reconstruction: nathaniel & ruth

[sister_saviour]

Ruth,

Five months ago today, we were married. When I look around me, it is hard to imagine the world in which that event occurred existing at all. The chapel is gone. I went by the spot earlier today. A black circle from the blast remains as a reminder. It is my sincerest hope that this entire thing will be over soon and you will be returned to your life here. For now, I will trust that you are safe and well provided for. I regret that we did not have much time to speak to one another before or after the ceremony. It was a very chaotic time. Now feels almost like too late. There are many things I cannot discuss with you now. Please tell me all about yourself though.

Yours,
Nathaniel

[star studded]

Nathaniel,

Your letter brought me great hope upon receiving it. I am now positive that you are alive and well enough to send letters, and I pray that you remain so in the coming months. I hope that the chaos ends soon.

After the ceremony, I boarded a train car stuffed with other women and children. There were some men, mostly feeble, in wheelchairs, or with crutches and braces. The men who couldn't fight. We were packed like sardines for a day and a half, and the train carried us off to the New Country, where I am now. I am living in a tenement with other women and families. I have my own small compartment. We have hot water twenty-four hours a day, and electricity for twelve. I am allowed to wash my hair in the small sink every morning, and bathe every night. Things are new and regimented here. We are treated like refugees, delicately and with caution.

I don't know what to tell you about myself that can't be learned from looking at my Identification Card. My name was Ruth Ellen Porter, but now that has changed. I am five foot seven with dark hair and dark blue eyes. Not as light as yours, those I remember. My mother and father have relocated since the revolution began and I have not heard from them. I have no brothers or sisters. I like dancing and chess and films. I was studying to be a photojournalist at university.

I wish that I could put something in these pages that would warm you, but there is simply nothing I can offer. Please know that this letter is sent with the most tender affections that I have, and that when I pray at night, it is always for God to hold you in the palm of His hand and keep you safe.

Please write soon.

Affectionately,
Ruth

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ June 01, 2007 08:17 PM: Message edited by: midnight radio ]</font>

[sister_saviour]

Ruth,

Yes, I am well. It is a priority to stay as well as possible. There have been many injuries and deaths since the evacuation that took you away from here. I will not trouble you with the list of names. It is too hard to think about it most days. The weather has been very good. For most of last month, the rains had set in. Rain is bad. It makes gunpowder useless and causes foot rot. I have survived though with all of my toes intact. I am one of the luckier men.

I'm glad to hear that you are living so well. Is the water clean and do you have enough food to eat? If you begin to have health problems, you must write me with them and I will try to help you though the distance is very far. If there are medical facilities, you must take advantage of them. Make sure to get enough sunlight and mineral though. I would boil your drinking water to be safe, just in case.

I remember your face still. You have very delicate features and very long eyelashes. Your mouth is permanently bent into a smile. It is funny the things that are remembered. I try to hold on to these things because they remind me that our world still exists and will continue to. Do you write with your left hand or right? Can you whistle? I should have talked to you more during socials, I realize now. These are things one should know.

Take care Ruth Ellen Green.

Your husband,
Nathaniel

[star studded]

Nathaniel,

The weather here is also dreary. It rains often and there is a thick fog at night that settles over the city. We wash our clothes in the river that runs through the heart of the town. At noon every day, it is filled with suds. We beat our clothes dry on the cobblestoned streets. It is a strange ritual, but the women perform it every day like clockwork.

It saddens me to hear about the names, the dead, the way that you risk losing parts of you to the weather. I want to think of only the spirit of the soldiers, the idea that they are fighting for a better independent republic. Here, we have plenty to eat. We all eat our meals together, here in the building. We are allowed seconds, even, and sometimes there is pudding or dry cake for dessert. The children even have a play area in the center of the complex. It is decorated with flowers and brightly colored plastic toys.

There are not many health problems. I am feeling fine, but some of the women have begun to develop a cough. I do not think that it will spread to me. I have been taking pictures of the complex and of the people. Would you like to see them if I could manage to get them developed?

I wish I had taken a photograph of you at our wedding. You were very nervous. I remember that you had a rosy little mouth and very pale skin. Your suit was black and you were tall and slim. Your hair was perfectly in place until the bombs began to fall.

I write with my left hand and I can whistle. My favorite song to whistle is Oh Susanna. Can you whistle? Do you dream of me?

Stay well, my Nathaniel.

Yours,
Ruth Green

[sister_saviour]

Ruth,

Why do you not wash your clothes in your sink as you have hot water? Is it a social activity there to wash together? It seems as if you are very used to communal living by now. Does everyone have a specific task that is their own? Perhaps I am imaging another world there that is much better than what occurs here. Think of that world, not this one. Do not think of me here. I was being conversational in my own way, but do not wish for you to think of anything that occurs here. Imagine you are on vacation and will be returning soon. My father's house is still standing. It is in need of new paint and all of the windows have been blown out, but I believe that it will survive. I will send for you and we will live there. For now, eat and be strong. Stay away from the women with the coughs and if you must be around them, try to wear a scarf or something that you can breathe into. Do not get ill.

I do not know how to whistle. I can play some piano though. I do not dream any more, but I plan and that sometimes is as good as dreaming. It is just as well. I do not sleep long enough bouts to enjoy a dream anyway.

What is your favorite color? Do you smoke cigarettes? Please inclose a picture of yourself if you have one to send.

Yours,
Nathaniel

[star studded]

Nathaniel,

It is easier for us to wash our clothes in the river because it allows the women to trade things of use. It is like an open market, or a bazaar, sometimes. We don't live communally. We live our own lives, but we perform basic functions together. We eat together. We wash our clothes together. We trade books to read, or things that we had managed to bring. We all have one thing in common. We are all the wives of soldiers.

I will pray that the day you send for me is soon. I can survive here, but it is a very hard road, and some of the women are quite cruel. The town also seems to dislike our presence. Our complex is behind a very large fence and sometimes, when we are in the open space, we can see the townspeople spit at us. They call us things in a language I don't understand, but it doesn't sound nice.

The leaders tell us there is no reason to be afraid. I am tired of living with soldiers telling me whether or not I am allowed to be afraid.

My favorite color is blue. I have smoked cigarettes before, at university, but I do not have a habit. I have enclosed a picture of me. It is the only one I could find in my album that is recent. Please hold onto it and when you look at it, know I am thinking of you.

Are you hurt? Do you worry? Do you think that I will be able to come home soon?

Devoted,
Ruth


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[sister_saviour]

Ruth,

The questions you ask me are very difficult. I cannot answer them and you must forgive me for that. Today is a bad day. I will not say more than that and I hope that this letter finds its way to you and will be legible through all the mud.

I thank you for the picture that you have enclosed in your latest letter. I will keep it close to me and look often at it to remind myself that I am not alone. In your next letter, I want you to describe for me how you imagine our life to be after this. I want you to describe our house and marriage. Give me your dreams since I have none of my own to share.

I apologize that this letter is short and insistent.

Yours,
Nathaniel

[star studded]

Nathaniel,

I will not say much to the effect of how your current state makes me feel. I will instead, do as you requested. I do not know what marriage will be like, especially one like ours. I imagine that we will discover new things about each other every day. We will live in the farm house and grow crops. I will cook and clean like a wife should. I don't know much about being a dutiful wife, but I can tell you that I will be faithful and loyal and good to you. I will listen. I will tell you jokes and stories about my childhood. We can talk about novels and music, about the little I understand about politics and opera. We will play chess and I will teach you how to whistle.

I imagine we will be tender with each other. We could grow to love our life in the farm house. We will learn each other inch for inch and then we will have children. I will learn how to be a mother and a wife. I will tell them how their father is brave and filled with courage and compassion. They will read our letters like secrets.

This is all just a dream. I don't know what marriage will be like. I only hope that it will be fulfilling and long. That we will have plenty of time to learn about each other.

I long for the day that I can see your face again, and this time, I will take it in, piece by piece, and memorize it should you ever leave again.

I must end this letter. I am overwhelmed. Write soon.

Yours,
Ruth

[sister_saviour]

Ruth,

Your last letter was beautiful. I do not talk about these things much because I cannot allow you to be troubled by them, but things are coming to a critical point.

I will not be writing you for some time. Please wait for me. I hope that the next letter you receive will be one with good news and details of your return.

Your husband,
Nathaniel

[sister_saviour]

- Seven months later -


Ruth,

Your train departs at the station at 15:45. There will be enough credit on your card to return you home. You will also notice that an additional credit of 85-Cloth is present. It is not much, but enough to afford you a traveling outfit. Do not be afraid to travel. It is safe for you to do so now at this time.

I will be at the station.

NG