One Winter Weekend

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

A few minutes later they were once again headed in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe, chatting animatedly as they went.

It must have been the conversation, because before Emily knew it they were at Place Charles de Gaulle and crossing the street to the monument.

“Its spectacular,” she said, a little dazed as she stood at the foot of the structure. The memorial torch was unlit, much to her disappointment. “I thought the flame would be burning,” she mumbled as she walked around the memorial, which was decorated with fresh flowers though barred by a low black chain.

“They rekindle it at six-thirty,” Patrick informed her. “One of the associations of the La Flamme sous l’Arc de Triomphe veterans do it.”

She looked at him in wonder. “You do seem to know a lot about this city.”

He shrugged. “When I first moved here I did everything a tourist would do. Saw every sight. Then when it became home, I wanted to know more,” Patrick continued, turning to look at her. “This place is a part of me now, as much as England was.”

Emily went back to his side and hooked her arm in his. “It makes me a little sad,” she said referring to the monument. “They don’t even know his name, the man whose life they commemorate here. Makes you wonder how many more were lost and never found. Whose families never knew what happened to them, or returned with no name to mark their graves.”

“War is a terrible thing but one that mankind keeps repeating,” Patrick replied, laying a gentle hand on top of hers.

“Do you think we’ll ever change? That there will ever be a world without fighting?”

“I doubt it. Most people gauge their happiness against the prosperity of others. When one set of people think the other has something they should, they fight for it. They fight for what they think is right. The only problem is we all think we’re right.”

Emily looked up at him quizzically.

“As long as we keep fighting over who’s right and who’s wrong, there will never be a world without war. All we can do is create something beautiful to help ease the pain of those wars, and celebrate the people who were lost to them.”

The notion pained Emily. Her Nan was unknown to the world, important to no one but her. There was no special place to mark her life, only a headstone in a graveyard back home.

“We really need to celebrate people while they’re alive,” she said softy.

“I agree.”

“Show me something cheerier now?” she suggested, still holding his gaze.

“It would be my pleasure,” Patrick stated, taking one last look at the monument, before leading her away.