The Shaking Man

The stench of piss permeated throughout the slit-trench, radiating from the marshy floors as evidence of our bold acts of defiance. The constant downfall didn't help, being impartial yet far-reaching in its fostering, birthing the thick forests that now surround our ditch-home, and embellishing the putrid smell that resides within it. Moral had long since taken a nosedive, so the reek of our naive past mentality only served to keep all us soldiers in line. Having one half keep watch across the perimeter for the Japanese and the other preparing for our eventual retreat to our previously dug pits once they've arrived. All but one black man, who it seems could only smell the hopelessness and despair that now shackled his heart and mind.

"He's shaking."

"But of course," replied my superior, a white officer, a fact obscured by the common soldier wear and mud facewear he donned as camouflage to confused the Japanese. But even still, I wouldn't doubt that most could tell from his intense and commanding presence substantiated by his tall and broadish build and his chiseled unshaven chin and muscles, which could still be made out from under his deceiving attire. His ability to remain as stoic as ever and calm and collected regardless of our circumstances were as vital as our guns and our food in our survival up until now. Even now, he stays alert, staring intently out into the seemingly endless expanse of the forest, waiting. "Leave him be and keep watch at 2 o'clock."

I nod, clenching my gun as I turn to face the void hidden within the thick forest trees, joining the rest of the look-out squad in their wait. Nevertheless, my attention swayed, slowly drifting first to the fully loaded M1 Garand I bear in arms, readied to at any moment, to steal away another's life in service to my own, then to the one now grasped in the shaking man's clutches, readied to possibly steal his own.

"Why not order him the same? Or at least have him hand over his gun? It can do no good as it is," I proposed to my officer, in hopes to upheave the bleak yet fatal path the shaking man follows.

"Hm? You've resolved to speak without the permission of your commanding officer? Would it appear you negros truly have no respect for authority?" he contemplates without breaking his focus from the forest. "Although, that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing."

"I-I beg your pardon," I apologize, holding my head shamefully, breaking my focus from the shaking man.

"It is because you are foolish enough to listen."

"Huh?"

"That is my answer," he continued, "I gave you that order and you alone because I was certain that your naivety would compel you to obey it. Was I wrong?"

"...And you believe he wouldn't listen because he understands something I do not?" I asked ignoring his condescending remarks.

"I see, a smart one," the officer notes with a slight smile, "Yes, he understands the futility of his existence in this battle, not to mention this war. This fight is not his, and he's doomed himself without any chance of reimbursement as the Indians have and once again resided himself to slavery. But of course, this is true of the rest of you black lot. The only difference? He's become uncomfortably aware of this truth."

"B-But, do the Japanese and their allies not threaten our well-being as I've been told?"

"Do we not?"

"...Regardless, has not this war cemented us as equals? Has it not forced us to rely on each other as allies against a common enemy? Does not the musty private's uniform you wear and the crusty mud you smear on your face denote this to be true?" I proclaim in a whisper as to not let the others hear.

Silence.

Now facing the officer, as he long since stole my attention, I await his response.

Silence.

Then, he turned to me.

"I wear this camouflage, not only to conceal myself from the Japanese..."

I could comprehend neither his words nor his actions, but most of all, I could not comprehend how I had never noticed them before: Those eyes of his. For the first time, they had finally met mine, fully exposing their boundless deep and soullessness no different than the void they had just at long last broken their stare from.

"Whether that man dies in this war or not, whether he dies by his own hand or not, is none of his concern. As in perceiving any action to be useless, he has become useless. This is the truth that I have come to witness many times, and you have come to witness now."

The officer turns back to continue his stare, ignoring my gaze once again. In turn, I turn back to the shaking man, body rolled firmly into a fetal position and eyes closed tight as if to brace for an unavoidable truth.

"Are you alright?" I finally say to the shaking man, my first line to him. But of course, no response.

"How kind of you," the officer mocks, continuing his staring contest with the void.

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, right?"

"Ah, yet another one of our force-fed lines. You recite them well young negro. Now leave him be and keep watch at 2 o'clock as I ordered."

"No."

"...Excuse me?"

"I said no. I need to keep watch over him. In his uselessness, he may survive. When the elephants which ship ammunition return, being useless, he'd be sent back, right? He could escape whole?"

"Ha, no one here escapes whole."

"You may be right. But even these wounds can be healed."

"He'll be poor, hungry...forgotten."

"He'll be alive."

"...Maybe. Is this really what you choose to do?"

"Yes."

"Hm, it appears I was right about you. You are a smart one indeed, young negro."

Only God could tell if he was smiling at that moment, but I guess that should be no concern to me, for I had to keep watch of the shaking man. And I did; as the Japanese came to attack our little hiding hole, as we ran back to our previous ones for shelter, as we forced ourselves to accommodate to our new home, I kept watch of him. And at first, it only appeared to be a trick of the mind, but as I continued to keep watch of the shaking man, the truth became clear: His anxious shakes were slowing to quiet trembles. And in an act I can only presume to be a show of renewed resolve, he spoke. Only one line, his first to me:

"It stinks."