How Can I tell Nhamo's Son

I knew that after the visit by Nhamo Junior son, my nights would be long and unbearable. 

They say one does not have to feel guilty over what happened during the war. 

The war is another time. Another country. One where one should never go back to. A time which a person should never live twice.

In most cases, the war will live forever in those involved. It becomes a scent. A smell that lingers after one has passed by.

It is there in the mind. All the voices. The images. The despair. The uncertainty. The fears. The insecurity.

Most who walked ahead of the pack did not return home. They fell. Today they are the unknown soldier. Real soldiers died. Most of us who returned leading the pack after the war were never at the front. 

We survived not because we were heroes but cowards.

Maybe what they say about heroes being the dead ones is true. I did not ask what Nhamo Junior wanted. But well, he said he was just passing by. Checking on me. He did not stay even.

I am tempted to tell him how his father died. But how will he feel? How will he look at me? I was there. I saw it.

When we buried the earth scooped from the mass grave behind the family's homestead, I thought I saw Nhamo's face floating before my eyes. 

I saw the blood spurting from the gap between his teeth. His eyes rolled back as his legs kicked. Then the eyes held still. And the body stiffened.

Yet what we buried that cold wintry day was a goat's head, some shrubs, a flag and then an elder planted a tree on the head of the grave.

I broke down in tears. My body shook. Nhamo's father referred to me as a hero. One who has helped the family to find closure. He said the family also viewed me as a son. And that I was free to visit any time and demand anything.

Nhamo's mother said while she was sad that Nhamo did not walk back home, she was consoled by the fact I had brought his spirit home.

I was touched. For a moment I almost told them the truth just like I want to tell Nhamo Junior the truth. But how would I be in their eyes? How would they take it. And what would the whole country say?

I was not the only one who returned from the war guilty. The only cowards who acted hero.

Even today, how can I tell them that I killed Nhamo? Oh God, bring back my sleep.