A Thousand Lives (Short Stories)

Still Fighting the War

Steadily my faithful horse trotted on, both of us tired and worn. Soon we would be back home, after four years of struggle. In my mind I already embraced my wife and son. It filled my wounded heart with warmth and drove away the cold inhabiting my body. Dark clouds above promised rain and I wanted to be home before that. I had been drenched enough to the skin the past years. Worry started to take hold of me when I passed through the devastated landscape. Surely they would be all right, I told myself. Still I quickened the pace. A slow sinking sensation made its presence known in my stomach. And as I laid eyes on my burned fields and the ruin of my home farther away my heart grew heavy and wouldn't stop dropping. Getting down from my horse I sprinted towards what once had been my house.

"Lily! Johnny!" I yelled out while running. They certainly had survived and were just hiding, right? They had to be alive somewhere, right? I desperately listened for an answer, nothing stirred. Reaching what once had been the door, I examined the ruin. Half of the roof was gone, the rest caved in and splintered. Only one and a half of the four walls still stood, although scorched and soaking wet from the rain. I already felt the first drops of water falling from the sky once again. But in my desperate haste I barely noticed. Breathing heavily, I forced myself to look around and stand still. Everything had been devoured by the flames, furniture, clothes, books. In the corner of the two meeting remnants of walls, I saw what looked like human figures lying on the ground. No, it couldn't be. Barely keeping my body from trembling violently I went closer. Two charred corpses, one the size of a child. What had they done! What had the damned Yankees done to them! What they had to endure before death only the almighty Lord would know. How long were they already lying like this? Falling to my knees I touched the dead, feeling the moistness from exposure to water for more than just a few days. I couldn't take it. All this time I had dreamed, I had hoped for this moment. I had killed and survived just for this one moment to arrive. Unable to contain the pain, I screamed towards the sky. I screamed and I wept and I kept sitting there in the pouring rain and the mud. If it wouldn't have been for the muzzle of my horse touching my wet cheek, I might have continued sitting there for eternity. Snorting, he woke me from my trance with the warm air from his nostrils. Instinctively I reached behind to scratch my friend between the ears. Gathering the strength, I got up. I had no shovel; everything was destroyed, but I would be damned if they did not receive a place of rest. Therefore, I dug with my bare hands, placing two makeshift crosses over each one's head. It would be enough for them. This would be the first and the last time I visited these graves. Standing there, I looked at what once had been my farm. What was I going to do? There is nothing left to do for a man, once everything is lost. The union treated us like criminals in our own home. To them we were naught but rebels and traitors. So I decided to be one.

A figure in the distance caught my attention as I made my way through Virginia's mountains. Careful not to be noticed I rode closer to the lone rider. Making out some vague details I concluded the traveller to be an old man on a white-grey horse. I usually avoided robbing old people, especially in the wilderness. But the vagabond life was harsh on me and I hadn't eaten in days. Hunger persistently gnawed at me and although I was used to that, it started to impair my ability to think straight. With the promise to myself to not shoot the stranger I urged my tired horse forward.

"Hands up ol' man!" I said in a firm but calm voice once I was close enough to him to be a danger. The traveller signalised his own horse to stop and remained still. I waited for him to do something either to protect himself or attack me, but nothing happened. A bit taken aback but still cautious I dismounted and walked to face my victim. All the while the old man didn't speak. The calm silence let me notice how graceful his bearing was. Was it possible? No.

"You could have just asked, son." There was no reproach in neither voice nor expression. And I was baffled by the gentleness he showed me, the one threatening him with a gun. But then the foolishness of his words struck me and I lashed out with a sarcastic answer.

"Yeah, tried that, di'n't work out."

"You fought for the confederacy." The observational statement was enough confirmation for me. Causing me to lower my gun to the ground. A grey-haired man surrounded by an awe-inspiring atmosphere on a grey horse with black mane. I had never seen the general directly, only from a distance and in the midst of a raging battle. I swallowed as it hit me that I was just trying to rob that man who had led us into so many battles and out of them. It was true I had fought for the south; my grey trousers probably sold me out. I had taken off the jacket, partly because it was warm and partly because trouble might be even harder on my heels. Yet I hadn't discarded my old uniform, I could have stolen some clothes. The thought had never really crossed my mind before now. Perhaps because the grey reminded me of the time before everything went down. A time when I still believed to know that my home was waiting for my return. Feeling myself drift away and into memories, I forced my attention back to the task at hand. Old manners taking over my bearing and speech.

"Yes, sir."

"From Virginia?"

"From Tennessee, sir."

"I recommend you go back home and help her flourish."

"I, can't," burning anger seized my soul at the memory of the day I went back home. "I cannot forgive the union. Nor can I accept it. I am sorry my general. No manner of punishment could change my mind. My days of discipline are long gone." I tried to keep the sudden agitation suppressed. I had never really hated the federals, not the simple soldier at least. Only those giving me a reason and the ones responsible for the war, I was prepared to shoot without remorse. But all that had turned to dust when I saw what they had done to our families. To our Dixie.

"Our Lord has decided for us to endure and to spread reconciliation."

"Where was he when my family died? When my farm burned? Am I just s'pposed to forget and shake hands with their cowardly murderers?"

The general said nothing, an invisible wall kept us from understanding one another. I felt at once guilty about addressing my commander with such lack of respect. At once I avoided my defiant gaze and stared at the ground. There I stood humbled, blinking away the oncoming tears.

"I am sorry you can't find a cure for your wounds." I holstered my gun and took off the hat, looking back up. As always, he kept his composure, only the eyes revealed what he felt. I would have expected him to be angry or ashamed at one of his soldiers turning into an outlaw. But they were just sad. Sad for me?

"I am sorry to have bothered ye, sir." I turned to go back to my horse when the general told me to wait. Taking money from his pocket he offered it to me.

"I can't take that, sir."

"You came to rob me, didn't you? And you certainly are in dire need of provisions." The general's eyes glittered with a youthful smile which was faintly mimicked by his face. Hesitantly, I took the money.

"God bless ye, sir."

"I hope you will get well, son." Tipping his hat, the old man continued on his way. Falling back into my old habits once again I saluted him as he rode on.