The Tower

Chapter 28

They stood in silence. The church bells rang in the silence. A black cat sat on the wall watching the gathering. They were many in number. They stood crowded in the graveyard. The cat mewed loudly. No one cared really. They had better things to do. Things that needed to be done. 

Tears flowed from the eyes of many. Some clung to others for support. Only a few felt real sorrow. The wind rustled the leaves of the deep green trees that surrounded the yard.  A pianist playing the melancholy melody remained in sync with the sorrowful music that the world seemed to play for her. 

A man of about forty stood with his hand around a woman of about his age. No tears spilt from their eyes. No amount of tears would justify their emotions. Clinging to the woman's hand stood a little child, too young to understand why he had been brought to Slovakia and why his step sister wasn't waking up. He tugged his mother's hand. She gave no response. 

A man in his early twenties stood leaning on a tree. The husband of the deceased, many said. He stood in silence, staring into the distance. Emptiness remained in his eyes, a distant empty glow. Many said he didn't care. Many said he did. Said they were newly wedded. How sad a man of his age became a widower. Too early. Many told him not to worry. They said, "You're handsome. You'll get another wife." And they patted his shoulder and left giving him a sympathetic look. Many said his life was ruined. Many said he was cursed. How sad, he didn't care what they said. 

The grass swayed in the silence. The whole valley was overflowing in sorrow. They knew his sorrow. They shared it. They felt it. He remained as a statue leaning on the tree. 

The priest's words spoke solemn and sincere truths. Next to the priest in the coffin lay a coffin decorated with white lilies and ribbons. The coffin itself had lilies engraved on its sleek, shiny teak wood. Inside lay the deceased. A young woman not yet in her twenties, maybe she was. It was hard to tell and insignificant now anyway. She was dead, after all. Her arms were folded, eyes closed. She lay surrounded by white roses. Her blond hair was combed and fell over her shoulder with an elegant grace. She wore black.

I the man's eyes, all of this was unnecessary. she wasn't likely to wake up. He went with it only to please the mother. To him, it seemed as though she emitted a soft glow, like one of joy. As though she was still alive and happy. But it was his imagination. In her folded arms lay a white lily - how she had loved them. it was pure white. Its contrast with her clothes was striking.

There she lay in the coffin, the reason for why they had all gathered. Yet they knew not how she died. It was like she was asleep. Would she wake up and give him a hug? He laughed at the thought. How foolish, how pathetic of him. But how very him. He put his head in his arms fighting hard against the tears that threatened to flow. Her last words... That was the only reason he was alive now. He was biding his time. Just a while more. 

She was indeed in sleep but no ordinary one. It was a strange sleep, a silent sleep. One from which she would never awaken. It truly was a strange sleep. An eternal one. The worse kind. There she lay dead.

The priest's words failed to reach him. Something about her service to mankind, her soul's  rest in peace and hope. When he thought he wouldn't survive for much longer, he finally heard, "Amen." It was over. The crowd engulfed the family. They would begin the burying now. Then once they shut the coffin and began burying it, the little child ran forward. "What are you doing? Why did you shut her in there?" He yelled in his childish little voice. They tried to hold him back. He wouldn't listen. He ran to her. Someone yelled for his sister. The sister stood a bit away, not even trying to stop him. The child wouldn't let them bury her. Why, he asked, when she was just sleeping? The mother stifled a gasp.