 36. Chapter 36

There he was again, sitting in his usual armchair, being completely depressed, all alone, thinking about memories he wished he could have forgotten.

About his little brother’s death and what ensued.

He had never liked to talk about it to anyone, but he could never help thinking about it daily. Especially after what happened, it kept haunting him every day and night, and now matter how hard he tried to distract himself and think about something else, it would not cease, and give him some time to breathe.

They had always been really close despite their age difference. He had always been very protective of him, like any big brother should with their little siblings.

Their parents had always considered his little brother as their favourite. While he had had a strict education, they had been easy going parents with his little brother, pampering him with all their love and affection, and never scolding him, not even once.

Yet, he had never been jealous of him and resentful towards him for this. No, his anger had been directed towards his parents, especially his father. It seemed to him that he had always looked down on him, that no matter what he did, it could never be good enough according to his standards. He would ignore him most of the time.

Anyway they had had a very good reason to choose Lewis as their favourite child. Five years after his own birth, they had expected another baby, a baby girl. However, when his mother had given birth to her, she had been a stillborn. Their grief over this loss had been so great that they had had to wait for more than five years to procreate again. Then eight months later, Lewis had been born. For everyone this child had been a real gift from heavens.

They had been in their early twenties when they had had him, so they hadn’t been too old when Lewis had come into their life.

He had loved him the very second their eyes had met.

He stood up and headed towards his small office. He took the photograph that lied on his desk and on his way back he stopped to take a bottle of whiskey and one glass to drink in it. He would really look like a drunkard if he drank it directly from the bottle itself. He knew that alcohol was bad. Bad for health, both for the body and the brain. But it was the only thing that could help him numb the pain, at least temporarily, until he had to start again to forget.

Despite all his efforts, he could never win against his inner demons. So be it.

He started downing a small dose of it as he remembered.

The day when he had to break the news of Lewis’s death to his parents. How violent it had been. Lewis hadn’t wanted them to see him at his worst. Because he had told him at some point about the child they had already lost. He had even asked him to lie about his condition, so as not to worry them. Robert could have only had to comply. But then he had been blamed for that lie.

For them, it had been his fault if his little brother had died. Their grief and pain had been even worse than when they had lost their baby girl. He had been able to understand their suffering, to sympathise. He had shared their pain. But what he hadn’t tolerated was their own indifference towards his own pain. It sounded selfish as it was worded. They hadn’t comforted him even though his pain had been as great as them, even greater perhaps. No, this sounded a bit presumptuous. They had simply purely and solely ignored him. Yet, he was a part of their family as well. He had been their son too, one of them, still was.

"Do you not think I am totally broken because of his death as well?! I may not have been his father or mother, but I loved him with my whole heart! As much as I love my wife and my own son!” He could remember shouting straight in their faces.

“You wished I could have died instead of him, isn’t that true? Come on! Admit it! Have the guts to say it out loud and speak your mind for once in your lives instead of showing me only your sheer indifference!”

He had been so angry with them. He remembered very well how his mother had looked upset after he had shouted all those words. He had hurried off their living room, for he had not been able to stand their presence any longer.

He poured more of the brownish liquid into his glass.

His burial had been the worst day of his life, much worse than every other day he had lived during the war. Only George’s attempt to kill himself could compare. He had not even been able to remain until the end. He had been too weak. He had ended up breaking down in tears on the dirty ground only a few yards away, far from all the prying eyes. His wife had come to comfort him.

When the war had broken out, he had had no other choice than enlisting and going to France to fight. Lewis had been only seventeen years old at the time. Anyway, when he had been old enough to enlist, he had done it, that is the year that had followed.

He had never wanted him to go after what he had gone through during that whole year in the trenches. But Lewis could be really stubborn. When he had something in mind, nothing or no one could make him change his mind. He had always considered his big brother as a real role model, always wanted to do everything like him, imitate him. He had tried to warn him with several letters, but in vain, naturally.

He had met George’s mother after the battle of Verdun, which had left him injured, but not too badly to such an extent that he could have died. She had served as a volunteer nurse in the war, like many other women. He had been really lucky. Unlike many other men, too numerous to be counted.

So had he. He had been injured as well, but had got better after a few weeks, making him able to go to the frontline again.

It had not taken Lewis too long to get feelings for her. It had been at least one good thing the war could do; bring two people together, and make them have a wonderful son. The only one.

However, life had that disagreeable tendency to offer you happiness with open arms only to take it back and make you suffer like you thought you never would.

The more he was thinking the more he drank.

Or in a much simpler way: fooling you long enough to be able to stab you in the back much later.

He could have been an amazing father...

His eyes started to get blurry, overwhelmed by this familiar feeling of wetness.

He had been only twenty-two years old when he died. No, twenty-one actually, because he was born on one cold day of December. A few days before Christmas.

His grandfather’s words had always been etched into his mind, and deep into his soul ever since he had pronounced them.

If someone had told me that my youngest grandson would die before me, I would have never believed them. I would have been wrong.

This had happened when they had been having a walk together a few days only after Lewis had died.

This kind of thing should never happen. The elders should all die before. That is how it is supposed to biologically happen. This is the cycle of life.

He had been as close with his grandfather as his own father had been distant with him. He could have never understood how his father could have been his grandfather’s son. His grandfather had always been a loving man, despite all his insecurities, hard times and losses. He had loved both his grandsons as much as the other. Wisdom had always flown through his veins. And he had taken him as his own role model.

Be tough through adversity, even though you are scared. Never let your fears be stronger than you. And never let other people see through you. Otherwise you will be doomed.

He could never forget those words. He had heard them at a very young age.

His grandfather had died at a very old age. He had lived long enough to see all the horrors one could possibly witness in a lifetime. He had almost lived for an entire century.

He drank over and over again, not able to count how many glasses emptied any longer, the liquid warming him up as it was seeping through his whole body.

Soon what he was drinking became a mix of whiskey and his own tears. However, it did not taste that bad.

He missed them both so much.

Yes, he really wished he could have died instead of his beloved little brother. This would have never happened had he been still alive.

His growing despondency only encouraged him to drink even more. It seemed that he could never get enough of it. He had to forget; forget all those painful thoughts and memories; forget everything before he lost his mind and sanity.

Forget his own existence.

He did not know why, but he wanted to stand up at some point. Yet, he only collapsed to his knees. He was slowly becoming unaware of his surroundings. And he did not have the strength to move any more. His movements were sluggish and pointless. He was still conscious enough to know he would never be able to stand up on his own. He was aware that this was quite degrading for a man to stoop so low, but it could never be worse than all the excruciating pain that had been torturing him for so long.

To his great relief, there was no one to witness his pitiful condition at that moment.

Oh. It seemed that he had just spoken too soon. He could feel himself being lifted from the ground when he had expected it the least, but the person did not say anything as they were helping him. So it could neither be Margaret or Paul. Once he was back in his armchair, he could take a good look at his guardian angel. He froze as realisation reached his brain. It was Carl. Never had he thought he possessed such strength.

He should never stoop so low again; not when Carl was there. What kind of father figure could he be if he kept drinking to forget about his own responsibilities?

He saw Carl sit on the armrest on his right from the corner of his eye. He needed a little while before he could account for his regrettable act of alcoholism. He must have really scared the poor youth. He was not supposed to witness that.

Once he had got a grip on himself, not being too drunk to fall into unconsciousness, he finally dared look into Carl’s eyes. He tried to think about what would be best to say, but nothing would be worth saying. And apologising would be pointless. He needed to show him the photograph.

Where was it? He could not find it any more.

“Where…where…is it…?” He trailed off. “The photograph…”

He groped for it, but still could not lay hands on it. He was panicking, he could not have lost it…

“Here,” he could hear Karl say with his Danish accent, an accent he quite appreciated.

He gave it back to him. It must have gone down with him in his fall. Obviously.

Robert showed it to him, pointing at his little brother.

“This is my little brother, Lewis.”

Karl contemplated them in utter silence.

“He died of the flu pandemic which started in 1918, during the last year of the Great War…”

It had caused the deaths of so many people. It seemed that it had caused many more deaths than the war itself. It was pretty terrible to think about it when he was well aware he was one of the lucky survivors of those two disasters.

Why had he survived and not his little brother? He would never have the answer.

He could feel his cheeks and eyes become wet again.

It seemed almost stupid, how much of a coincidence it was and to even ask oneself that kind of question, especially twenty years later.…

It was like there was some higher and invisible power saying: you die: you live, you live, you die, you live, you die, you die, you live, and so on…solely and purely at random.

“What is the point in surviving a whole war if it is only to die in the aftermath of it?"

Karl still did not speak, nor did he react for that matter. He should not be inflicting such a pitiful and painful show to him. He was still only a boy, a pure and innocent youth, unstained by all the horrors of the war and its aftermath. He had to preserve it as long as he was still in his care.

“It must be really hard for you to be separated from your siblings, not to know how they are doing… I really wish you will only lose them as late as possible; and that you will be able to make up for all the time you lost without them once you can go back home.”

Without even waiting for him to say something or react in any way, he wrapped his arms around him, seeking desperately for some comfort, for he doubted that he could succeed in comforting him. It was soothing to have the warmth of a human being in between his arms, especially when it was a youth whom he really appreciated. It was quite alright if he did not react or return this act of affection.

Warmth from another human being....

That was all he really needed at that precise moment to heal momentarily.