OTTO

THE EMPATHY MACHINE

Otto leaned against the trench, its frozen walls perforated any comfort they may have afforded as each nodule of frozen earth pushed into his back in a consistent reminder that hell is frozen. Memories of home were his only source of heat.

His gangly body did little to help him ward off the cold and the army clothing did little to keep him warm. Like his fellow soldiers, he wore layers of the dead. This bothered him; taking boots, coats and socks from the dead seemed disrespectful, but survival won out. He justified it knowing his clothes will be gifts to the living on the day he is shot.

The snow began at dusk and, after a few inches accumulated, gave way to a full moon that raised battle field ghosts. A white Christmas had always been a wonder, but this year it was sad, lonely and miserable found in an amplified silence of snow.

He thought back to last Christmas and shook his head how quickly life went in an unexpected direction. His dreams of being an engineer and heading off to Heidelberg University in September ended in July when the war broke out. On the first day he donned his uniform, it lacked the zeal it gave others. Solving a quadratic equation held more than shooting a rifle.

Instead of thinking of the University and lost dreams, he thought of his family. He imagined them sitting down for Christmas dinner and how they might have also celebrated his birthday.

Last Christmas, for his eighteenth birthday, he led the choir in a rendition of Silent Night. He wanted so much to see his family tonight, but their picture was lost in battle. He wrote some months back and requested they send another. No letters came for months. He wasn’t sure if his made it. Instead, he pulled out a picture of Ernst and his family.

He met him early in deployment, and they were instant buddies. Ernst had no interest in quadratic equations, but was fond of poetry and some guy named Freud.

He was killed two days ago. Otto removed the picture of his wife and daughter before the body became piled with others. He needed another pair of socks, but couldn’t bring himself to take Ernst’s. Another soldier took the honor.

He felt numb looking at their family, knowing their prayers for Ernst unknowingly went to the dead. Death for Otto had become so common this loss brought no tears.

The picture returned to the safety of his breast pocket. If he ever made it out of this hell, he would find Ernst’s wife and daughter. He did not know what he would say or do if he did. It didn’t matter. It had been a pact.

The tension of despair, his memories, the magnitude of loss and Christmas may have prompted his sudden outburst of Silent Night. He didn’t realize he was singing out loud until after several verses, those around him joined and then, much to everyone’s surprise, the enemy soldiers did, too.

A few brave soldiers stood up and waved at the British. The British waved back and soon a German soldier, foolhardy, crazy, drunk or filled with goodwill, made his way towards the British with what appeared to be a box of cigars and a bottle of Cognac. A British soldier met him in the middle.

Everyone stopped singing. Germans looked at Germans. British looked at British. Germans looked at British and so on and so forth, with everyone wondering how this was going to turn out. And then he heard the British soldier cry out to his comrades, “Lads, why in hell did you stop singing. It’s Christmas.”

The British boisterously took the declaration as an order, and soon soldiers on both sides climbed out of trenches in song.

Otto met a British soldier named William, who thankfully spoke German. He was so caught up in the conversation, because William held a similar fascination with quadratic equations, he was missing the football match. It wasn’t until a loud cheer for a German goal broke their conversation that he realized what had happened.

They turned towards the match and then each other with puzzled looks. Hours before, they shot at each other and now they were doing their best to shoot a goal. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do.

War never seemed natural. No matter whose side you were on, it was somebody else’s war. *

The phone rang as he closed the door. Otto peaked out the window to insure the German officer was gone before he answered.

It was a fifth Wednesday. The day William and Otto always talked since the end of the first war.

“Hey Otto, it’s me.”

“Hey William. Nice to hear your voice.”

“Likewise, mate, and as much as I want to have one of our usual conversations, I know we aren’t. Damn this war business. I kept hoping and hoping it would not happen again.”

“I know me too. I got fitted for a uniform.”

“Ha, you fat bastard, you are going to use up all their textiles for it. Helping our side. We are not in it yet, but it’s coming.”

“I know and I haven’t been able to eat for months, so I will not help your side out.”

“I take it they are not planning on having you in a trench again you wouldn’t fit, anyway.”

“I can’t say much, but Wernher recruited me.”

“As in von Braun?”

“The one and only.”

“Well, it’s looking like Turing is trying to lure me in.”

“Lucky you, smart kid.”

“So is von Braun.”

“Let’s make a deal.”

“Depends on whether it’s going to get me killed.”

“The opposite. Let’s agree to not come up with anything that can kill each other. I am a firm believer that fifth Wednesdays will occur when the war is over and I want to resume our talks.”

“Fair enough and I will speak to Wernher about it, but it is going to be a ton of paperwork.” Otto collected himself, “You know William, I remember the day we met and what happened. People still talk about it.”

“I know, me too. And ahhh hell, you guys won the match back then 3- 2, as I recall.”

“We lost the war and we will lose this one too if Hitler is dumb enough to rile the Americans. I know this one differs from the last, but I dream of these zealots having to play a football game, drink Cognac and give each other gifts. I don’t blame my people for what is happening. We have been starving and that bastard Hitler fills bellies with glory dreams.”

“I hear ya, mate. Would love to see Hitler and Churchill chase a ball around drunk on their asses. You blokes were hit too hard for too long. All of your people were punished for a war started by a few pop tops who got their panties bunched. Makes me sick to think of all those boys dead because of them. And I mean our pop tops too. And to think, here we go again and my boy may get drafted. Scares me to no end when I think about it. He is smart, so they will hopefully put his brain to use, but who knows.”

“I bet you are worried. Jack is 20, as I recall.”

“Turned 20 two months back. I have been drafted into other people’s wars. And you would think after fighting in a real one, I would know better. Something about how we are wired. Maybe that Freud guy knew why. Scientists wage wars against each other as much as capitalists, crusaders, and ideological cretins. I catch myself most of the time, but the last one I had with Pemberton took two years.”

“Pemberton is an asshole.”

“The ones who start wars are.”

“Maybe what we need to come up with is a side project and create a machine that creates Einfühlung.”

“Sorry mate, my German is rusty. We only do this once in a while.”

“One of our guys, Robert Vischer, a philosopher, coined it. Means into feeling — empathy.”

“I like it mate because I gotta tell ya no matter whose side you are on, it always ends up being someone else’s war. A war of pieces like you, me and all those lads who end up dying. The only war I ever want to fight and win is the one in my head. Wish the pop tops fought the same war.”

“Ahhh yes Freud and the ego. ”

“Heard he was terrible at football.”

“So are we.”

“Lets make a deal. When all this is over, you and I are going to play a football match. We missed our shot last time.”

During the war, Otto and his colleagues worked with Wernher von Braun and made significant advances in rocket technology.

William worked with Alan Turing and helped develop the Turing machine, which allowed them to crack the Nazi Enigma code and contributed to ending the war.

Following the war, both Otto and William resumed their fifth Wednesday talks until recruited by NASA. Upon arrival, they joined the interdepartmental football league so they could finally play a match against each other. However, after three matches, they still hadn’t played. They were terrible at football, neither of their teams wanted them to play, and they talked the entire match, anyway. Their fourth match was no different.

“Did you see the moon last night, Otto?”

“I did — I got lost in its magic. During the first war, I stared at the moon to keep me sane. I never thought in a million years I would live in the United States and work on a project to go there . . . . . unbelievable. ”

“Me too. I can’t believe I am here. During the war, I stared at the moon for the same reasons and wondered how many other blokes did the same. Kind of like the Christmas football match we had, except it was the moon that united our spirits. For all I know it did that night too.” William said.

“I never thought of it that way. It did, though. I stared at it for probably the same reason anyone did. It was the only thing of beauty left. A distant anchor of peace after days of destruction. Many a night I imagined standing on its surface and what it must be like to see our planet in an ocean of space.”

“Humbling and scary too, I bet. From that perspective, our little planet is so vulnerable. It also makes all the stupid, dumb things we humans do to each other seem even dumber. Do you remember our last conversation we had before the second war when you brought up the empathy machine?”

“Einfühlung! Yes, I remember.” Otto said.

“Maybe we don’t have to invent it because it already exists.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think it’s the moon. All we have to do is look up.”

* Otto is a fictional account of the battle at Flanders France during World War I, known as the Christmas Truce. It became the most famous example of troops on both sides joining in celebration of Christmas. It was not an isolated incident.