Broken Doll
Chase Polyak
The rickety old train clambered along the tracks. With every click of the machinery Quang felt closer and closer to home. Click, click, click, click, click. His soldier’s uniform was cleanly pressed and he meant to keep it that way. The war was finally over for him. With surrender coming soon, he knew that peace would follow him home. He had been honorably discharged as The Effort had run out of food. There was nothing he wanted more than to see his mother, grandmother, and sister.
Quang thought vividly of An, his little sister. An had never known their father, and what fading recollections he himself had were only of drunken entries into the house. He never knew what became of the man he supposedly looked like. He did not want to know. In a way, Quang became An's father. He stroked her hair every stormy night, helped her with her homework, and always, above all else, protected her. He hated seeing her face turn pale with fear. It shook him to the core every single time.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud blow that made him instinctively reach for his gun, which of course was no longer strapped to his side. It was with many deep breaths that he realized it was simply the train whistle, and he was to get off at this stop. He grabbed his worn leather case and exited the train, his heart still beating out of his chest. He started along the sidewalk of the familiar town only a mile from his own house. He looked through the windows of the store fronts. Though his mouth watered at the sight of freshly baked breads at the baker’s, the toy shop caught his eye. He saw in the window a beautiful porcelain doll. "An has never had anything like this," he thought to himself. It was a beautiful piece of art. The doll wore a simple white dress decorated with tiny red and pink flowers on the hem. It's shiny black hair was straight except for one small piece plaited with similar red and pink flowers.
Quang went into the store, and minutes later emerged holding the doll gently in his calloused arms. He walked slowly, methodically towards the worn out path into the woods. It wasn’t until he was in those familiar trees that his step quickened. Slowly at first, but soon into a jog. He wished he could run. But after a piece of shrapnel nested itself in his thigh, he would not run again. A thought crossed his mind. What if his injury was part of the reason he was discharged. No, surely someone would’ve told him. “Not now,” he told himself, “Think about it later.”
The ten minute walk to his grandmother’s house was a familiar one for Quang. Once a week he walk ten minutes from his own house, uphill to his grandmothers, and then another ten minutes into town. He would get groceries and other assorted items for his mother and grandmother. He wondered in An had been making that walk while he was away. She would do anything to get away from household chores. He smiled at the thought of all her excuses and ailments that prevented her from sweeping the kitchen floor. Once, when she was still very young, she had complained that she tripped and “bruised her hair.” Their mother had stifled a laugh as she insisted that An was a brave little girl who could “work through the pain.”
Finally, after a ten-minute-eternity, a small, clapboard cottage came into view. Quang walked up to the front door. A glittering picture appeared in his mind. He would open the door to see a table full of warm food. His grandmother and mother would cry and embrace him. An would run to him and jump in his arms. He would give her the doll, and she would come close to tears. She would never cry, but she may just come close. They would sit at the table for hours on end, talking and telling stories, until finally An fell asleep at the table. He would pick up his beloved little sister, give his grandmother a kiss, and walk home. There he could sleep in his own bed, and the days would begin to cycle through, in a safe, normal, comfortable way. Quang drew a breath, and opened the door.
There was no food on the table. Only assorted vegetables in a partially cut disarray. A pot of water had been left over the stove. It’s surface was grimy, and seemingly untouched for at least a day. No one jumped out to meet him. No one came to say hello. Quang’s mind raced with possibilities. Someone could’ve taken them, someone could have hurt them, anything could’ve happened. He was gone for a year. His catholic upbringing reminded him to say a prayer. His eyes turned to the rosary that should’ve hung above the door, but the rosary was gone. “Gran must’ve taken it!” He exclaimed out loud. Dinner, he thought, must be at my house. Gran was a deeply religious person, who always prayed with the rosary before eating. Surely she had brung the rosary with her to say a prayer before this monumental meal.
It was with a lighter, less anxious heart that he set off to his own house. Walking as fast as he could with his injury, it was less than five minutes before he saw the valley shielding his childhood home. He had taken a little known shortcut through the forest. Quang was too excited to notice the empty shells scattered among the ground. The pieces of metal on the path. The faintest streaks of copper red scarring the trees and rocks. He only looked up towards the end of the path, and the start of the hill leading to his house.
As he started down the hill, he remembered all the things he and An did here. The two of them would roll down the hill, and race up and down and back up again. It never really ended. They were always racing somewhere. In his loudest voice, he yelled out, “An! I’ll race you to the top of the hill!” His words echoed once, twice, three times through the trees. She must not have heard, he thought. He continued down the path to his home. Once again, that picturesque image filled his mind as he opened the door.
“Quang!” Gran exclaimed. She rose from the long wooden table, where food lay piping hot. Quang ran to her and hugged her tightly. His eyes peered over her shoulders, looking for his mother and sister. “Gran...” he started. Her eyes had filled with tears, and Gran, much like An, never cried. A muffled cry came from the back room. An’s room. Quang dropped his case and the doll in the table and ran back to An’s door. Without thinking, he threw it open. “An!” He cried out. But An was not there. Quang’s strong, beautiful mother was lying on An’s bed, tears cascading down her face. Her hair was usually pulled up, in a tight, neat bun. Now it was matted, and loose. “Mama, what is it?” he asked her. She looked up, and scrambled over to him. Quang grabbed her soldiers and asked again, “What happened?” She looked up slowly. She spoke slowly, pronouncing each syllable as if it pained her to speak. “She was coming home from Gran’s. In the forest. I heard yells, and screams. There were cannons and guns. I went to find her. I looked for hours. She wasn’t there. She isn’t here.” Her eyes glazed over as a fresh stream of tears fell down her already wet cheeks. She clenched her body, curling up onto the bed and shaking.
Never in this world or another could this actually be true. No cruel fantasy could make this true. How could the sun keep rising and setting so consistently when An didn’t. Quang sat in a half conscious state, staring at the sun An had drawn on her wall. It was bright even now, when the whole world was pitch dark. It just wasn’t right. He had come home to a nightmare, from a nightmare. Why should Heaven enjoy the company of a beautiful little girl so soon. Heaven could have eternity. Quang only wanted a small lifetime.
Quang stood, not comprehending what had happened. He walked back into the kitchen. There, the doll he had bought lay broken on the floor, where it had fallen. Tiny fissures had grown along the delicate China body. The perfectly smooth hair had begun to frizz, coming out of the little plait. He looked at the cracked face, and fell, twisting onto the floor. Not An. Not An. Not An. Memories of bullets cascading overhead flooded his senses. He was shooting into enemy lines, screaming, dodging bullets that weren’t there, but were at the same time. He could hear the screams of his friends, or the shouts signaling a death among the ranks. The cries came now from his own family.The only reason he went to endure that pain and terror was so that An wouldn’t have to. And yet she died. She died and he survived. What kind of a brother was he? What kind of a brother goes to fight and his precious baby sister still dies. He was worthless. His worth had died.
He screamed a blood-curdling scream as he picked up the pieces of the broken doll. He bundled them up in his shirt and ran outside, up the hill. He threw the pieces down the hill. “You win!” he cried, “You win!” He collapsed, exhausted on the ground. There he lay, dreaming of broken dolls.