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The Journals of Raymond Brooks 105
CHAPTER IX
The Casualty of Murder
Only a single week had passed since our conversation — too
soon it faded away, and I continued to live in ignorant bliss, full
of youthful questions and an innocent longing for life. Raymond
was a virtuous man in every measure; a shining example of the
nobility of the human heart. I envied his peaceful demeanor
and his wisdom, which shone in every word he said. He made
me feel like a child again, but in a positive way. I felt sheltered.
We never mentioned our talk in the woods. I dropped a couple
of hints that I wished to know more, but whenever I did, his
eyes took on a sorrowful gleam and I knew better than to strike
at the dent in his armor.
I remember it was a Sunday. Raymond had sent me to the
brook to draw our supply of water for the day while he prepared
fish for lunch. Perhaps I was too slow in getting the buckets of
water, for the scent of cooking fish attracted not only beasts of
the animal sort, but human as well.
