Derda left the security of the trees like a falsely condemned man going to his execution, who, despite his innocence, holds his head high as he walks toward his legally sanctioned death. With each step, his fear diffused a bit more. Approaching the woman from behind, he took a deep breath and spoke.
“Excuse me.”
The woman had just covered over the buried envelope in the hole and she turned and looked at the kid as if she’d been awoken from a dream.
“It was me who took those papers. And some of the money. But I gave the papers back. But the thing is, I don’t have any money. Please, forgive me! I’ll do anything you want.”
The woman looked him over from head to toe as he spoke. His shoes, hair, his tanks and brush, his eyes, and his teeth. She seemed both lost in thought and intent to size up the boy. It didn’t seem like she was going to say anything, so Derda continued.
“Please, for the love of God!”
The woman shook her head and gestured at the tombstone with her hand. Derda didn’t understand. He asked her the first thing that came to mind.
“You want me to clean the tomb?”
The woman pointed toward the tomb and nodded again. Derda didn’t ask again.
“Ok,” he said. “Just a minute, I have to get water.”
He ran as fast as he could. He was ecstatic that the whole thing could be resolved so easily. He’d wash a tomb, and his debt would be cleared. He ran to the fountain in the square and caught his breath while the tanks filled with water. Then he ran back without stopping, taking the shortcut paths instead of the main road going down to the cemetery gates. But when he got to the trees between the tombs where he’d hid before, he stopped dead in his tracks. The woman was gone. He spun around looking for her. Nothing. He took off toward the cemetery gates. If she was on her way out he’d catch up with her for sure. He had to catch up to her and talk to her. He had to be sure that they’d agreed, that everything was okay. He wasn’t scared anymore. He dropped his tanks as he passed the fountain. They were weighing him down. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him and stopped at the cemetery gates. But there was no one there. No woman, no one at all. He stepped out of cemetery gates and looked both ways down the main street. It was like she’d vanished into thin air. Maybe she got in a car and drove away? he thought. But then he didn’t know what to think. He was totally confused. There was only one thing he could be sure of, and that was that he wasn’t going to touch that envelope buried at the foot of that tomb. But he really didn’t know anything anymore. He didn’t know what they expected him to do; he didn’t even know if he and the woman had come to an understanding or not.
“She pointed at the tomb,” Derda said aloud. He tried to remember what she’d looked like as he imitated her gestures.
“This is what she did. She pointed to it like this. Then I said, should I wash it? And she nodded … That’s how it went, right?”
That was as far as he could extend his monologue with her. It was easy to understand. And fairly certain. They’d clear his debt. But on one condition: Derda had to clean the tomb. He laughed. He broke into a run, only slowing down to grab a tank when he passed the fountain. He didn’t stop until he was in front of the tomb. He looked around. He was sure someone was watching. They must be watching to make sure he fulfilled his part of the agreement. He started pouring the water little by little over the tombstone. And he looked up and into the distance.
“Look, here I am, doing what you wanted me to do!” he wanted to cry out, and he wasn’t doing a shabby job at that. One by one he collected the leaves that had fallen over the tomb from the surrounding trees. With his brush he scrubbed the dirt and dust off the tombstone after he’d poured the water over it, and he tried to work as respectfully as he could. Respectfully and painstakingly. It must be the tomb of someone important, he thought. If it wasn’t, how could just cleaning it clear his debt?
Derda felt a growing sense of independence as he cleaned the tomb. He was conquering his fear. One by one the knots in his throat were untied, the permanent tension in his face mellowed into a smile, and for the first time in a long time, he felt good. Even happy.
The morning sun seeped into his eyes and he woke smiling. He had dreamed of his father. In real life, he didn’t even remember what his face looked like, but in his dream he knew it was him. He was out of prison and they were having breakfast together. Derda got up and got dressed. He ate some bread and a bit of cheese left over from the day before. He got his tanks and his brush and walked out the front door. He turned left and followed the house’s wall until he came to the cemetery
