“We should have taken the binder.”
The older man kept his eyes on the path as they walked.
“No.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
The trail climbed gradually through open timber. Nothing difficult. Dry ground, long switchbacks, enough room to walk beside each other when they wanted to.
For a while they didn’t speak.
“What happened after Russia left?”
“Left what?”
“The war.”
The older man stepped around a fallen branch.
“That took a while.”
“The revolution happened.”
“Yes.”
“They wanted out.”
“Some of them.”
The younger man looked over.
“Lenin did.”
“Lenin did.”
“And eventually Russia left.”
The older man walked a few more steps.
“Eventually.”
The younger man smiled.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“Eventually.”
The older man said nothing.
The trail narrowed around a stand of young firs. He went first. The younger man followed several paces behind.
“They had an armistice.”
“Yes.”
“And then negotiations.”
“Yes.”
“Brest-Litovsk.”
“Eventually.”
“You’re doing it deliberately now.”
“Maybe.”
They came out of the trees onto a long traverse.
The younger man moved alongside him again.
“Trotsky said neither war nor peace.”
“Yes.”
“He said Russia was done fighting.”
“More or less.”
“So they stopped.”
The older man looked ahead.
“Germany didn’t.”
The younger man walked several steps without answering.
“They attacked.”
“Yes.”
“After Russia said it was finished.”
“Yes.”
“And Russia was demobilizing.”
“Yes.”
The younger man kicked a loose stone off the trail. It bounced twice and disappeared into the brush below.
“So they started fighting again.”
“Some did.”
“I thought they were leaving.”
“They were.”
The trail steepened.
For several minutes the conversation gave way to breathing.
At the next switchback the younger man stopped to drink. The older man waited a few yards above him, one hand resting on the strap of his pack.
“When did Russia actually leave the war?”
“Which Russia?”
The younger man lowered the bottle.
“The country.”
“That doesn’t help much.”
“The government.”
“Which government?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
The younger man put the bottle away.
“Then answer.”
“The Bolsheviks signed a treaty.”
“March.”
“Yes.”
“So March.”
The older man started walking again.
The younger man caught him.
“But there were still German troops there.”
“Yes.”
“And Russian soldiers.”
“Yes.”
“Still shooting?”
“In places.”
“After Russia left the war.”
The older man glanced at him.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because they left.”
“The government signed.”
“Isn’t that leaving?”
“It’s one way.”
They walked on.
The younger man was quiet now.
The trail crossed a slope where the trees had burned years earlier. Gray trunks stood above brush and new growth. Far below, a road appeared and disappeared between the folds of the land.
“What about November?”
The older man looked over.
“Which November?”
“1918.”
“What about it?”
“The war ends.”
“An armistice begins.”
“At eleven.”
“Yes.”
“So everyone stops.”
“On that front.”
The younger man frowned.
“Not everywhere?”
“No.”
They walked another hundred yards.
“Then when did the First World War end?”
The older man didn’t answer.
The trail turned sharply uphill.
A little farther on, he stopped.
The younger man took two more steps before noticing. He stopped too and turned.
“Eventually.”
The older man turned and continued uphill.
He didn’t look back.
The younger man remained where he was.
The distance between them opened.
Ten yards.
Fifteen.
The older man kept walking.
The younger man looked down the trail they had already covered, then toward the man climbing away from him.
He adjusted one shoulder strap.
Then he started walking again.
WE&P by: EZorrillaMc&Co.
Travel in Life 