Short Story: Leave

Life takes an unexpected turn for a young wife desperately missing her royal marine husband during the Afghanistan War

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‘How are you coping?’

There aren’t words adequate to convey my inward rage whenever I hear this question. Sharon Adams means well, but seriously, how does she think I’m coping? How do any military wives cope, with their husbands in some godforsaken corner of Afghanistan, trying to track down Osama Bin Laden?

Sharon is the pastor’s wife, and I suppose I should be thankful for her visit. After all, I’ve been in other churches with pastors’ wives that were far more concerned with gossip than the wellbeing of their flock. Sharon isn’t guiltless on the gossip front either, but she has a good heart. I probably judge her too harshly.

‘I’m fine.’

The unconvincing words tumble off my tongue as I return my attention to the teapot. With a slow appraising nod, Sharon looks me up and down. I can tell she’ll arrive at the wrong conclusion about what I need.

Sure enough, once we’re sitting at the kitchen table with our tea and biscuits, Sharon says the words I’d hoped she’d have the sensitivity to avoid.

‘I really think you’d feel better if you came back to church.’

‘No, I’m taking a break.’

My words are emphatic. No room for discussion. But Sharon persists.

‘Look, I know you and David have gradually distanced yourself from our congregation. It is concerning to us, as we’ve known you both for years. We’ve watched you grow up in Sunday school, in the youth group. We’re concerned. Your parents are concerned. Your faith was always so strong, and so was David’s. What happened?’

‘I just need some space.’

‘Christians need fellowship. We need one another.’

‘Sharon, I’m sorry, but I can’t do it anymore. Sunday mornings, prayer meetings, all that stuff… It’s so forced and fake. Everything I’ve been brought up to believe… It doesn’t feel real.’

‘What do you mean?’

I sigh. ‘I don’t know. I just know I can’t do happy-clappy Christian church anymore.’

‘You know, without other Christians around you, your spiritual wellbeing is in serious jeopardy.’

‘I’m asking questions. Why does that make you so uncomfortable?’

‘Questions are fine, but then why not come back to church, and hear the answers.’

‘That’s the problem. The answers aren’t good enough. They’re trite. They’re simplistic. They don’t make sense.’

‘Give me an example.’

I hadn’t intended to speak so bluntly, but without warning, I spit out what has twisted my insides for the last several months.

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‘War. I prayed so hard that it wouldn’t happen. Then I prayed harder still that David wouldn’t be deployed. God didn’t listen. He didn’t care. Now David is out there, and could be killed any day. I’m scared, because I don’t think praying for him not to be killed will make any difference.’

Sharon puts her hand on mine, but I pull it away.

‘It’s no good. God doesn’t care.’

‘Has it occurred to you that David is doing a good thing in Afghanistan? That he’s helping fight against evil and free people from a cruel, oppressive regime?’

I scoff. ‘Have you read a history book? Have you seen the cycle of misery in that country? Do you honestly think Blair letting Britain be Bush’s lapdog is going to make a difference in the long run?’

‘So you object on political grounds?’

‘No, I would object on any grounds, if I’m honest. I just want David back. I’m still angry he joined the marines, but what can I do? I’ve been in love with him since I was about fifteen.’

‘I know it’s hard,’ Sharon says.

She doesn’t. Her husband is a pastor. They’re safe, well off, and far from any danger. But she means well. I keep telling myself that, otherwise I’ll end up screaming.

‘I’ve got such a bad feeling about this war,’ I say, my voice faltering a little as I suppress a worried sob. ‘I don’t think I’ll see David again.’

‘Don’t be silly, you can’t possibly know,’ Sharon says.

‘That’s the horrible thing. Not knowing.’

Burning resentment builds within me once more. ‘I still don’t understand how you think it’s all right for Christians to join the army. Thou shalt not kill, and all that.’

‘Zoe darling, you know it’s not that simple. Killing in wartime is different.’

‘How do you know?’

Sharon adopts a somewhat condescending tone. ‘Look, I know at University, you heard a lot of very trendy, intellectual, left-wing ideas…’

‘This war is wrong, Sharon. I feel it in my bones. I feel it with every fibre of my existence. I just wish people like you and Geoff had the guts to speak out against it.’

‘Geoff doesn’t like to get political in his sermons.’

I scoff. ‘Really? Is that why he keeps going on about how ungodly Tony Blair’s legislation is? Not that he seemed too concerned about the war in Afghanistan.’

‘Yes, well for whatever reason, God has allowed it.’

I roll my eyes. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. Trite answers. Doesn’t help me. Sharon, I’m sorry, I know you mean well. But your answers can’t help me.’

‘Zoe, if perhaps we just…’

‘No, enough. I mean it. Let’s talk about something else.’

Sharon nods, and utters those all-too-familiar passive-aggressive evangelical statements of disapproval.

‘I’ll pray for you.’