Windows of the soul

They say that the eyes are the windows of the soul. When you are nose to nose you can see into those windows clearly. Of course one normally only gets that close to one's lover. Or one's killer.

Oak Grove was only a small village. For much of its existance it had served as a place for farmers to bring their produce, buy supplies, and eat the occasional store bought dinner. For the past fifty years it had been an outlying suburb of the nearby city. In these hard times it had become a destination for wandering homeless and for criminals who figured crime would be easier in a hick town.

It was the first week of the new year and the temperature was only slightly higher than the date. Police officer Larry Gold was patrolling alleyways and looking under bridges for the homeless. It was standard procedure on nights like this to take them in on suspicion of vagrancy. They would then be held overnight and released in the morning without charge. This was more humane and less bothersome than dealing with dead bodies later.

When he saw a lone figure sitting on a park bench in the snow covered park late at night it was something to be investigated. He parked the cruiser and approached on foot. When he was just out of arm's reach he shone his flashlight on the figure. He saw a grey haired man in a military jacket. He did not get a good look at the man, for as soon as the light hit him he seemed to disappear.

The next thing Larry knew he was laying on the ground with the old man atop him. Their noses nearly touched and he could feel the chill of a knife blade against his neck. Looking into hs assailant's eyes he could see that this was a man who had killed before and would not hesitate to do so again. Yet the the emotion he saw in those eyes was not anger or fear, but sorrow. Abruptly thise eyes opened wide and the surprisingly agile old man seemed to disappear again.

Larry scrambled to his feet and clawed at his holster for his pistol. He stopped when he saw the old man sitting on the park bench with a knife beside him. Most policemen would have shot the old man by now, or at least be kneeling on his back handcuffing him. Larry sat down on the bench.

"I'm sorry, you startled me. I didn't realize you were a policeman. I thought..."

Larry looked at the knife. It was about six inches wide and nearly three inches wide. The hilt was an ebony oval with inturned nickel guard and buttcap . Inset into the hilt was a Nazi swastika. It looked like a knife that it would be hard to drop accidentally. "That's some knife, where did you get it?"

The man looked at him with cold eyes. "I pulled it out of my chest."

Larry unconsciously leaned toward him. Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?"

"Naw, that was over sixty years ago." The old man regarded Larry for a moment. "You've killed your man, I could see it in your eyes."

"I was clearing a village in Kuwait." Larry affirmed.

"In the Civil War they called it seeing the elephant. In my day we called it combat fatigue. Nowdays they have some name for it so long they have to use the initials."

"PTSD" Larry murmured.

"Call it what you will, we've all got it. Some hide it better than others, but it's always there. You can see it in the eyes."

Larry hunched his shoulders and nodded.

"Mine was just west of Metz in the winter of '44. I guess it was early '45 actually. Probably not my first kill, but my first one close up. It was cold, the coldest winter in living memory. War always seems to bring out cold and rain. I was scouting ahead of the company when I came on a German kneeling with his back to me.

I tried to sneak upon him, but I caught my foot on a root or something. I swear I didn't make a sound, but like lightning he turned around and stabbed me. I don't remember it hurting. Not then. I gave him a shove and he fell away, but my left arm didn't work right. I looked down and saw the knife in my chest. That's when I realized I'd been stabbed.

I pulled the knife out and then he was back on me. I didn't so much stab him as he ran onto the knife. I could see the shock in his eyes. I threw my all but useless left arm around his neck and kept stabbing him as I watched the light in his eyes dim and go out. When he was gone I let go of him and he flopped to the ground.

I looked where he had been kneeling and saw he had been pulling a blanket off of a dead horse. I wrapped the blanket around myself and headed back to the company. I didn't realize I was still holding the knife until the medic tried to pry it out of my hand. I didn't let him. That knife did not leave my posession until I was on the boat back to the states.

Since then every January I remember those guys living outdoors through the worst winter of my life. I get uncomfortable sitting in my warm apartment. I throw on my old fatigue jacket and come out here and sit."

Larry grimaced. "Yeah, I know what you're saying, but ah, it really makes us nervous when you're sitting out in this weather."

"Okay, I'll head on home." As the old guy moved off Larry saw the knife still lying on the bench. "Hey, you forgot this."

The old guy turned around and looked him in the eye. "I don't need it any more. Maybe it will bring you luck too."