The Snowbound House and the Forty-Fourth Brass

Haruna Village. The snow fell relentlessly, erasing the old mountain pass into a blank white sheet. Until spring, I cannot return to the Association's depot, nor can I go to the Burnt Bridge. My mother Isa's house smelled of firewood and the damp coats of those who had lost their homes. I presented the canteen to the displaced family sheltering in the back room. 'I have come to deliver this. Does this belong to Albert Weber of the 12th Infantry Regiment of the Allied Forces?' The dented brass bottom, the scratches worn by his own fingers. The woman who said she was his wife traced them with her fingertips and nodded quietly. After three confirmations, I handed it over. With this, the number of lives I have returned is forty-four. In the kitchen, as my mother ladled hot soup, she asked with her usual face, 'Any word from Noya?' I replied, 'No, nothing.' The steam from the soup clouded my eyes. In my breast pocket lay the unopened letter I had recovered on the old pass, with its black sealing wax and the stamp of the 13th Regiment—the same as my brother's dog tag. Unable to pull it out, I simply dipped my dry bread into the soup. —— I have delivered it safely.