PART III: PROLOGUE

 

Prologue

 

(Ó 2010)

June, 2040

A Cemetery Southwest of Paris

It was warm and slightly humid in the late morning as the old woman stood at the gateway of the cemetery. The woman looked remarkable, considering that she was in fact eighty-nine years of age. She wore a yellow sun dress that tied at the shoulders, and a wide brimmed white hat. She had on a pair of sunglasses that, when she removed them at the gate, exposed her beautiful sky blue eyes which complimented her wavy, pure silver hair.

She had traveled quite some distance from America with her family; her three sons, two daughters, five of her fifteen grandchildren, as well as two great-grandchildren, just to come to this place. This cemetery … in a small village, just to the southwest of Paris, France.

This village, was almost the same as it was after it was rebuilt from the damage caused from the Second World War. Small stone chalets in open fields with a town center of older buildings that house the family businesses that have been there for generations. A bakery, candle and curio shops, a tavern, grocery, wine shop, café, the original small hotel, the café and others.

Over the past forty years, some other smaller hotels were built to help accommodate the tourists who started to flock here, to see for themselves the man who lived here, to hear of his story, and to watch him as he went through his daily ritual.

However now, as of ten months prior, they now come to visit his grave in this very cemetery, where the old woman stood.

The woman and her family stepped through the gateway and scanned all around at the headstones and monuments of the cemetery. It was the quiet and the serenity that everyone noticed first. There was a slight breeze that made the morning more comfortable. The only sounds to be heard were the leaves of all the trees rustling with the breeze, the birds singing, along with the buzz of a few cicadas. 

The aroma of fresh cut grass mixed with wet soil filled the air also.

The pathway on which they were standing led straight ahead, where thirty feet ahead of them, another pathway crossed over it. However, on the pathway straight ahead, about another fifty feet, were bushes that were landscaped in a semi circle. On the back part, inside the circle there rose a flagpole about eight feet in height, and on that pole, waving with the rhythm of the breeze, was the tri-couler, the flag of the Republic of France.

The oldest of her sons looked at the bushes and began to say, “I wonder if …”, when two men appeared as they stepped back and out from the bushes. These men were wearing military style uniforms. The oldest son then said to the others, “Well then … that must be it.”

“How do you know?” Asked the eldest sister, who was standing next to her mother while holding a book in her hand.

“Those uniforms,” The eldest son answered, “those guys are Legionnaires, I remember. They were with us in the first Gulf War. They protected our left flank.”

The old woman and her family watched as the two Legionnaires looked to whatever was inside the circle of bushes. They then snapped to attention and gave a salute, after which they turned into the direction of the family and proceeded walk towards them so as to leave the cemetery, as they drew closer, the family stood fast as they came, when they finally did, both men tipped their hats to the old woman.

“Well, let’s take a look.” The oldest son said. The family then walked to the area where the Legionnaires had just come from. As they approached, they could all see that the bushes were not just a semi-circle, but more like that of a large letter “C”. 

Soon they came to the opening of the “C”, there, surrounded by the bushes, were two graves. The graves were marked, each with its own upright headstone just about twelve inches apart and had a white marble colored crucifix with an image of the Christ between them. The grave on their left was that of a woman. The headstone was some five feet in height. It was polished granite and lavender in color. The engraving on the stone read:

LILLIAN EMILY MORROW

1961 - 1993

The Beloved and Wife of Logan

 

 Below that was etched in the stone, a portrait of the woman buried there.

“Look everyone,” said the eldest daughter, “that’s the same picture of her that’s here in the book.” She held up the book she was carrying. 

Just below the portrait, in script were the words:

　

“You Promised That You Would Never Leave Me.”

 

 At the foot of her grave there was a white polished granite bench, and on the grass of her grave there were what appeared to be two hat insignia pins. These pins were of a seven flamed grenade, and they were pinned through small looped pieces of lavender ribbon. They were apparently placed there by the two Legionnaires that had just left.

The grave on their left had a gray polished granite headstone that was also about feet high, however, on the top of the gravestone there was a carved granite seven flamed grenade, just like the hat pins that were left on the grave of the woman. The seven flamed grenade, the symbol of Le Legion Etrangere, the French Foreign Legion. Behind this headstone was the flagpole that held the French flag.
 

The old woman, along with her eldest daughter, stepped closer to the gravestone in order to have a better look. Engraved on this headstone was, and translated from the French:

LOGAN IAN MORROW

1951 - 2039

THE BELOVED AND HUSBAND OF LILLIAN

In Service to the Republic of France

Sergeant Chef - Le Legion Etrangere

2^nd R.E.P. Foreign Parachute Regiment

Deep Reconnaissance Commandoes

3^rd R.E.I Foreign Infantry Regiment

1969-1986

　

Below that, in Latin were the words:

LEGIO PATRIA NOSTRA

　

Translated meaning, “The Legion is our Fatherland”. This was followed by directly below that:

Lieutenant - French National Police

1986-1993

　

It was the next line however that caused the woman to gasp, and cry out, “Oh my God.” She covered her now quivering lips with her hand, and tears began to stream down her face. Her daughter then put her arm around her for support, and she led her back to the stone bench so that she may have a seat. Her daughter reached into her purse and brought out some Kleenex and gave it to her mother. Her mother continued to look at the words that caused her to cry.

There, written in bold script, in English, were the words:

　

“SCOWLS LIKE THE WOLF”

　

Below those words were the first line of the Legionnaires prayer:

“God, give me what I cannot have.”

　

“What is Mom?” The oldest daughter asked as she held her crying mother, “What is it?”

The old woman raised her head from her daughters shoulder, looked to the man’s grave and said, “It’s him … now I know … it’s most definitely him.”