Page 10 - Contrast1962v6n1

there were children, too. He wasn't much older than I-they'd hardly
be more than babies. Would they remember their father?

"Across the hill, in our camp, some smart-alec began tooting on

a bugle, 'When Johnny Comes Marching Home.' The Rebel stirred

as he heard the notes, opened his eyes, smiled bitterly, and mur-

mured, 'My name's John.' He closed his eyes once more and this time

he didn't open them again. My God, I hope his wife never hears
that song again!

"1 had a brief thought that he might have no funeral and that 1

should at least try to lay him out, but my desire to be away from that

place was too strong by now. Silently saying. a brief prayer for him, I

quickly slipped the wallet out of his pocket, hoped no one would see

and accuse me of looting a corpse, and finally ran. A couple days

later 1 mailed the wallet to Mrs. Sitlington-without signing my
name ... ."

A gasp made me break off. 1 looked up and say that Sally's face
was suddenly white and drawn. "W-what did you say his name was?"
she quavered, moving her dilated eyes to the rusty old rifle in the
corner and then back to me.

"John ... Sitlington," 1 replied uncertainly, looking back at the
book.

"John Sitlington," said Sally weakly, "was my great.grandfather."

the next day

by janet shell

Gone, gone ...
brittle fragments of sunlight
play across the dust motes.
The window outlines the sky
in black.
Smooth, untrod boards gleam
under the burnishing glow
of evening ...
gone,
it hollows out the mom,
leaving only
the swelling presence of
loneliness.

8