Late last evening I was sitting in my gun room, rubbing BLO into the
stock of my '93 Turk, when a heavily accented voice said 'Thanks for
taking me out of the safe'. Startled, I looked around for the source
of the voice....started to get up, then heard the voice again, saying
'It gets pretty stuffy in there during the summer'. At that point I
realised that the voice was coming from the rifle in my lap! I almost
threw the rifle on the floor, and would have if I hadn't noticed the
weathered face of an old man superimposed on the action of the reciever!
Trying to regain my composure, and not believing what I was seeing, I
asked him who he was, what he was doing in my rifle, and what he wanted.
He replied that he WAS the rifle, his name was Ajjiberon, and that he
didn't really want anything, other than to talk with me. He told me
that he and the others had wanted to talk with me for some time, but
that I never gave them a chance to talk when I was handling them.
I asked...'the other who??'
He replied 'the other guns in your collection'. I just sat there
for a minute, taking it all in....when he asked , 'Are you OK?'
I said 'Sure....I'm just sitting here, talking to a rifle....
that's talking back....TALKING BACK!!! Good grief! That Hoppes #9 must
be getting to me!'
' No....', the old rifle said,' it's not the Hoppes....I'm real
and I'm here....now, can you calm down enough to talk...and listen, for a spell?'
'I'll try', I replied, 'But this is really strange!'
'Just listen for a few minutes', he said, 'and you'll understand'.
'OK', I answered, 'go ahead ...' 'As yu can see, I'm an old Mauser...
I was made in Germany in 1895 for the Turkish Army, and was originally
issued to'. 'Wait a minute!' I interrupted,'that is interesting stuff,
but HOW CAN YOU TALK AND HOW ARE YOU....ALIVE????'
'Oh, I forgot about that' he said.' I guess I better cover that first!'
'Yeah', I said, 'That would be nice!'
' Well, let's see....when a gun is made, it is given a spirit, and
that spirit stays with the gun until it is melted down or rusts away.
The spirit has no power over the person that carries it, but can only
observe events, and remember what the carrier sees and feels. If the
spirit chooses, it can allow a new carrier to experience and understand
what previous carriers experienced, with a reduced level of pain'.
'PAIN?' I asked.
'Yes, the experience isn't real without some pain. It's really
just enough to give the new carrier a deep appreciation of the event,
not torment the carrier or anything'.
'SHEESH! You mean to tell me....that you can ...more or less...
take me back in time in your memories...and let me experience what the
people that carried you experienced....just as if I was there.?'
'Yes....my memories, and those of the other guns in your collection.'
'I imagine that you, and a few of the others, have some pretty interesting
memories.'
'We do', he said. 'Would you like to see?'
'Pain....you said.....how much pain?'
'Enough to make the experience real'.
'How much is that????'
'Enough to make you uncomfortable, but not enough to make you
miserable...compared to what the original carrier experienced...it
will be mild. And, if it gets to be too much for you, all you have to
do is say...'Enough!'.
'So I can stop the experience at any time?'
'Yes'
'And right away the pain stops?'
'It stops immediately'.
I just sat there for a couple of minutes...thinking about what I
might be getting into...what if I couldn't stop it??? What if the pain
was so intense that I couldn't remember to say 'Enough'? What if I...
passed up this opportunity to see and feel what soldiers in days long
ago experienced....At that moment I knew...I had to go...had to see
and feel...to know...to hurt a little if need be...
'OK' I said. ' I'd like to try it...if one of the rifles is willing'.
'They all are' he said. 'Well, except for the Polish 44...he doesn't
have any experiences to share except for those he has with you...when
you spend over 40 years in deep storage packed in cosmoline, you don't
experience much.'
'So I just, like, pick one?'
'That's all... just pick any one you would like.'
'OK...how about...my 1939 Tula , 91/30?'
The cold suddenly went through me like a knife! No warning, no
smoke or lights...it was instantaneous...as soon as I finished
speaking my choice...I was there! I quickly looked around. I was on my
knees in a stream or ditch with banks on either side...it was hard to
tell because of all the snow...but one thing was certain...I was wet!
...and cold!....Russian!. I don't know how I knew...but I knew...I was
Russian....from a little village about a days' walk outside of Moscow.
My uniform was ragged...it had bullet holes in it from the earlier
battles of other, now dead, wearers. There were rags on my hands for
warmth as I had no mittens...I hadn't felt my feet, or eaten, for two
days...half of my time in the Army. There were two other men in the
ditch with me...one on each side...they had no guns...I could hear
artillery fire nearby....the sounds of a small-arms battle all around
...the smell of gunpowder...and death...and I was cold....and hungry
....and afraid. I was leaning, sort of laying, with my chest against
the bank, rifle over the top edge, shouldered, looking for a target,
with my feet and legs below the knees submerged in snow/water...the
coldest water I have ever felt. The two guys with me were scared too
...I knew one of them...a friend from my village...he was talking
constantly....I was trying to concentrate....find a target...I heard
a loud POP!...something wet and warm sprayed my face...he stopped
talking...I looked to my left at my friend...his eyes were vacant...
there was a large hole over his right eye...as he slumped to the
bottom of the ditch...I looked beyond him...and saw a German soldier
with a K98...feverishly working the bolt to chamber a round...I felt
the hatred well up inside me like a pot boiling over...I had never
felt hatred like that...it came from deep within my Russian spirit
....I turned, swinging the rifle to my left, took quick aim...pulled
the trigger as the German took aim...and nothing happened! Instantly,
my rifles' spirit told me that the firing pin was frozen in the bolt
and wouldn't fire, I heard another POP!, and I felt a searing pain in
my chest as the bullet passed through. As I fell, the man to my right
reached for my rifle....I was suddenly with him...shouldering the
rifle, and another bullet hit me,...the intensity was incredible...
and the pain!...
ENOUGH! I shouted ....ENOUGH!
I was back in my gun room...looking down at the old man in my '93
Turk....shaking like a leaf...and crying...and he asked....are you OK?
I just sat there for a minute...trying to calm down...trying to
breath normally again...and said yes....I'm OK.
And he said...'Honey...it's late..why don't you go to bed?'
' What?' I said.
' Honey....you fell asleep! Put that smelly old gun away and go
to bed! You have to work tomorrow.' It was my wife. I looked down at
the '93 Turk...the old man was gone. I was still shaking....I must
have been dreaming...WOW! What a dream!...I got up to put the old
Turk away...water squished in my shoes....