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The Journals of Raymond Brooks 99
was called to war and her wedding ring remained in my purse,”
he said, his eyes glazed and haunted.

“So I went to war and I fought. I didn’t care who the enemy
was or why I was fighting. I fought only to return to Lianna, and
propose to her. Five years of soldiering changed me, Boyo —
changed me to the very core of my soul. I forgot myself, who I
was before the war. I lived in the forest for five years, fighting
again and again, I can’t even remember against who — I don’t
care to remember. But I was strong, and I survived,” he said,
taking a sip of water from his water-skin to calm himself. I sat
beside him stunned, wanting to say something, but I didn’t

know what. I was eager, yet at the same time frightened to hear
what happened to his love.
Somewhere deep inside of me I wondered, am I too in exile
from my lover …?
“In the end I found my way back home, a shadow of the man
I used to be. My face was heavily bearded and crusted with
dirt. My clothes were not my own, but belonged to a dead man

who had worn them before me. My hands, my fingers, were
blackened by ashes, sand, and blood. In other words, I looked
as if I had gone to Hell and back. I could not have Lianna see
me like that. So back I went to the forest, and bathed myself in
the river, washing clean my body but not my soul. There was
still blood on my hands, a stain that can never go away,” he
reflected.
“Raymond, may I ask a question?” I ventured.
“Yes, by all means boyo,” he answered, his face relaxing and

his tone lighter.
“Why five years at war, why were you the only one to come
back?” I asked. He paused for a few moments, trying to make a
decision, and then he spoke.