Losing Julia by Hull Jonathan

Author:Hull, Jonathan [Hull, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: literature, Paris, France, romance, world war one, old age, Historical Fiction
ISBN: 9780984821815
Publisher: Dancing Muse Press
Published: 2012-03-01T07:00:00+00:00

JULIA’S BLOUSE was damp with sweat as we reached the hilltop and in the light breeze I caught the scent of her skin. I stood beside her and wiped the back of my neck and forehead with my handkerchief. We looked down at a patchwork of fields and woods that fanned out across a broad plain until the woods finally gave way to the fields. To the left old trench lines snaked across the ground like great big welts. And everywhere shell holes still gouged the earth as though from some ancient meteorite shower.

“What a gorgeous day,” she said, smiling up toward the sky, where a thin white lace of high clouds inched quietly past, each cloud spaced perfectly apart like the folds in desert sand.

“I remember being a child and lying on my back in the grass and watching the clouds drift past,” I said. “There was nothing else in the world but me and those clouds and the grass beneath me.”

“Happiness to me was lying in bed at night during a thunderstorm and feeling warm and dry and knowing that my mother was just in the next room.”

“I used to curl up in bed with my dog and read him stories by candlelight.”

“You read your dog stories?”

“He was a smart dog.”

She smiled, then kicked away leaves and sat down. I sat across from her on a rock.

“Happiness is different for adults, don’t you think?” she asked. “Much too fleeting. Like something you can’t see if you stare straight at it.”

“I think for a lot of people happiness is just the absence of discomfort,” I said.

“That’s not enough for me,” she said.

“It’s not enough for me either. During the war we all insisted that whatever else we did in life we’d make sure we were happy, otherwise what was the point?” I laughed at the recollection. “Can’t you see all these young men congratulating each other on how happy they were going to be if only they didn’t get their butts shot off?”

“Well, I’m happy you didn’t,” she said.

“Me too.”

“I hope you don’t feel guilty… ”

“For surviving? Yes, I do a bit, but it’s more a sense of responsibility; that I’ve got to make something of my life—get it right—because I was lucky enough to get a second chance.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“But that was the point of everything we talked about: we were going to live when the war ended. Take everything in. Make our own rules. Not waste a minute.”

“But nobody can do that.”

“No, but we can try,” I said.

She reached into her bag and took out some grapes, carefully pulling them apart into two bunches and handing one to me. I took it and placed it in my lap, pulling the grapes off one by one as I looked out over the valley.

“At least you’re not normal,” she said.

“I’m not?”

“No, thank goodness. Don’t you find normal people boring? They conceal all the important things.” Then her expression grew serious as she said, “I really haven’t enjoyed someone’s company so much in years.

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