Lacking Fragments: A Novel (Completed)

Graveyard Visitors II

Almost at last.

     Finally the time we found and reached Maya's grave, through the aid of the letter from her aunt, I saw a visitor standing nearby the offered flowers on the ground. A thin-built man, holding a small, opened lantern he brought with him. A man—that due to the end of daylight—whose face, whose age was just yet to be distinguished. Only his presented physique in front of me; the thing he'd been holding near him, his small lantern, and all the tombs scattered in every direction. Everything, everyone, were slightly visible under the darkened clouds. Starting dusk.

     By the little light he had brought with him, I was able to identify his type of clothing. The thin man was wearing all black from head to heels: a hat, long-sleeved shirt, skinny jeans and shoes— all in the color of abyss, like black holes found in space. My daughter and I halted to proceed closer; for a minute or two, everywhere appeared ghost-quiet. But after a moment in the dwelling's circle, the man turned around when he gained notice of presences—ours—a few yards away. He showed an expression as if he realized then we weren't waiting for nothing; that Kiki and I were merely staring at him, watching.

     "Excuse me?" the man inquired, raising his lantern to point to our direction. And by this, at last I could recognize his wholeness of face. "What can I do for you?"

     We, in odd way of having this encounter, did not reply anything to him. I, being the older person in the dwelling place, didn't know what to say; at least, not on the initial. Instead I remained muted, as to pretend I didn't hear the question he just asked us. Even if we didn't step forward nor move an inch, the man was sure we were onto something. But due to our silence, by the face he then made told us we were here to visit a grave. Of someone.

     "I see," he continued. "Not much of talkers, aren't you?"

     And for it I came up with a question that—I believe—would lessen his suspiciousness. "Pardon my bad manners," I began soft. "I should have said good evening," of which I followed by asking if my daughter and I were on the right setting, spot, in accordance to what the old letter of Maya's aunt provided. "West Side, F17." I repeated the location to him, the exact location. But then, rather than answer it, he said something so surely in return, "You know her..."

     "Excuse me, who?"

     "Maya."

     I nodded. "Yes, I know her," I admitted. And now, through my peripheral vision, I saw my daughter looked from the man Up to me. With her curious eyes as if they were saying, 'Father, she knows about your friend, too.' Yes, I'd want to say. I supposed we were acquaintances. In a second, she returned her look at the thin-built man, standing near the quite possible tomb of Maya. The said man lowered his lantern. His voice deepened. We turned off our flashlights. "We're here to offer respect. Why, do you know her as well?"

     "Oh, I do."

     "How well do you know her?"

     "More than you think."

     "So," I paused, "this is the right place of her tomb..."

     "Yes," replied the man, in gloom of a winter's day. So cold, and deep it froze my skin. "Just about right underneath me, here lays her skeleton, her bones. And... well, I've been making sure she's always safe here... We never know how the gravediggers think. So there you go."

     At that time, I made the decision to step forward to the tomb. With Kiki by my side, still clutching at my shirt, we had joined the man standing by the sepulcher. And now, with him being closer than before I recognized this man already had grey hair like myself; only I had lesser hair than him— his hair was still thick brushy, while mine had kind of been fading throughout the years. I was old. He was younger. That was the only way to put it.