Eliora lay curled at the bottom of the hole that Rabbi David Meltzar and Jan Reisser had dug. Reisser had clothes his late white in her favorite nightgown, the one she wore when 'don't you dare touch me tonight you'll wreck it.'
"I didn't write a eulogy," Reisser said blankly.
"Then how about you say one off the top of your head?"
"I'm not the playwright, Eliora is." He scoffed.
"That doesn't matter because you aren't making anything up. You're talking about Eliora." The Rabbi said softly. "I know it may be difficult, but I encourage you to try; people who don't, well, they regret it afterward."
"Alright." He stared down into the grave. Into Eliora's blank expression.
"But eulogies are for the living, not for the dead." He stammered.
"Then just say everything you want to say to her body; you can still speak with her soul after today."
"Can I do this alone?" He whispered. Reisser didn't want the Rabbi to overhear what he'd say. The Rabbi nodded and stepped away, turning to walk down the path in the woods.
"I'll be back when I feel you're ready." He said before he left.
Reisser sank to his knees and slid into the grave. He knelt next to her curled-up body. "I'm sorry about all of the nights where I wouldn't take a walk with you or when I wouldn't allow you to take a walk because you'd drunk a little too much. I'm sorry that I never smoked your brand of cigarettes; they taste awful. I wish you were still here with me," his voice cracked. "I'm so so sorry that I left to talk to Franz; if I hadn't, you'd still be alive, and you wouldn't have been...raped." He started to cry. "I'm so sorry, Eliora. And I'm sorry I called you Charlotte even when we were in bed; I should have stuck to Eliora. I'm so sorry." It took him a second to regain some semblance of composure, and then, more confidently, he said: "I would give anything to take a walk with you at night, now, through these woods, and no, I wouldn't smoke your cigarettes I'd smoke my own. And I know you'd tell me that if I hadn't been on a trip to Strassburg, I'd have been at the store or out with friends, and I would feel even worse about myself because I wouldn't have even tried to get help." He kissed her cold forehead. "You are my everything, Eliora. You're body was my home." Her hair was slick with his tears. "And now you're already falling apart..." He kissed her forehead again. "You taste like cigarettes." He moaned in pain. "I'm sorry he was the last person to touch you, Eliora. I'm so, so sorry." He lost himself in his grief and cried for a long time. The Rabbi passed by the secret cemetery twenty-six times until Reisser gathered himself together and said the last words he wanted to say to her body. "You look so lovely in that nightgown, Eliora. And you looked so beautiful in every costume you wore at every première you acted in. I love you so much. Thank you for sharing yourself with me, even if you never showed me all of you. I love you so, so much, Eliora."
He climbed out of the grave alone and stood there for another long minute until the Rabbi approached.
"Would you like to say a prayer, Jan?" The Rabbi asked. Jan nodded.
"Teach me a Jewish prayer." He said softly.
"Alright, I'll write it down for you, and then you can repeat it for the next eleven months, alright?" He pulled a paper and pen from his coat, wrote the Mourner's Kaddish down, folded it, and handed it to Reisser.
Reisser cleared his throat and began to read.
"Glorified and sanctified be God's great name throughout the world which He has created according to His will." He read with a strong voice. "May He establish His kingdom in your lifetime and during your days, and within the life of the entire House of Israel, speedily and soon; and say, Amen." The further he read, the more his voice began to waver. He cleared his throat again. "May His great name be blessed forever and to all eternity." He bowed his head and started to cry. The Rabbi reached out, tilted his chin up again, and gestured for him to continue. "Blessed and praised, glorified and exalted, extolled and honored, adored and lauded be the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, beyond all the blessings and hymns, praises and consolations that are ever spoken in the world; and say, Amen." The words he spoke were barely audible over his tears and the trembling in his voice; someone reading along with him silently wouldn't have been able to follow. But the Rabbi could. He'd heard so many people utter this prayer, most of them crying, just like Reisser. It was more than just the words; the feelings and the tears were as much a part of the prayer as the rest. "May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen." He wiped his nose on his sleeve and then read the final part. "He who creates peace in His celestial heights, may He create peace for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen."
Reisser held the little paper in front of him and cried. He couldn't look at Eliora—he just couldn't. The words swam in front of his eyes. "It's not about death, " he whispered. The Rabbi gently placed his hand on Reisser's arm.
"When I buried Eliora's mother, Eliora spoke those words." Rabbi Meltzer said. "Those exact words."
"I love her," Reisser murmured. The tears came down heavy as rain, and the Rabbi took the paper with the prayer on it from Reisser's trembling hands and tucked it into the poor soul's coat. He let him cry for a few minutes, then gingerly asked him if he was ready to throw some dirt into the grave.
Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Reisser agreed and bent down. He took some dirt and tossed it into the open grave. He repeated the gesture two more times. The Rabbi did the same. There was nobody else there to mourn with them, so immediately after, the Rabbi gestured to the shovel, and Reisser took it.