Dark Empath
Gentlemen with medals and epaulettes sat in dim light. They packed the seats. They did not smile. They did not clap when the lights came on. Men smoked around tables and drank with their dates. Their whispers stopped as the lights shifted around the smoke of the stage. The lenses of glasses flashed in the glare of the spotlights. The murmuring ceased. First smoke rolled out. Then the drums started beating. One by one the horns followed up. Then in a moment it halted. The marshals in the crowd were on the back of their heels.
Then. Flash. Fireworks. Under the sparks entered their favorite star. Anetta Riese. She bowed. Counted to three, and her voice rose over the orchestra. By the end of her concert, the men were tearing off their uniforms and screaming for an encore. It got so loud that Riese could not finish her final song. The military sent her a truck full of fan mail after the performance.
This is the translation of what she sang to the audience that night.
Who goes into battle with a song on their lips?
Who never did have the soul of a coward?
Fire the cannons, you descend from the heroes of Luminara,
Fire the cannons, justice is on your side.
Fire the cannons, you are the pride of Commander Milo.
Not even America has an army like this!
It is said upon hearing his name. Commander Eimer Milo fainted and had to be carried out of the music hall.
There was a time when everyone in the Kingdom of Elbonia knew the voice of Anetta Riese. She performed at victory parades, for national holidays, for foreign dignitaries. She came a long way from the village, tending to chickens and dreaming of huge stages and cameras. Her songs were gentle folk songs, lullabies, and sweet love songs. She put on little dance shows for the village. She sang in church. She cheered on the local sports team. She never dreamed that someday she'd be standing on a cannon singing to men of war. Once the Leader took power, they no longer let her make songs that didn’t glorify the regime. Her simple songs became war ballads, and they were weaponized within and beyond the borders of their kingdom.
Her music was in every radio tower. It didn't just play on the radio, it played in prison cells. In POW camps. They used it to jam radio signals. They even broadcasted her around the world to demoralize the enemies of Elbonia. Her radio show became an infamous propaganda project. The enemies of Elbonia heard her gentle voice speak to them about the most depressing things, but she never stopped being sunny. Even the most defiant man desired to hear more of her voice.
Her popularity only increased as the Leader took power and all music was created by the Ministry. There she met many notable people involved in the regime, including Director Herman Olliot. Olliiot Always enjoyed working with her. The way she came up with dance moves, ideas like filming the music videos from helicopters, she made sure the cameras caught her footwear, a majestic building, or something simple like a man fishing alone. The Director however felt pins of jealousy tearing up at him. He wrote songs too, but unlike Annetta, the Leader did not enjoy them as much. The director met with Annetta, on the brink of tears, he took her hand and asked her what to do.
“Let me see the lyrics.”
He gave them to her on a piece of paper.
“Hear our weapons, our army is the best.
Volunteers stand up, the enemy is near
Your honor calls on you
To die for the leader in glorious combat!”
Annetta shook her head and set it down.
“It sounds like everything else the Ministry has been releasing.” she told him. “It’s flat. It doesn’t beckon to our young, we can’t dance to it, it’s like whoever wrote this did not enjoy it at all.”
“I don't know what to do. If I can’t write a good song they’ll….” He grew white.
“How about this… the song isn’t about fighting your enemy, it’s about asking your friend NOT to fight you. Start like this. My friend, why have you struck me? You know you’ll never be able to play piano again. You started this fire? You’ll be burned by its flames. Just get out while you still can. You’ll lose more than your honor, you’ll lose your black bombers.”
The song they ended up writing together sounded like this.
“Is it the truth or are you just joking ?
You want to start a fire in Elbonia?
Is it the truth or are you just joking ?
You want to start a fire in Elbonia?
Old friend from the previous war
You'll put the rope around your own neck
Don’t pick a fight with defiant Elbonia
You will lose your black bombers!
Small and brave is my little homeland
For a thousand years she has not given up her honor!
The song became a hit, and Director Olliot made sure to include Annetta in more of his projects, and have her the stage name Prairie Rose, which she would be known as internationally. He put her in charge of his national radio show, where she spoke English directly to the enemies of their nation. Her broadcasts after Elbonia invaded and conquered its smaller weaker neighbors became a daily feature. As countries around the world prepared their militaries, her voice grew louder.
“Good evening, Europe. Good evening, America. Good evening to all the little kingdoms, great republics, mighty empires, and assorted gentlemen with battleships who have recently taken such an enthusiastic interest in our humble country.
This is Prairie Rose, broadcasting from the Kingdom of Elbonia.
And what a lovely evening it is!
The stars are shining over our capital. Our soldiers are sleeping soundly in the homes of their newly acquired neighbors, and our newspapers report that practically the entire civilized world would like to have a word with us.
How flattering!
We have received your declarations, your condemnations, your ultimatums, your diplomatic protests, and one particularly unpleasant telegram from a gentleman who appears to own an extraordinary number of warships.
We have read them all.
Some of them twice.
Now, I understand that certain nations are upset about our recent territorial adjustments. There have been complaints about borders, sovereignty, international law, and the general inconvenience of having Elbonian soldiers arrive uninvited.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, we cannot please everybody!
Our government has assured us that these operations are entirely necessary, our newspapers assure us that they are universally popular, and our generals assure us that the situation is completely under control.
So you see, there is really very little to worry about.
Of course, we have heard the rumors.
We understand that several of our neighbors are preparing to defend themselves. We understand that distant powers are gathering their fleets, sharpening their diplomatic language, and making arrangements for what promises to be a very unpleasant summer.
To these gentlemen, I offer a little advice.
Please do not mistake our small size for an absence of enthusiasm.
Elbonia may not possess your great industrial cities, your enormous armies, or your magnificent navies. But we possess something quite extraordinary.
We possess an entire population that has become very accustomed to being told that everything is going according to plan.
And that, dear listeners, is a remarkable national resource.
To our neighbors, I would like to extend a personal greeting.
We hope you are comfortable.
We hope your families are well.
We hope you have managed to locate all your furniture, livestock, and national monuments following the recent rearrangements.
And please, do not hesitate to write. We are always interested in hearing from our neighbors, particularly those who have recently acquired a new Elbonian flag.
As for the great powers of the world, I ask only that you exercise patience.
We are a small country with a very large opinion of itself. Such things take time to correct.
And now, before I go, I have one final message.
Elbonia does not seek war with the world.
It merely seems to have developed an extraordinary talent for finding it.
This is Prairie Rose, speaking to our friends, our enemies, and those who have not yet decided which category they belong in.
From our little kingdom to your great nations, we wish you peace, prosperity, and the good sense to keep your distance.
Good night, ladies and gentlemen.
And God save Elbonia.”
Soldiers of Elbonia cheered when they heard her. She visited the bases before soldiers went off to the front lines. The Ministry sent her to address the problems the soldiers had. The war wasn’t something they really wanted to fight. The soldiers had personal problems they’d rather be dealing with or families they’d rather join. Aside from that, not all agreed that the war was fair, that thy could win, or that the violence they were committing would go unnoticed. Reports coming into the ministry didn’t just have the armies surrendering to the Leader of Elbonia, but Elbonia’s great military burned entire villages to the ground. These rumors became worse and worse. Mass graves, schools destroyed, people lined up and gunned down in the woods. When the Leader of Elbonia told them he wanted a war with the world, they didn’t seem as enthusiastic as when they invaded their neighbors. So he sent Prairie Rose to speak to them.
“Good evening, boys.
It's Prairie Rose.
I hope you're somewhere warm tonight.
I hope you've managed to find a little coffee, a dry pair of socks, and perhaps a few minutes of quiet. I know the nights are long where you are. I know the cold gets into your bones. And I know there are some evenings when you would give just about anything to be somewhere else.
Perhaps sitting at your mother's kitchen table.
Perhaps holding your sweetheart's hand.
Perhaps sleeping in your own bed, with the window cracked open just enough to hear the summer insects.
I know.
I know there are letters you haven't answered. Bills waiting at home. Arguments you left unfinished. Children who have grown another inch since you last saw them. There are fathers who need their sons, wives who need their husbands, and little houses with empty chairs at the supper table.
Some of you were supposed to be getting married this autumn.
Some of you were supposed to start a business.
Some of you were supposed to go fishing.
And some of you, I imagine, would rather be doing absolutely anything in the world besides listening to me.
Well, I won't take it personally.
You see, boys, I have heard what you're saying.
I have heard that some of you don't understand why we're fighting. That you don't think the war is fair. That you look at the maps and the numbers and wonder whether anybody in the capital has quite understood the situation.
I've heard the rumors, too.
I won't pretend otherwise.
There are terrible stories coming back from the occupied territories. Stories about villages, families, and people who will never come home. There are accusations being whispered about what our soldiers have done, and what our commanders have permitted.
I know some of you are asking questions.
I know some of you are angry.
And I know that some of you are afraid of what the answers might be.
But tonight, I don't want you to think about those things.
I want you to think about home.
Think about the girl who used to wait for you outside the railway station. Think about the little boy who wanted to wear your uniform. Think about the dog that still sleeps beside the back door.
Think about the people who are counting the days.
Because they are counting, boys.
Every single one.
And they are listening to the radio, just as you are.
They hear the reports. They read the newspapers. They look at the photographs. They wonder whether the next knock at the door will be a neighbor or a government official.
They are frightened, too.
And I wonder what they would say if they could hear you tonight.
Would they ask you to come home?
Of course they would.
Would they tell you that they miss you?
Certainly.
Would they tell you that they don't care about medals, parades, or the speeches of politicians?
I expect they would.
But I wonder whether they would ask you to abandon one another.
I wonder whether they would ask you to leave the boy standing beside you in the mud. The fellow who shares his cigarettes. The fellow who writes letters for the man who cannot spell. The fellow who laughs at the wrong moments because he doesn't know what else to do.
I wonder whether they would want him left alone.
Boys, I cannot promise you that this war will be over by Christmas.
I cannot promise you that the newspapers are right. I cannot promise you that the generals understand everything. And I cannot promise that the world will remember your names.
But I can tell you that the Kingdom remembers.
Your mothers remember.
Your fathers remember.
And somewhere, in a little house with a light burning in the window, someone is still saving you a place at the table.
So don't think about the rumors tonight.
Don't think about the villages.
Don't think about the men who sent you here, or the men who might be waiting for you tomorrow.
Think about the table.
Think about the light.
Think about the people who need you to come home.
And when morning comes, boys, you know what is expected.
This has been Prairie Rose, speaking to the sons of Elbonia.
Sleep well, if you can.
Write your letters.
Keep your heads down.
And remember: there is a place for you at home.
Good night, boys.”
It is said that soldiers came back home without legs and arms. They still remembered those words, and repeated them to their families. Happily.
“Yes I missed home, but I didn’t leave my comrades behind.”
The radio broadcasts always sounded like victory, and the ensuing battles became endless slaughters. The war went nowhere as the Elbonian army did not have the resources to carry on a conflict of a global magnitude. They could only dig into trenches, lay traps in the cities, and wait for the enemy to cross over. With the voice of Prairie Rose behind them, they were eager to meet the enemy on the meagre battlefields and faced war machines and hails of bullets. Only when rockets and planes started flying over their heads did they face defeats. Bombs in their home towns exploded, entire families carried off in sheets, entire fortunes reduced to rubble.
With the retreat of the army to the central city, the Ministry began promoting aggressive songs to keep it’s army fighting. Even when the war was unwinnable. The Director went into his studio. The song he was supposed to make went like this.
“I want to battle you
If you want to battle me
Just keep my gun reloaded”
He hated it. He had been making simple war songs. Now they wanted him to start making threats, start making hate songs about the very people they slaughtered in their beds. Songs like “My Father is a War Criminal”. Outside bombs struck in the distance. Dead bodies littered the streets. Kids were starving in the devastation.
He entered the studio in a blue suit. Prairie Rose helped assemble children. They used footage of the rubble cut with footage they shot in the studio. The wall shook from explosions outside. The kids looked afraid in the lens of the camera, but the Director held them close. He looked like a kindly grandfather on camera when he started singing. Not a song of war, but a song of peace. He begged for the enemies of Elbonia to stop bombing for the damage had been done, and the war lost.
“It’s time to stop thinking about battle
And start thinking about the children”
The song was broadcasted across Elbonia, and internationally to their foes. The Director stayed in his room, a gun on his lap. When the secret police arrived to arrest him, he had already shot himself. The secret police came for Prairie Rose next, but before they could arrest her for her part in the stunt, the capitol fell and the secret police was dissolved.
The capitol city was nearly demolished with bombs. The military lowered its flags, burned their uniforms, dropped their weapons, and surrendered. Most of the leadership was convicted of war crimes. The Leader himself was exiled to an island near Antarctica. The people, even the most modest Elbonian, was now associated with the Leader and his crimes. The nations that allied against the Kingdom divided it into pieces, and its national pride was erased.
Prairie Rose was blacklisted from ever making music again, ever having a job, and from ever leaving Elbonia. She spent the rest of her life fearing the secret police would come back for her. She held this belief even after she turned 90.
Prairie Rose spent her final years wrestling. Wrestling with her past, the good moments, and the terror that followed them after the war. She felt anger at the regime, she cried when she thought of everyone that perished, she resented the ministry that used her as a weapon, and the new world led by these new allies bewildered her.
It had cell phones, the internet, rocket ships, and media. They hated what she created, but she did not think what she did was worse than what TV commercials do. They exploit people’s weaknesses, desires, and fears. Just to sell beer to the working man, or a fad to the children. Yet she remained trapped in a black box that was built decades ago in a dark time.
She didn't leave the house. No reason to. Her friends had long since died, and many were still angry about the Kingdom, its fall, and its crimes. She tried to explain that she was a singer before the war, and that the war songs were what they MADE her sing, but people didn’t remember that. They remembered her broadcasts. They remembered her war rallies. They remembered the manipulation. And the war crimes she tried to cover up were anything but forgotten.
Where there were once glamourous halls was now isolation. Where she had crowds of adoring fans, now she had soul crushing loneliness. Where there were once good memories were now full of dread. She kept peeking out the window blinds. Sometimes a car would be parked outside she didn’t recognize. Or a man would be sitting on the bench outside longer than usual. Or someone would be using the phone booth.
Sometimes people would try to get her to leave the house, but she never did. She just stayed inside, and sang to the pictures on the wall, to photos of her fallen comrades, to taxidermies of animals. One day she took out her old guitar, turned on a camera, and made one more song. A little love song, like what she used to make before the Leader and before the war. It was about a boy and girl who were forbidden by the village to dance, but they danced together anyhow.
She posted it online.
A few views ticked up. Then a comment.
“Wow that was very nice.”
