He ran like a squirrel, leaping, quick on his feet. He hid behind every fifth tree to survey the scene. Finally, he bounded behind a mess of green leaves that, from the number of branches and their closeness to each other, seemed like one tree from three roots. He held his breath.
He straightened his back against the tree and peeked around the trunk, his left eye peering between the branches. It was as brave as he could bear to be. But he had to at least be able to see what the man was doing.
He was leaning against the base of the tomb, burying a large white envelope in the grave bed contained by the marble edging around the tomb. There were two red roses on the tips of the branches coming out of one single trunk near the tomb’s front side. He measured and buried the envelope five hand-spans away from then. Close to where birds were drinking water from the birdbath in the grave bed. He smoothed the dirt with his hand and looked around. Derda’s single eye disappeared behind the trunk. He could hear his heart thumping in his ears. It was beating like it wanted to break out. He collapsed to the foot of the tree trunk again. He couldn’t bear to turn around and look again.
He stayed there for about half an hour. He’d taken root there, he’d become a part of the tree. Only his hair rippled in the light breeze, like the leaves around him. He knees were pulled up to his chin. His arms were around his folded legs. He was entirely motionless.
When he’d decided he’d waited long enough, he stood up slowly, scooted over slowly, then stuck his head out and checked to see if the man was gone. The coast was clear. He left the trees and walked, his eyes scanning thirty steps ahead of him, when all of a sudden he bent over with the pain of a fist smashing into the back of his neck.
“You ass, did I not tell you to go buy me bread? You animal!”
It was the first time in his life that he was happy Yasin was hitting him. That morning Yasin had left the house without having eaten his breakfast and he was in such a bad mood that he never wanted to stop pummeling Derda.
After three punches he got up and ran out of the cemetery to get the bread from where he’d forgotten it on the grocer’s counter. He dropped it through the open window of the guard’s house. “The window’s open. Stick your arm in and drop it on the table,” Yasin had told him. So Derda did as much. He stuck the bread in under the curtains and left it on the table by the window, then kept running. He had to find the bloody fabric and get rid of it.
It was the same scene; the same day all over again. There was a man in front of the tombstone. But it was a different man. A man wearing a short-sleeved shirt. A man with glasses. The man looked around and adjusted his necktie. A man in his late fifties.
Derda hid in the same place again. He watched the same white envelope with the same eye. He watched the man pull the envelope out of the ground and leave a yellow one in its place.
Covering the top with dirt and looking around once more, the man left, walking down the road to the cemetery gate. He didn’t walk slowly like the man in the robe. His movements were hasty. He’d finished his work within a minute. And now he was leaving. Derda could see his face but he didn’t look like anyone he knew. He was slim, and his hair and skin were fair. His face betrayed no emotion. His wrinkled face seemed impenetrable.
Derda waited for the man to be out of sight. Then he got out from behind the tree and ran straight to the tomb. He walked behind it. He fell to his knees and searched for the fabric. He found it. He gave a long deep sigh. He hadn’t been caught. He laughed. He took out the box of matches and lit one. The skinny little match roared into a fire and he held the fabric by one corner and held it away from himself. He gave the loose end of the fabric to the fire. The fire burned furiously, devouring the fabric. He held onto it for a while until he had to drop it. Then he stomped it out. The pitch-black ashes flew away and the bloody sheet was no more.
Then he went to the tomb. To the envelope at the tomb. He got into the grave bed of the tomb and looked around. He didn’t see anyone. With a quick movement he drove his hand into the earth and pulled out the envelope. It was taped closed. Happily it was same kind of tape they sold at the corner grocer so he knew he could reseal it if he needed to. He opened it slowly, cautiously. He opened the envelope without damaging it at all.
Then he knew that this couldn’t possibly be real. Because inside the envelope was a thick stack of money. Derda’s trembling hand pulled five banknotes out of the stack and slipped them into his pocket. Then he took out five more. As long as that enveloped stayed open he couldn’t help himself. He was afraid of taking too much
