Whilst stepping on the tracks I've left in the past, my eyes come to meet the monument of an extinguished star.
I get this feeling on my face – of heat dispersed into the air.
My nose whispers me secrets unknown to the eye. Hiding, scattered through the particles of smoke, is a rancid smell of flesh.
Where the memory of a small house, hosting a happy family, once shone, now stands a black corpse of ashes, ready to yield under its own weight.
Father only takes a moment to look at the clash of ashes before he begins walking yet again. He seems pensive.
The asperity of the wind draws red on my cheeks.
Though we usually sneak through the village, now we are in a hurry. The strong wind conceals our steps.
Father comes to a stop.
His gaze is pinned on something I can't see, but I know for sure what it is. A chill drops down my spine.
Peaking from behind him, I look at the inert body of my uncle. It looks very much the same as yesterday, but partly covered with snow.
Father crouches and begins dragging him by the arms.
Were his face up, I couldn't stand watching.
I stepped aside to let father drag uncle's body.
The snow is stained by blood where his body had been lying.
Slowly walking on the trail left by the body, my eyes can't come to believe reality. My vision is obstructed by the image of my uncle, smiling as he was handing me an axe. I am reminded of the time he taught me how to cut trees and chop logs. Going even further, I can almost sense the unmistakable excitement I felt at the sight of fire when he taught me on lighting one. But that was a time when I wasn't taller than the axe. These memories fade away with each step I take on the trail left behind by his dragged inanimate corpse.
Drop by drop, just as the blood is being soaked into the ground, so is my every memory of him.
But I have no tears to shed.
Father breathes heavily after leaving the corpse lying on the snow.
We have arrived at his burnt house.
"Stay here." father speaks.
Is he leaving? He seems to be headed home.
I am left in silence.
A cruel image is painted before my eyes – quenched candles.
Why do I have to see this? Why has this happened?
Why, uncle? Why have you set fire to your own house? I remember your deathbed misery. You said they tried to eat Angela, my cousin, right? Who is they? Aunt and grandfather? Why would they do such a thing? No way they would do that!
That's cruel!
Why haven't you asked for our help if you were in need? Did you thi-
"Take this."
My father snaps me out of my thoughts. He is handing me a shovel.
"I brought you one too, so we can do the work faster."
I take the shovel and watch him count three steps to the right of the house, then he sticks his shovel in the ground. It was as if he had stabbed the world itself.
"Get to work. Don't stand around watching."
It didn't take long before we hit the dirt.
Just after the snow had been shovelled away, we began digging into the frosted soil.
"His soul won't be at peace unless his body is back where it came from." Father says.
That is, we will give him a proper burial.
But I can't name his defence.
"Are you crying?"
"What?"
Both my mind and body freeze for a moment. Only after raising my hand to the eye do I say "No.".
I lift my gaze to see my father. At that moment, the scene of the Hero Perseus, killing the mountainous dragon, unravels before my eyes. Father gazes straight through the frozen dirt. But notwithstanding his harsh stabs, on his face is written sorrow. His eyes, fixated on the hole, only hoped to apologise.
"Then-" He huffs loudly "get back to work.".
I wipe off my tears and resume digging.
My hands have already become sore from fatigue. But I can't let go of the shovel. Even if the earth doesn't want me to dig this hole, isn't it my duty to oppose its will?
I believe we are nearly done.
By now, the sky has become white. But it is not the same white the snow is. Compared to it, the sky looks more like grey.
Without a word, he throws the shovel onto the ground. Dragging uncle's body to the edge, he crouches and pushes it into the pit.
I had my eyes closed, but I could hear the sound it made when it hit the ground.
"You close your eyes for naught. You can't evade it."
I don't want to see.
"Seeing his face – You don't want to see his face, do you?"
After a moment of silence, I say "No.".
He speaks. "Open your eyes. It is better if you see it."
I slightly open my left eye, so much so that I can only make out shadows. After a break, he takes the body by the right arm and tries turning it around. "We will have his body headed sunrise and his face to the sky.".
How could it be better?
How can you say such a thing? Don't you feel anguished as well?
But, by opening my eyes fully, I could only see the burden my father has borne to this moment on his shoulders become ever so greater. That onerous weight would bury him into the ground was he not so sturdy.
I demand my legs to move, but they won't do so. They only shiver in place.
Reacting to my response only when I look at my boots, which were covered in snow, do I take small steps towards the pit.
And I stare blankly.
I stare blankly at a face I can see but cannot recognise – of which I can make out details but cannot comprehend as a whole.
I bring my hands together, just as my father does.
"Let Sebastian's soul be guided to where he will find ease. Let his body be at rest in the soil from where it has come. And let his memory be kept aflame through the words of the living."
A minute has been spent in acute silence. For that period, even the wind eased off.
Father just now begins covering up the pit. I too picked up my shovel.
And the soil fills the pit back up.
The spare dirt we have placed over the grave.
"Hand me the shovel." is what father said the moment we have finished. And he ran home to leave both of the shovels.
I guess we still have to go fishing.
When he returned, albeit breathing heavily, father took no moment of rest. "Let's go."
And we rushed through the village, through the forest – up and down the mountain and to the lake. Leaving the sorrow behind.
The moment we stepped on the ice, time slowed down.