A SOLDIER NAMED GEORGE
ALM No.95, November 2026
ESSAYS
Whenever I think of Private George, I see again the snow-covered fields surrounding the military barracks at Clinceni-Bragadiru. I loved gazing across those fields and at the blue sky, which seemed to merge with their immaculate whiteness on the horizon. The landscape was indescribably beautiful, especially when sunlight spread across the white expanse and the snow began to shimmer with astonishing brilliance. At such moments, I longed to run across those fields and reclaim my lost freedom. But I had to endure and wait for the day of my discharge.
From the beginning, George struck me as a weak young man, not only physically but also emotionally and mentally. He seemed extremely vulnerable. He was of average height and slight build, very open towards others and always eager to begin a conversation, although what he said was often marked by naivety. Indeed, his face seemed to express innocence and a lack of discernment even in the most elementary matters of life.
Whenever we met, he talked a great deal, and sometimes I had to quiet him down a little. At that time, we were both new conscripts. George had been assigned to permanent guard duty, while I was detailed for military training and various kinds of work. I would be assigned to guard duty later.
I could see—and often heard—that the senior conscripts in the guardroom were constantly tormenting him. He had become their plaything. They ordered him to insult certain soldiers or shout vulgar words, and he obeyed them completely. Sometimes they made him undress in the guardroom and then put him through military drills for their own amusement.
All this treatment was destroying George, both mentally and physically.
I remember one occasion when he had been taken off guard duty for several days and was training with us. We were practising hand-to-hand combat, and I was paired with him. As we grappled, I realized that he had become so weak that he no longer possessed even the strength to resist. He could barely remain standing.
I reported his condition to the platoon sergeant. Instead of sending him to the infirmary, however, the sergeant laughed at him and made a crude soldier’s joke, much to everyone else’s amusement.
During the days that followed, to everyone’s surprise, George’s health began to deteriorate considerably because of military life and the treatment inflicted upon him by the senior conscripts. Moreover, he began to suffer from mental disturbances. After only four months of military service, he had to be admitted to the military hospital and was subsequently discharged on medical grounds.
I remember the last few times I saw him in the barracks yard. His face was contorted with suffering. He had become slightly stooped and had lost a great deal of weight. He walked with difficulty and could no longer keep pace with military life in any way.
Dressed in those green clothes, he looked like a wreck. He seemed overwhelmed by an invisible burden that had exhausted him beyond endurance. The sight of him filled one’s heart with sorrow.
Many of us felt relieved when we heard that he had been sent to the military hospital, because at least he had escaped the ordeal of the guardroom.
Some time after George’s departure, I remember hearing that, during a senseless game in the guardroom, a senior conscript had fatally shot another soldier. Those of us who were not assigned to guard duty received the news with horror back at the company, in the vast sleeping quarters where more than a hundred soldiers slept in bunk beds.
A very reserved soldier, someone whom I had scarcely noticed until then, said:
“This happened to them because they tormented George and destroyed his health.”
His words astonished me, especially because they suggested that, above our human world, there is a God who passes judgement upon everyone according to the good or evil they have done.
The Bible itself tells us, in a most profound manner, that we are saved by grace, but that we shall be judged according to our deeds:
“For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that each one may receive what is due for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad.”
2 Corinthians 5:10
Eugen Oniscu is a Romanian writer living in Germany. His fiction and essays explore migration, faith, suffering, moral conflict, and the lives of people at the margins of society. His work has appeared in international literary publications including Adelaide Literary Magazine, Fiction on the Web, Literary Heist, Literary Yard, Rue Saint Ambroise, and DreckSack. He is also the author of several collections of fiction, essays, and spiritual testimonies.
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