Following the infant's cries, Eugene ventured deeper into the room. There, he witnessed an infant lying helplessly on the ground, wailing inconsolably—a tiny, grimy, fragile infant.
Drenched in the bloodstains of war, the innocent cries carried a purity not of this world. Amidst the encirclement of corpses, signifying the cessation of all life, the decayed scent of death pervaded unrestrained. Yet, the birth of life was declared through the infant's cries, akin to opium poppies blooming on a decaying corpse—seductive and lethal.
Eugene's steps involuntarily slowed down; he couldn't move any closer. Rifle-bearing hands slowly dropped to his sides. His face mirrored a mixture of confusion amidst the numbness, gazing vacantly at the infant, the small life with reddened face from excessive crying, adrift in bewilderment.
He stood there, just standing, tranquilly. The long, narrow pupils held no ripples. It had been so long since he'd sensed the scent of newborn life that the essence of existence eluded him. The face smeared with filth exhibited indifference and detachment, yet a hint of panic and uncertainty emerged beneath. There was even a touch of revulsion and repulsion, lurking faintly in the gloomy, sparse light.
Merriell approached as well, gazing at the heart-rending infant, momentarily stunned. Her eyes turned slightly reddened, but she remained rooted in place, as if Eugene had drawn an abyss-like boundary at his feet that could not be crossed.
Following Eugene's gaze upwards, she noticed the large hole in the roof. The cold wind breezed in freely, making one shiver. The baby's cries turned the wind's sound desolate and eerie. "Lots of people fired mortars up here," she said with a touch of mockery curling her lips.
How ironic, wasn't it? In the midst of war, soldiers' deaths flowed like rivers, but what was more horrifying was how the innocent civilians perished along with the wind, yet no one cared at all.
"That doesn't matter," Eugene said calmly. His expressionless face seemed to depict the gradual fading of vitality, the fragments of pain flickering in his eyes. An indescribable sadness and despair diffused between his lips. Indifference, it seemed, also had its hues.
Behind them, colleagues entered as well, observing Eugene and Merriell's stupefied states. One of them, indignant, exclaimed, "What the hell is the matter with you two?" He approached and gingerly took the infant into his arms.
Unbeknownst to Eugene, he took a step back. He had actually taken a step back. A tinge of fear appeared on his impassive face. It was as if the burgeoning vitality would devour all his courage and resolve, exposing his vulnerability and fragility once more.
The baby was carried away, the team didn't notice Eugene's anomaly. Merriell, confirming everyone else was lifeless, turned and left as well, leaving Eugene alone. He continued staring at the mother of the infant, who lay exposed-breasted on the ground, devoid of any warmth, ice-cold. Just a second before, she was nurturing her child, and the next moment, the divide between life and death had separated them.
Eugene's gaze couldn't break away from the body lying in a pool of blood. He remained immobile, silent, watching, just watching. In this manner, he watched as time flowed slowly on his shoulders, icy to the extent that even angels couldn't spread their wings. Then, he turned and departed. The placid emotions that barely rippled returned to calmness as if nothing had occurred. He blinked, as if nothing had happened at all. A deathly silence persisted.
Eugene left the innermost room and was about to exit when he heard a noise. The hairs on his body stood on end, and he instinctively tightened his grip on the rifle. The survival instinct caused the scent of blood to once again pervade the air. "Japanese..." came the intermittent choked voice from behind.
Eugene raised the rifle and cautiously turned around. Behind the grass curtain, he saw the face of an Asian woman. She lay on a pile of straw, her mouth wide open, struggling to breathe. Her eyes, like stagnant water, lifted slightly. When she spotted Eugene, her pupils shifted, devoid of any light. Still, she mustered all her strength to utter once again, "Japanese..." She then raised her hands, pointing to the pattern on the back of her hand, as if saying: the Japanese killed all her family.
However, she had no more strength left, gasping for breath as her head tilted. It seemed one could clearly observe the process of life escaping her body. She stared vacantly at Eugene, a hint of yearning in her eyes, beseeching for something. Yet, Eugene remained unmoved.
Eugene's gaze moved up and down, merely observing silently. He didn't derive enjoyment, nor did he suffer. He was enveloped in a serene state, much like watching the clouds gather and disperse across the water-washed sky, tranquil and serene. His unwavering eyes amid the blood-soaked filth sent shivers down one's spine, hinting at a concealed desolation and loneliness. It was as if one could see a translucent and elusive soul walking on a desolate path in the netherworld.
Then Eugene noticed the hand grenade in her hand. He raised the firearm again, the vigilance of a predator instantly erupting, the tension in his muscles palpable. Just a slight movement, and he could dash forward, easily harvesting the enemy's life.
Unexpectedly, at the sight of Eugene's reaction, the woman nodded slightly. A scalding tear rolled down her cheek. It seemed... as if she was entreating Eugene to end her life. The woman reached to unbutton her shirt, revealing her slashed abdomen, intestines and entrails bleeding onto the ground.
She was begging Eugene to relieve her suffering.
Eugene remained rooted in place, his emotions placid, even his movements began to slow down. He continued to gaze down at the woman from his superior position. She stretched out her right hand, attempting to grasp the barrel of Eugene's rifle, but he remained impassive. Death was too commonplace for him, almost like his comrades.
Finally, Eugene took a step forward. Just two small steps, and he stood beside the woman. Compared to the infant, he would rather approach a lifeless body.
The woman grabbed the barrel of the rifle as Eugene lowered it, then pointed it at her own forehead, closing her eyes with an expression of release. Eugene placed his finger on the trigger. This was a movement he was most familiar with, one that had become an instinct for him. He himself couldn't even count how many people he had killed, how many were Japanese, how many were innocent civilians... and how many were mistakenly killed friendly forces.
His finger twitched slightly. Just a little exertion, and he could end the woman's suffering. For him, it was merely a minor action in the routine of life, not much different from eating and drinking.
However, he hesitated.
Seeing the woman exhale as if in surrender, as if all her pain had receded like the tide, a memory of the baby's cry resurfaced in his mind. Deep within his profound eyes welled a subtle struggle, tinged with unbearable agony. He hurriedly closed his eyes, concealing his true emotions, then lowered his right hand. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.
What was he really fighting for? What was the purpose behind his perseverance, his killing, his survival? Where was God now? Shouldn't God be the one to save and protect mankind? Wasn't God supposed to send Jesus to bear the suffering and calamity of humanity? Then why was this woman lying here? Why was that baby lying here? Why were their fragile lives gradually dissipating? Why were so many innocent lives lost? How did God decide? Why did those people die while he still lived?
Why? Why, indeed?
The woman sensed the lowering of the gun, opened her eyes again, and met Eugene's deep gaze, where she perceived a struggle veiled in pain. She disappointedly lowered her right hand, gazing at Eugene with sadness and despair. Subsequently, she saw Eugene's ice-cold visage soften, like an iceberg thawing. A trace of warm radiance emerged amidst the anguish and torment, flickering faintly.
Eugene exhaled gently, bending down to lay the firearm aside. He then cradled the woman in his arms, slowly, tenderly placing her head against his chest. The warmth of his breath brought a comfortable expression to the woman's face, alleviating her agony.
Eugene looked down at the woman, her face smeared with blood, a bittersweet feeling dancing on the tip of his tongue. He unconsciously lifted his right hand, using his thumb to gently stroke her chin, as if caressing a beloved. His gaze was focused and earnest, and the rigid lines of his face slowly softened.
The woman stared at the soldier close at hand. The dim light streamed through the door of the wooden hut, scattering thinly. His eyelashes, delicate as butterfly wings, shielded the emotions in his eyes. She could only catch a glimpse of a corner. Her fragile soul was gradually crumbling and disintegrating, as if she was witnessing the collapse of the entire world—grand and majestic. She watched in silence as the virtues of kindness, innocence, simplicity, friendliness, and sincerity were stripped away bit by bit, her unwavering faith gradually fading, the gentle golden hues gradually drained of all color, leaving everyone breathless in an instant.
She couldn't help but raise her left hand, weakly patting Eugene's arm, before laboriously closing her eyes, savoring the faint warmth.
Seeing the fragile life in his embrace, Eugene couldn't bear it. He closed his eyes, completely masking the glistening moisture within his eye sockets. The glint that had briefly appeared in the corner of his eyes was extinguished in an instant, as if it were God's last trace of compassion and mercy. Eugene then held the woman in his arms, his chin resting against her forehead. He exhaled gently, afraid of awakening the slumbering angel.
And so, the woman fell into an eternal slumber; and God, forever abandoned them.