Chapter 37
The Memoirs of the Legionnaire
(Ó 2010)
(Ó 2010)
Late August 2011
Logan was now boiling the water for what was to become his afternoon tea. It was now one of his daily scheduled duties that he began giving to himself during the decade since he returned home. Now sixty years of age he lived his life in a relative peace. He lived alone in ‘Chalet de Lily’ which was what he always referred the house too. It was the quiet and peace that he longed for and finally attained. He was always visited by the good friends he had made, mostly now just Cosette, Miriam, Jean-Luc with his family, and even Giselle. When they were not discussing world events and culture, they would discuss their many memories of their departed loved ones, Bricey, Clive and Lillian.
Logan’s days were spent caring for the home that Lily loved so and for her gravesite that he had turned into his own monument to her. He cared for the rose bushes that she herself had planted on the sides of their home when he first bought it for her. His days began to be scheduled so that the entire village would be able to know what time of the day it was by his activities. He would still wake early every morning at 4:30 AM to go running, which was followed by some weightlifting in the cellar. He would then shower, and have his morning coffee in the kitchen, where he would always say “Morning Lil Girl” to the open room he then dress to go to the small chapel near his home for the morning mass where he would pray the rosary. This was then followed by his morning walk to Lily’s resting place where he had a marble bench installed at the foot of her grave. He had a new headstone placed there, made of finely polished granite. The granite was lavender in color. He had his favorite portrait of her etched into the stone. There he would sit and visit her every morning for and hour or so.
Every other day or so, with the weather and season permitting, he would clip one of the roses from the bushes at the house, remove the thorns, tie a lavender colored ribbon around it and then placed it on her grave. He would place it on the grave and say “Hi Lily, I brought this for you”.
Afterwards he would return to the chalet where he would inspect it and make any repair keeping it just as if she were about to come home, or as if she had asked him to. Some years after his return, when the people of the village would watch the brokenhearted Legionnaire as he went through his daily rituals, they would tell their customers of his tragic story. The heartrending story of the brave Legionnaire and Gendarme, who still deeply loved, missed and mourned his beloved wife. These customers would then wait and watch as Logan walked past the small business district, sometimes with the rose and ribbon in his hand as he made his way to Lily’s resting place. He would do it no matter what the weather conditions were, or even if he himself were ill. The customers and visitors would hear how the Legionnaire never took a holiday or even visited anywhere else except for a visit to friends in Paris. He never left the village, and he never even stayed away overnight, unless the situation really required him to do so. His whole life was dedicated to mourning Lily.
These visitors and customers now would take this story back to their homes where ever they may be, and slowly the story of the old Legionnaire and his lost beloved not only began to spread through France, but outside her borders as well. People from all over Europe began to come to the small village, to see the Legionnaire as he walked to his deceased wife’s gravesite. They would come and ask all the shopkeepers about him, then would gather at Gerard’s Café’ just to glance at Logan. Couples, lovers and romantics began to come to the village when they heard of this story from their friends.
Logan had, quite unwillingly, become a tourist attraction. He did not mind it though, in fact he mostly ignored it, and all he asked is for the visitors who came to respect his privacy and above all Lily’s gravesite, because that too had now become part of the attraction. What was amazing is that all the tourists and visitors complied with Logan’s wishes.
The kettle was now at a full boil and Logan then removed it from the stove. He was never much of a tea devotee until he had met Lily. She had taught him everything on the English tradition of afternoon tea and showed him the proper way to brew it. It was a tradition that he brought back into his life when he returned from America and brought home her tea set that was in storage at Clive’s home. Most times he would pour tea in her cup and set it across from him. When he finished, he would take her cup outside to the rose bushes and gently pour the contents into the soil that the bushes were set in. However this afternoon he had made the tea just for himself. He had finished all his duties around the home and property and he wanted to get on the computer to read the news websites that he would check everyday. He started with the soccer websites and then to the newspaper sights from the city of Detroit, for he still would check on his favorite baseball team, the Detroit Tigers. He would also read up on his other favorite sport from his former country, American Football.
Then here would go to the websites for the Chicago newspapers. There he had over the years checked on the progress of the two detectives David Todd and Noel Jaworski. Soon after he had fled, he saw that a newswoman from one the local Chicago television stations had, through her investigative reporting, brought down two corrupt city politicians, who were found to be involved with the narcotics trafficking. And it just so happened that they were connected to some of the victims of the ‘Chicago Vigilante’. Plus, he would check on the progress of the investigation of the vigilante himself. The stories though of the vigilante slowly faded away, the last one he saw basically was one of the mayor of Chicago disbanding a task force that was put together. The mayor said that all resources had to be concentrating on the terrorist threat of that time that came from the attacks of September 11, 2001.
Logan continued then to read the news from around the world for awhile and then closed his connection to the internet. He took another sip from his teacup when he looked at something on the open window on the screen of his computer. It was a window that he had seen everyday but just ignored. There were some icons in the window, the top on was for the internet connection, the one below it was for e-mail. It was the one below that, one that he never paid any attention too in the past, it said ‘WORD PROCESSOR’. Logan for no particular reason clicked on it to open it.
A large white screen appeared; above it places to click on for ‘File’, ‘Edit’, ‘View’, and some others. He began to click on each button there and found a dictionary and thesaurus, he would type letter on the large white area and saw that he could change the fonts, make the letters bold and italicize words. He could even change the colors of the words if he wished. He learned of the way to align all the paragraphs. After about twenty minutes he figured out how to use this tool that was new to him on his computer. He erased all the words and symbols to where now the screen was just again blank and pure white. He was about to close the word processor when … just when he was about to click the red ‘X’ … something.
Something … overcame him. He felt warmth in his shoulders and the muscles in his body began to relax. Then … memories began to flood his mind. He closed his eyes and the memories were whirling through his brain. His coming to France, joining the Legion, Chad, South America, Sergeant-Chef Quentin Travis, Djibouti, Caesar, Kolwezi, the French National Police, the raid on the Volchscu’s, and of course … Lily.
He sat and stared at the blank screen and then down to the keypad. Something was there, something made him place his hands on the keyboard, and he then began typing, the words seem to come naturally, from his mind then through his fingertips. He typed the words:
First and foremost I must state that I am still a Legionnaire at heart. Legionnaires have always valued their privacy, and still respect that same privacy of their brothers in the Legion. That being said I must tell you I will never discuss or foreclose anything about my life before the Legion. That part of my life I have shared with only one person, my late beloved wife, Lillian. What I only will tell you is this, that I came from the North American continent, to serve the Legion and the Republic of France.
Logan sat up in his chair and looked at the words, still feeling the warmth of ‘something’ on his shoulders and now on his right arm. He looked down to the keyboard again, and then began typing. The words flowed out through his fingers with ease; he started to tell the story of himself, starting when he first arrived in Paris and took a taxi cab to Fort de Nogent. He could not stop; he typed well into the night and then continued the next day. Then, over the next weeks he would spend his mornings doing his usual routine of his morning mass, house maintenance and visit to Lily. He would then spend the afternoons and evenings writing his memoirs. He was surprised of how effortless it all seemed. Then one evening at the end of November, he was finished. The entire exploits of his careers in the Legion as well as with the French National Police. He had even written a whole chapter about Lily, of how he met her, of how he loved her, of how he loved her still, of how and why she was taken away from him.
That night he looked at the word processor and saw that he had typed well over a thousand pages. He then asked himself, “Okay, so now what?” He then downloaded the manuscript to a disk and decided that he would show it to Jean-Luc. So he did so the very next day. Asking Jean-Luc simply to “Tell me what you think.”
One week later Jean-Luc came to him and said, “I think that you should have this published my friend. I know of someone who may be able to help.”
Logan then copyrighted his manuscript and sent it to the woman that Jean-Luc had told him of. In mid January of 2012 Logan had received a letter from this woman. In the letter she informed him that her company wishes to publish and sell his memoirs and to please call her to make arrangements. Logan was stunned with excitement; he called the woman immediately and made arrangements to meet with her the following day.
The next day in her office in Paris she told Logan of the great potential of the book, how his exploits in the Legion and with the French National Police would have great promise with military and police enthusiasts both. That the editors were ready and that there were only two things missing. Logan asked her what those were.
“The work has no title as yet Monsieur Morrow, plus there is no dedication. Authors usually have a small dedication in the front of their work.”
“Oh.” Logan said and then began to think. It came to him quickly. His story was of how he fought evil on two different battle grounds so he then titled his work: ON TWO FRONTS. My Life in the Legion and the French National Police.
He then thought of the dedication. He took a piece of the woman’s letterhead and wrote down some words and handed it to her.
“Please, put these words down for the dedication.” He folded the paper and handed it to her. With the business finished he stood and left the office. Once he was gone the woman opened the paper and read the words. She felt her throat begin to tighten and tears came to her eyes. For the dedication read:
Dedicated to the memory of
My beloved wife Lillian.
The one who waits for me
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