03-19-2007, 10:19 PM
o n e ; ; F E A T H E R S
Unfinished. Set in Britain in the early years of the First World War, before conscription was introduced. Main character is a young man originally from eastern Europe -- Valentin.
I arrived in the village just before noon, which turned out to be a mistake on my part. The women were out in force, and it took them perhaps five seconds to spot me making my way up the path. One approached me and, ignoring my polite request for directions, she stabbed a white feather into my breast pocket and stalked away with a venomous remark about cowardice. I expected that to be the only incident of the sort, but by the time I had reached the wrought iron gates of the manor there was a veritable sea of white feathers lying in my wake.
It was chauvinism, pure and simple. Who were these people, women who knew nothing of warfare and the harrowing dangers faced daily by the soldiers that they all but force to sign up, to call me a coward? Shirking around my duties, indeed. I scowled darkly at the women assembled nearby, then turned sharply and opened the imposing gates without so much as a backward glance. There were white feathers snagged in the flowers just beyond the fence, scattered up the path and bunched up at the base of the stairs leading up to the door. The women of this village, I reflected, clearly had a lot of time (and geese) on their hands.
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