I
headed to the cemetery again to experience life. That’s where I go when I need a full dose of
it. There’s no other thing in this world
that will remind us so much of life than death itself. In the cemetery, there are no lies. There are no glossy advertisements or sexual
distractions. There is no amusement, no
food, and no shopping. There are only
the cold stony reminders of life once lived and now passed.
I
was in a section of graves from the 1800s—a newer section for this graveyard—when
I came across a remarkable man. He was
dressed in a grey suit with a black hat and black shoes. He carried a black umbrella. I was surprised to see anyone in this section
because I’ve never seen anyone there before.
Most people don’t visit graves that are 150 years old. We made eye contact and I quickly looked
away, not knowing if eye contact was appropriate among the dead. Certainly, it’s rarely even appropriate among
the living.
 |
| Ready to talk. |
He
headed straight toward me before I could leave, and since he looked harmless
enough, I stayed. He tipped his hat and
greeted me.
“So
you are back again!” he said. I felt a
bit awkward. Had he been spying on
me? Had he seen me in this section
before? Did he know that I come here
often?
“Well,
I . . .” I stuttered.
“Yes,
yes, and yes!” he said. “I have been spying on you. I have
seen you in this section before. And I do know that you come here often.”
“You
might be thinking of someone else.”
“Oh,
no. It was you,” he said, “I never
forget a face.”
“Who
are you?” I asked, backing up a couple of paces.
“Oh,
don’t mind me! I’m the groundskeeper
here.”
Of
course, I didn’t believe him for one minute, not with those dapper
clothes. Yet I found myself unwilling to
leave.
“Well,
you’ve done a fine job,” I said.
“Thank
you! And when I said ‘spying,’ I just
meant that it’s my job to know what goes on around here, so please don’t be
alarmed. I love having guests!”
“Not
many people visit a graveyard,” I began, but he cut me off with his exuberance.
“And
more’s the pity for that! There’s so
much to do and learn here!”
“I
guess.”
“Well
surely that’s why you come, isn’t it?”
he asked.
“Mainly,
I just come for the peace.”
“Right
you are!” he said. “Eternal peace! Now, let me show you a few things here.”
So
we began to walk around a bit with him pointing out various graves and grand
crypts.
“Now
you take this fellow here,” he said. “He
was a Revolutionary War hero!”
“Was
he?” I asked, interested in spite of the odd conversation. “What was he like?”
“Oh,
he was brave and strong! He was a great
soldier!”
“Was he a great man?”
“Well,”
he hesitated, “He never learned how to listen to the desires of another person’s
heart.”
“But
you liked him, right?” I asked, quite forgetting where I was.
“It’s
easy to like simplicity in a fool, but I liked him well enough.”
“Oh.”
“And
this lady here,” he said, stepping on the soldier’s flat grave as he walked.
“You
just stepped on a grave.”
“Yes,
quite right. It’s the easiest way to get
from point A to point B.”
“But
isn’t it a bit rude?” I asked.
“Not
at all! This is my place, and the residents all work for me. We have a good relationship.”
“Oh.”
“So
this woman here,” he continued, “She was his wife, but before that she had been
the lover of a soldier of the enemy’s army.
She gave away her lover’s secret to our soldier here, and that
information actually helped to turn the tide of the war. Without her knowledge, you and I might not be
standing here today! Although I’m sure
we would have found another excellent place.”
“So
she betrayed one man for another?” I asked.
“How could she live with herself?”
“She
had a hard time. So did her husband as
he was always suspicious about her fidelity.”
“But
how could he wonder since it was her knowledge that gave him victory??”
“Well
I told you that he never learned how to listen to the desires of another person’s
heart.”
“Oh,
yes, you did say that.”
“People
waste a lot of time that way,” he said.
“Yes,
I suppose they do.”
He
looked at me with a sly smile and I wondered if he knew that my own heart was
full of suspicions. I decided that
somehow he did.
We
found ourselves at another grave. This
was a newer grave placed only two years ago.
I wondered why it was in an older section of the graveyard since I didn’t
think they put fresh graves here anymore. Before the grave was a chair.
As
if he knew what I was thinking, he said, “It’s odd finding this new grave here,
isn’t it? She comes to visit him quite
regularly, you know. She places a stone
by the grave every time she comes, and she sits and talks.”
“What
does she talk about?”
“Oh,
everything and anything!” he said. “Would
you like to sit down?”
“No! I mean, it—it’s not my chair.”
“That
it isn’t. Not your grave either.”
“No,”
I said, feeling uncomfortable. “Does she
know you listen in?”
“Of
course! Sometimes she talks directly to
me instead of him.”
“Oh.”
We
walked on a bit with him stepping on graves here and there, seeming not to
notice he was doing so, but certainly not appearing to be deliberately
disrespectful. I suppose it really was
the easiest way to get from point A to point B.
“It’s
a very direct route, you know,” he said, and I wondered if he really was reading my mind. “I’ll wager that you’ve already noticed the
stark comparison of life and death here.
You must know that there is nothing to distract you here. Things are quite obvious, and everything is
as it appears. There are no masks here.”
“You
seem to know a lot about it,” I said.
“Yes,
quite a bit,” he smiled. “As I said, the
residents all work for me, and their history is a kind of currency here, which I
use to buy parts of reality—a sort of manifestation, if you will. And even though they work for me, I’m the
one who gets paid. I take their history
and I create ‘the past’ with it, and the past is a very potent way to influence the present, you see, and thereby
shape the future.”
“Yes. I guess,” I said, not really sure I understood
but not sure I liked the direction the conversation had taken, either. “Will you ever release them?”
“They’re
free to go at any time,” he said, looking a bit slighted.
“Then
why don’t they?”
“Well,
ultimately it’s the living who keep them here.”
“How
so?” I asked.
“It’s
the expectation and belief that death is the end. It’s the putting away of the truth of the
nature of life, the hiding of the facts, the refusal to face reality by the
living that keeps them here. They are
here because they are expected to be here.
They are here because this is the only place they’re allowed to be.”
We
walked on a bit and found ourselves right back at the new grave with the chair
in front of it.
“Are
you sure you don’t want to try it on for size?” he asked.
“Which
one? The grave or the chair?” This made him laugh uproariously.
“I
say! That’s quite good! Whichever you please!”
I
sat down in the chair and looked at the grave and then at him.
“It
doesn’t feel right,” I said.
“Give
it time. You’ve still got some of that.”
“Have I?”
“A
bit more, it would seem. And I would
love to stay and chat, but I realize that I am needed most urgently on the
other side of the cemetery. There’s a
gal there who has decided to take up residence, so we’ve much to get
straightened out. I’ll say goodbye to you
for now.”
He
tipped his hat and walked slowly away, stepping on graves as he went.
I
called loudly after him, “Will you step on my
grave someday?”
“Very
likely,” he said, without turning around.
