Partita: Why won't you answer me?
Charon: I ... am still trying to understand the question.
Partita: What? Are you so shocked I became a field nurse? Can't even spit out a proper sentence?
Charon: Apologies ... it must be shock. It has been so long since ... I ... heard news of you or your brother.
Partita: My brother? His leg was torn up by a shell. They sent him to the rear hospital. He died right in front of me.
Charon: I ... I'm very sorry.
Partita: No need to apologize. You're a soldier too.
Charon: Why did you come to the front?
Partita: I want to know how Walter died.
Charon: ... Searching for the cause of a man's death on the battlefield is meaningless.
Partita: No one should die without a reason.
Her words leave Charon silent. For a long moment, he struggles to find the right words.
Charon: How long you've spent here is not known to me, but it is clear you're a field nurse.
Charon: You ought to know that when faced with artillery, machine guns, and tanks, a man's life is brief and fragile. There is little worth in it.
Charon: Walter was struck by a shell—to know that much is a small mercy many are denied.
Charon: The words you spoke of Walter's death ... are merely a deflection. There was never meant to be an answer.
Partita: That's not true. You know I'm not that kind of person.
Partita: You're the one who always brushed us off, dodged the truth, pretended nothing was wrong ...
Charon: You're angry.
Partita: Why didn't you come home?
In such situations, even if there is no true answer, an answer must be found. Anything will do.
Charon: I ... no longer know how.
Partita: We need you, Paul. Whether you're the man we knew or whoever it is you are now.
Partita: Why won't you come home? Why won't you see your mother and sister?
Partita: Why didn't you come to see us after we lost Walter?
Charon: ... Partita, it is not that there is no desire to give you an answer.
Partita: He died right in front of you. So tell me ... what kind of artillery did it?
Charon: You have read the notebook. You already know—
Partita: No, I don't. There's only the date he died in there.
Charon: Shellfire. That's all.
Partita: I saw the ripped pages. Why did you tear out the rest of it?
Charon: ...
The light fades from her eyes. Then, a short, bitter laugh escapes her.
Partita: I've had enough, Paul.
Partita: I watched my brother take his own life right in front of me.
Charon: ... Why?
Charon cannot fathom that a man who raised his sister would choose to take his own life.
Partita's eyes hold a bitter edge, yet perhaps it's herself she cannot forgive.
Partita: Once the wound got infected, it was like torture—he was just waiting for it to end.
Partita: I couldn't save him.
Charon: All have done what they could. It wasn't your fault.
Partita: A week after my brother died, you sent the letter saying Walter was gone. You mailed it to his house. I ran all the way there.
Partita: It was raining that day. I slipped. When I grabbed the letter, I thought the blood on it was Walter's. But it was mine.
Charon: ... Partita.
Partita: Walter didn't die in front of me; I know that ... But, maybe that's why I ... I don't know ...
Partita: I went on and on, foolishly, ridiculously, trying to find out how he died.
Partita: And now, finally, I'm faced with the one person who knows what happened, and you just avoid me! It's my right to know, Paul!
Charon: Denial was not intended, nor was turning away.
Charon: You will find it, Partita, even in the wake of such loss. What you truly want to do, or ... what you were meant to do.
Partita: But I can't! I just can't!
Charon: In four days, this field hospital will be moved. The nurses will rotate.
Charon: You can return home. Walter and your brother would have wished for you to stay away from this conflict.
Charon: You were never meant to be part of this war.
Partita: Don't you see? We're all part of this war now! There's no escaping it!
Partita: Before I ever stood here, my life was shattered to pieces. My past AND my future!
Charon lacks the strength to bear her pain. It is all he can do to endure the weight of it.
In the silence, her expression shifts into a form of helpless irony.
Partita: None of this changes anything. We're just rearranging the rubble, that's all.
Partita: Go back to where they need you, Paul. I shouldn't be taking up so much of an officer's time.
Charon: I ... am sorry, Partita. Very sorry.
She simply turns and walks away.
Back in the trenches, Charon's work moves less smoothly than expected. It's as if a stone has slipped into the gears.
Even something as simple as checking for dog tags takes him longer than it used to.
Franz: Oi, Charon! What's with the slow hands today? Come on, let me show you how it's done.
Charon: ... Sorry. Thank you.
Franz: That's the last of them. Guess that's our lot sorted for now.
Franz: Your graveyard's just a stone's throw from here, which means you don't have to rush off for once. Fancy a few rounds of Skat?
Charon: No ... there is no need for cards.
Soldier I: Oh, come on, Charon! Sit down and play a few hands with us.
Soldier II: Save some time for the living for once, will you? Come on!
Charon: ... I will watch for a while.
Soldier II: Still looking for whoever's in that photograph?
Charon: Yes. It will not be an easy task, but the search must go on.
Soldier I: Franz knows half the trench line by name. He'll ask around for you, but only if you beat him fair and square.
Soldier II: Yeah! Go on, all you have to do is win a hand against him! Isn't that right, Franz?
Franz: Oh, give it a rest, you schemers! You're just after Charon's rations!
Charon: ... Rations?
Soldier I: Well, you are out there day and night, scrounging around the battlefield like a proper rag-and-bone man!
Charon: The only purpose is to bury the dead with dignity.
Soldier II: Yeah, yeah, we know. But still, you've got to pick up all sorts of things, right? Cigarettes, bandages, parachute silk ...
Soldier I: That kind of stuff is more valuable to us than gold, Charon.
Franz: True. I'd swap a medal for a dry bandage and a smoke any day.
Soldier II: Keep it down, Franz—best not let the major hear that.
Soldier I: Ahh, Eberhard couldn't care less about that sort of thing.
As they chatter, Charon methodically pulls cigarettes from his coat and stacks them on the shooting bench.
Charon: Take them. No need for games.
Franz lets out a long, dramatic whistle.
Franz: Ah, the perks of having Charon among the Frontgemeinschaft.
Charon: There is hope that you will still help find who this photo belongs to.
Franz: Oh, no need for a trade, Charon. Of course we'll help you look.
Soldier I: That's right, we were just pulling your leg so you'd play cards with us for once.
Charon: Ah. Understood.
Franz: But the field hospital's getting moved in just four days. You know that, don't you?
Charon: Yes ... it is almost time you took your leave.
A rare smile flickers across Franz's face.
Franz: Yeah. I'll escort the evacuation team to the rear, then head back for my leave.
Franz: But before that, I'll do my best to help you track down who the photo belongs to.
Charon: Thank you.
Franz: And tomorrow, I'll find some time to help you bury the soldiers. No refusals, no thanks, alright?
Charon: ... Thank you.
Franz: If I didn't know you better, I'd take that "thank you" as a challenge.
