Chapter 22

Funny, though. I knew all that about him, yet I had never thought to read his poetry.

And now I was moved almost to tears at the pathos a short poem of his had stirred up.

I waited for my companion to take the lead on the actual putting the body into the grave, and was surprised that he knelt by the soldier and began to unlace the man’s boots. I opened my mouth to object, then thought better of it. The Marine had done the proper thing—dug the grave and spoken words over the deceased, now he was taking that for which the fallen no longer had any need.

Nothing wrong with that.

We lowered the body into the grave and piled earth over it. There was no marker, but perhaps that did not matter. Clearly the soldier had fled the battle, but had been shot during it or during his flight. Not to judge.

Afterwards, my companion tied the laces of the boots together and put them over his shoulder. And we went on.