Roses

Roses

Harry Buschman

Above the killing field the smoke had cleared but the sun could barely be seen rising behind the distant hills. The battle was done and the floor of the valley was littered with the refuse of war. The flags. The broken remnants of artillery. The dead horses and the men of both armies lay scattered in the field.

The land was worthless now. It would never yield crops. It was the scene of so many battles that grass would never grow again. It was poisoned with the bloody residue of war.

The women of both cities came timidly at first, pulling their carts and looking for their men. They brought red roses from their gardens to place on the dead, and they had carefully removed the thorns. There was no bitterness – no rancor among them. The women of both cities grieved together as they looked for their husbands, their sons and their fathers. Occasionally a sharp intake of breath could be heard as one of the women recognized a face – and often a wail of anguish would escape a woman as she sank to her knees by the side of a loved one.

Each woman helped the other and gradually the carts were filled with the dead and wounded. By mid-morning only the battered equipment and the horses lay scattered on the barren plain. As the women reached the outskirts of the town they were greeted by the children and the old people. One by one they reached their humble houses and by mid-afternoon the dead were washed, prayed for and buried. The wounds of the living were tended to – many would never walk again – some would never see, but all of them would remember.

In later years they would roll back their sleeves to show their scars of battle and boast of their bravery in the clash of arms against the enemy on the floor of the valley. They would urge their sons to study war and once again take up arms to settle for all time the age-old rights of ownership and dominion over the worthless land that separated the two cities. Dressed in their ill-fitting uniforms, they would visit the cemeteries on the anniversaries of the wars. They would sing their anthems and speak their brave speeches.

And all the while a new generation of women gathered the roses and gently removed the thorns.