The Few

basic preventive measure, had informed Tayyar of the missing documents. And he, for his part, made a list of those who could have seen him bury the envelopes. And there was only one person on that list. That kid who’d been secretly burying something at the base of the tomb. Tayyar dug where he’d seen Derda on his knees and when the piece of flesh appeared before his eyes it was enough to turn the stomach even of a hardened warrior like Tayyar. He shook it off, though, and prepared a line with one single bait. One hook, one bait, one fish. He wasn’t about to run after the kid, who came from who knows where and who went who knows where. He was going to catch his prey with one single shot. He only had to decide which tomb to use as the trap. The tomb where the kid had stolen the documents? Or, as if everything were following its normal course, put it in the next tomb to the right that was going to be used? Two possibilities, one gamble. Tayyar banked on his suspicion that the kid was clever enough, and that he had been watching them for some time. He buried the box in place of the papers.

It was perfect; the perfect bait. In just the right place and in just the right measure, thought Derda, it couldn’t have been anyone else. It must have been that man in the robe! If it had been someone else a ton of police would’ve come. They would’ve grabbed me before I even got into the cemetery. But that white box, this business with burying. “What am I going to do,” said Derda, out loud. Practically yelling.

“I am in so much fucking trouble!”

Then he looked at the box in his hand. First he had to get rid of that. That before anything else.

He ran to the base of the wall and dug a hole as deep as he could, threw the box inside, and covered it up. He got up and turned around without looking. This time he didn’t even want to remember where he’d buried it. He didn’t care anymore about knowing where he’d buried his mother. Did it do him any good to know? It wasn’t like he was going to go up to each tomb and say a Fatiha for her in each place. “Whatever,” he said to himself. Whatever. But now what am I going to do? What do these guys want from me? he thought. “Money!”

“They want their money. Fuck, they want their money back. But it’s gone. I already spent it all. But wait, the papers are still here. I’ll give them those back. Maybe they’ll forgive me. When I give them the papers maybe they’ll stop following me. But what if they don’t?”

That night he brought a box to the hole and put the papers wrapped in his pillowcase inside and buried it, smoothing over the dirt as best he could. That night he didn’t sleep. He waited with a knife in his hand, hardly daring to blink, alone inside his dark house. Until the morning ezan came like a lullaby and put him to sleep.

When he woke up he left the house barefoot, ran to the wall, and jumped over. He went to the grave bed and dug. Then dug some more. And some more. He dug away at the dirt in the grave bed until he’d flung it everywhere. He laughed while he flung it away. And in the end he was sure. They’d taken the papers. They’re gone! The man in the robe must have come and taken the papers. And maybe he’ll never come back. But the money, thought Derda, his face hanging. And if they come back for the money? But it wasn’t that much, right? But what if the man in the robe does come back to get the money? I’ll be so screwed then, thought Derda, terrified down to his core. He’ll kill me. Because I can’t give that money back, not for my life. I couldn’t get it together, even if I had months. “Shit!” yelled Derda. “Fuck!”

After that day, Derda became like a hermit. And day after day he grew older. Because the pain is not the fear itself, the fear is in the waiting. And waiting for fear is worse than fear. Just like someone once wrote.

“What’s up?” Isa said. “You waiting for someone?”

“No,” said Derda.

But he wasn’t very convincing. He kept looking around, stretching his head out to see past the trees. Even standing up then sitting back down again. He’d been acting this way for just about a month.

“Then why do you keep looking around?”

“What’s it to you?” barked Derda. Then he regretted it. “I’m going to say something. But it’s a secret.”

“Ok,” said Isa. “Tell me.”

“If you see a guy in a long robe around here, tell me.”

Isa pointed to someone over Derda’s shoulder. “There’s one,” he said.

Derda jumped to his feet and looked behind him. It was Ubeydullah’s brother Yakup, wearing a long robe; he stood at the head of the tomb that looked like a mausoleum, his hands opened in prayer. Derda turned to Isa.

“Not that guy! Yeah, he’s wearing a robe, too, but look: You know where he’d be? You know our wall, right? Our house wall? There, those tombs closest to the wall, right? You know, the last row? There. If you see a guy there, you better tell me. If I’m at home, come get me. Wherever I am, come find me, I mean. For the love of God, look, it’s really important.”

Isa laughed.

“Ok, but why’s it so important? Is this your secret?”

“Look, recently, I did some work for that man in the robe. I washed a tomb. Then he didn’t give me any money. So I cussed him out. Then the guy beat me up. Get it? Now if that guy finds me, he’s going to really shit in my mouth. I really