Speak To Me

He did not speak. Not for days.

His dad refused to go with us. He sat in the ravine for a week refusing food and water. He cried until he had no tears left for his wife. He laid down beside her and swore he'd never leave her, a promise he kept.

He was determined to go on. His sister and her husband whispered into the night. They cried in the night, but decided to go on for the sake of the children. I think he cried, too, silently. He was not in a good place. I knew I needed to get him to talk. He needed to grieve.

I watched him for signs of anger, cold eyes directed towards me, but I never saw them.

I took him out hunting. Silently we caught our prey, gutted it, and chopped it up for transport back to camp.

"Why aren't you angry?" I finally asked.

"What for?"

"Are you still in denial?"

"No. I have accepted my mother's choice and my step-father's."

"What about your wife?"

"I'm going to see her again." He marched ahead of me back to camp.

His renewed silence hardened my resolve.