A Penitent man- Part 2

My soul flies free of my body, watching this playout from above. As if lidocaine flows through my veins, my muscles become numb. Lukas drags his feet towards his weapon, I follow, so do the rest.

In the distance Captain Rogers yells.

“READY”

My body quivers uncontrollably, I can barely grip the weapon. A soldier across from us begins singing our national anthem.

“AIM.”

Images of my life cascade like light through a prism. Thomas and I as children. As teenagers. As young men. Laughing, dreaming. sharing secrets. Brothers. Crying as we kiss our mother goodbye, me promising to protect him.

His final words to me: ‘Grif, you can let go now.’

“FIRE.”

There is a split second of deathly calm, then chaos erupts as machine gun fire fills the skies, squeezing my eyes shut, my ears ring from the explosions, gun powder burns my nostrils, the whistle of bullets, the sick thudding sound as lead hits flesh. Screams cascade like a thousand banshees howling until I no longer hear.

I am experiencing pain beyond imagination blurring into a dull sense of nothingness. I wonder how long a mind continues to work after the body dies. What are Thomas’s last thoughts? Is he experiencing pain? Can his body be dying yet still be aware? Does he forgive me?

When it is over, only the whirring and clicking of hot metal can be heard. A wailing sound of pure pain echoes in this wasteland. The man next to me is ripping at the ground and screaming. It is Lukas.

I have a sensation of floating along with an overwhelming urge to puke. Unknowingly, by stepping forward, I sacrificed my brother, and Lukas, sacrificed Matthew the young private and father.

Bodies lay twisted and torn. Limbs ripped apart. Enemy soldiers shoot any who still have the audacity to be alive. Still on my knees, I scan frantically for Thomas, yelling his name. Finally spotting him, eyes open, looking through me. I collapse into darkness.

My brother is gone.

When I awake the world is stripped of color. Not figuratively. Literally. The world is black and white like an old-time noir movie, and I the unwilling villain.

Without a word the enemy climb in their vehicles, follow the buses, and drive away. Leaving us to bury our comrades, my brother. What they did was worse than any prison camp or interrogation.

A lone voice breaks the silence. “Why did they keep us alive?”

“Would you rather be dead?” I reply.

“Yes.”

“There is your answer.”

This is war and I am a soldier. The hate I felt before is a mere shadow of what burns in me now.

The doctors patched us up but there would be no healing of the wounds in our minds. We twelve survivors, if you can call us that, would never be the same. Nor could we stay together. It was too painful looking upon each other. Laramore, Pontier and Gullan joined other units. Parry blew his brains out, Crispen walked into the ocean and never returned. My friend Lukas found solace in a bottle. I don’t know where the rest are.

As for me I tried living back home. Everyone knew our story. My sisters and mother never say an unkind word but avoid eye contact when talking to me. At least they try, the rest of the towns folk leave when I enter a place or walk away if they see me.

I let my beard grow instead of having to look at myself in a mirror. One day I threw my weapon away after staring at it too long for all the wrong reasons.

I settled into an abandoned house that was deserted in the first days of the war. The former occupants no longer needing it, then spend most days sitting in the dark. Which is okay because my sight is still in black and white.

I am restless at night, frightened by images that live in the shadows, angry with the world and myself. When a knock finally came on the door I damn near jumped out of my skin. Not from the sound but from the fact that no one ever came here.

Squinting from the brightness of daylight I see Lukas, shaved, clean and looking like his old self.

I manage to grunt. “Lukas.”

“Wash up and get dressed Grif.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

Handing me a brown paper bag he walks past and sits on the only chair in the room. “I’ll explain when you’re ready.”

Lukas had that look that said there was no use arguing. Besides, I needed a shower, even the flies were avoiding me. There were clean clothes in the bag along with soap and a razor. I had to admit I felt better once I freshened up.

When I finally emerge, Lukas had cleaned up the place and was in the process of doing the dishes.

Glancing at me he says. “You lost weight.” Not a question, a statement.

Staring at the damp cloth in his hand my cheeks begin burning. “I was going to do that.”

He ignores my comment. “Sit down Grif, I have some news.”

“You’re sober?” I ask.

Nodding he says. “Yeah, for a while now.”

Lukas goes on to explain about his life after he hit rock bottom. A priest found him nearly dead outside the church. Cleaned him up, nursed him, and gave him a job.

“So, you found Jesus, good for you.”

“No. I mean yeah, kind of. I found a second chance, and I want you to come with me.”

My instinct is to tell him to go fuck himself. However, my instinct hasn’t been the best lately so instead I nod and follow.

The church is an impressive mountain of jagged stone reaching for the sky. Outside is Father Michael, a big man, not fat but large in stature. He could easily pick me up, all one hundred and sixty pounds, and toss me around. His hands are calloused and scarred. Yet his eyes beam with kindness. Shaking my hand he says. “Follow me.”

We walk through the church, past pews where a straggle of people kneel in prayer. Past the alter and through a large oak door, into his living quarters. I find myself in a large kitchen with hanging pots, two stoves, and a table that would fit eight people. A low growl gurgles from my empty stomach as the rich essence of coffee and fresh baked bread hovers everywhere. A heavy layer of spices smells familiar and teases my taste buds with fond memories, it is a sensation I haven’t experienced in some time.

At the stove is a tiny grey haired lady ladling soup. My eyes follow her as she sets it down upon the table where two steaming bowls already sit, along with a platter of sandwiches. The rich aroma curbs any thought of protest upon being here.

Father Michael grins so wide his eyes become lost in the folds of his cheeks. “Sit.”

Lukas takes a seat and after a very slight hesitation I sit down as well.

“Emma makes a wonderful potato soup, and her bread is legendary. Please help yourself.”

Staring at his scarred hands I ask. “How long you been a priest?”

“That obvious is it?” He sighs. “I Signed up for the army when the war started. I wanted vengeance, and I was good at it. Until one day something snapped and I could no longer take a life, so I decided to save souls instead.”

“Even the invaders?”

“Yes.”

“I guess this is where we differ. I’m going to kill them all.”

Reaching over he pats my hand. “Eat.”

Somewhere between the warm bread, hot coffee, and Father Michaels kind words, I find solace. Days flowed into weeks, and weeks into months.

The war still rages on but not for me. I work at the church, help rebuild the town, assist with the injured and every night share words with Father Michael. I read the bible, care for the wounded, talk to any who will listen and listen to those who wish to talk. I learn that the people don’t hate me for what we did. They didn’t know how to respond and words felt empty.

Nightmares fade into restless nights. Except for Captain Rogers, his face continues to haunt me.

One morning while glancing in the mirror I no longer see a man full of hate. Instead, I see the man I used to be. The emotion is so overwhelming I collapse upon the floor, my chest spasms, my jaw trembles, and my cheeks become damp with relief.

For the first time in forever, I finally forgive myself.

While I found peace, Lukas became agitated. Not big things, no bursts of outrage or violence. He became aloof. One day I found him in the garden staring at the dark soil. I begged him to tell me what was bothering him.

He replied. “I’ll tell you when I know more.” Then walked away.

So it went, until one night I awoke to him shaking me.

“Lukas, what’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong, it’s finally right.”

“You drinking again?” I ask.

“No.”

“What’s going on?”

“Get dressed, we’re leaving.” He says.

“Where?”

Instead of answering, he tosses me my clothes and steps outside. Emerging from the room I watch him pace. There is a wild look in his eyes and a crazy grin upon his face.

“Let’s go.” Then he is off.

Outside Lukas hops in the back of a canvas covered army truck, motioning for me to follow. There is something about the way he waves that tells me I have little choice. Inside, a group of hardened soldiers sit upon benches in silence. In the dark a hoarse voice yells over the sound of the engine.

“Hey Grif.”

As my eyes focus to the dim surroundings I make out faces of ghost from the past. Laramore, Pontier, Greer, Hudson, and others who stood with me that day. There are also faces I do not recognize.

“What’s going on?” I ask Lukas.

He smiles but his eyes remain distant. “We found him.”

“Who?”

“Rogers.

Please continue for the final part:

https://vocal.media/serve/a-penitent-man-conclusion

In Honor of Remembrances day (Canada) - Veterans Day (USA) - Armistice day (England)