The Burial

The next morning, before dawn, David buried the body.

It was a beautiful, sunny autumn morning with tendrils of mist drifting over the gardens. The spade sucked into the wet earth with slurping, puffing sounds. He worked hard, and after half an hour, he had dug quite a deep hole.

His shirt was soaked with sweat, and he felt a bit shaky, but whether that was due to the exertion or the nerve-wracking events of the previous day, he couldn’t tell.

He straightened his back, wiped his face, which had turned red from the effort, spat in his hands, and got back to work. Thud, thud, thud, the spade went up and down. Thud, thud, thud, the earth plopped onto the rapidly growing mound beside the pit.

After another fifteen minutes, he thought he had dug deep enough. He climbed out of the hole and walked toward the body, which he had wrapped in a blue blanket.

“Hello there neighbour! How’s everything? What a fine morning, isn’t it?”

David’s arms suddenly felt heavy, and the blood drained from his face. Over the low stone wall that separated his farmhouse from the house next door, his neighbour’s piggish eyes looked at him conspiratorially.

“Yes, yes, very nice weather,” he stammered.

“Yes, my wife was thinking, you know, how about if all of us came together – I mean, us neighbours – for a little party, and everyone brought something to eat or drink. That would be really nice, right?”

“I’m not sure if… Maybe… I suppose…”

“Yes, my wife would really enjoy that, a little party.”

The red face disappeared behind the wall, not waiting for an answer. He heard the fat old crab shuffling over the garden path. Listening, he waited until he was sure the old guy had gone back inside and then grabbed the corner of the blanket. A gold-blond lock of hair appeared. He swallowed. Tears welled up in his eyes. He had to pull himself together!

He unwrapped the body from the blanket and dragged it to the edge of the pit. A drum of fear pounded in his throat, and his mouth was bone-dry. It was time for a drink, but first, he had to finish the job.

“Yoo-hoo! Hey, neighbour!”

With a jolt, he managed to throw the blanket back over his wife’s dead body just in time.

“I was thinking, well, actually my wife would really appreciate it if it could happen tonight.”

“Tonight? What’s happening tonight?”

His voice sounded thin and weak.

“The party, neighbour. You know, someone brings sausages, someone brings potato salad, and someone else brings beer or wine…”

“Yes. Yes, yes, I get it. But will people want to come? After all, it’s a bit late to inform everyone now.”

Why wouldn’t the old man leave him alone? His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he was sure it could be heard beyond the garden wall.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll want to come. Absolutely certain!”

He laughed with a snorting, gasping sound that irritated David deeply. The very sight of the man got on his nerves: his piggy snout and solid, massive frame. Nervously, he kicked at the mound of earth, wondering when he’d finally be able to get on with it. His mouth was getting drier and drier.

“You’ll be there, won’t you? Elspeth is counting on it!”

“I’m not sure if I can. Tonight, you said?”

Desperately, David tried to think of an excuse, but his brain seemed stuck.

“And bring your lovely wife. We’ll be expecting you.”

Before David could say anything, the old man turned and disappeared behind the wall. David heard him shuffling down the garden path, tripping over his worn-out slippers.

Sighing, David turned around. As he tore off the blanket and softly ushered the body into the pit, he reconsidered the suggestion.

Actually, it wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe he could come up with a valid reason why Laura wouldn’t show up. After all, the questions would come eventually. Better be prepared. With a deep sigh, he began shovelling the earth back into the pit. Soft thuds covered the emaciated naked body. A single tear ran down his cheek.

When the church bell at St. Martin’s struck eight, he had cleaned the spade and rolled up the blanket, storing it in the garden shed. Now he sat on the terrace with a stiff G&T. The more he thought about the suggestion, the more appealing it seemed. He would go. He might get away with it after all.

The day dragged on agonizingly slowly. He tried to work, but without enthusiasm. Lunch, a sandwich with cold roast beef, tasted like nothing.

His thoughts kept drifting back to the party. This would be his trial by fire; if he got through that, he could handle the rest. He took another swig straight from the now nearly empty gin bottle.

At half past four, the neighbour’s wife rang the bell. Elspeth was a scrawny, dark woman of about fifty who always smelled of food. Now she carried the scent of eggs-and-bacon and vinegar.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to bother you,” she chirped in her hoarse little bird voice, “but we nearly forgot to inform you. You know, for the party tonight. We thought it would be very nice if you dressed in black.” Two beady crow’s eyes stared at him expectantly. 

“Oh! Yes, um, I don’t know,” David stammered, confused by the request. Laura had always handled his wardrobe, as she had managed the finances and decided where they would go and when. He really had no idea what he could wear.

“Laura will figure something out, I’m sure. And don’t forget, we start at seven!”

She traipsed away over the neat cobbled stones that separated their houses.

Cursing, David slammed the door behind her. That damned woman, what had she got into her head now?

At a quarter to seven, he was still sitting on the bed in jeans and an old black rock band T-shirt. The bedroom was strewn with Laura’s dresses. He had opened all the drawers and turned over all the closets searching for a black suit. All he’d found was a fishing rod he’d lost months ago and had suspected Laura of throwing away.

Sighing, he got up and went downstairs. He took a deep breath, looked one last time at the reflection of the gaunt man in the hallway mirror, who stared back at him with hollow, bloodshot eyes, and walked outside, a bottle of cheap wine under his arm.

To his surprise, he noticed six cars parked along the pavement, belonging to people who lived at the far end of Colmerston, a village of barely fifty people.

The patio behind the Johnsons’ house was bustling with activity. Neighbours were coming and going with baskets of provisions. Timmy Rice, the lanky kid from number eighteen, wore a top hat and tailcoat, making him look like an undertaker. His girlfriend was dressed in a tight-fitting red gown. They both leered at him with knowing smiles.

Large candles burned in stone pots to ward off the falling evening, and here and there wreaths of red and yellow autumn leaves were hung between the balding branches of trees.

There were some disapproving glances when they saw David show up in his casual clothes, but no one said anything, even though he was the only man who hadn’t followed Elspeth’s bizarre dress code.

The Johnsons greeted him coolly and introduced him to a few people he didn’t know. Absentmindedly, he let himself be absorbed into the rising noise of talking, laughing, and gesturing people. 

The cocktails were good, and after a while, he began to feel more at ease. Everyone left him alone, thank goodness.

Elspeth Johnson traipsed over to him. She wore a straw hat adorned with fake fruit and an awful, oversized pomegranate dress. Her black beady eyes briefly swept disapprovingly over his muddy army boots and casual outfit, but she said nothing.

“David! But where is your charming wife? You did promise us she would come along, didn’t you?”

It seemed to David that suddenly all the conversations around him stopped, and everyone was looking at them. He grew very warm, felt sluggish and heavy, and struggled to breathe. Still, he pulled himself together.

“Yes, I’m so sorry, Elspeth, but Laura decided to go away for the weekend. She needed some rest, with her health being so poor.”

Shameless glances slid over his guilty, blushing face. A bead of ice-cold sweat ran down his spine. He began to wish he hadn’t come, but then composed himself. There was no way they could know. He had to focus on getting through the evening.

“Maybe she’ll be gone for a while. Actually,” he added when he saw Elspeth’s raised eyebrows, “actually, she’s even thinking of moving south.”

“To the Isle of Wight?” asked Elspeth in a surprised crow’s voice.

“No, to Spain or Portugal. It would be better for her health.”

A greedy look appeared on Elspeth’s face, but fortunately, she was claimed by some late guests before she could question him further about Laura’s sudden departure.

Someone had put on a record, and to the music, which was somewhere between a tango and an organ cantata, Timmy Rice and his girlfriend snaked their bodies together in a slow, strange, intricate dance.

A harsh croak rose from a group of women crowding around Elspeth by the folding doors that led to the garden. Hadn’t Dr. Huddleston said just last week that it was only a matter of days? And hadn’t the others found it strange that Laura hadn’t seemed to be making preparations for her goodbye?

David suddenly felt sick. He shouldn’t have come here. He should have tried to get a lift, get away from this cloying place, leave it all behind him. Perhaps it wasn’t too late …

Unnoticed, David slipped toward the wall, cradling a glass of Johnson’s expensive cognac. The evening was warm for the time of year and smelled of rotting leaves. Despite the noise closer to the house, it seemed to him there was an unfamiliar silence here. Then he realised it was the absence of Laura’s voice, her constant nagging about income and money, her shrill scolding, and the humiliating sneer when she caught him not listening.

Blessed silence!

“Hey neighbour! There you are,” bellowed old Johnson from the terrace. He had squeezed his massive body into a kind of caftan and looked even more like a dressed-up pig than usual.

"What I meant to ask, ... Not that it’s any of my business, and God knows I wouldn’t stick my nose into other people’s affairs if it doesn’t concern me, but the thing is…”

He came to stand very close to David. His breath reeked of tobacco.

“This morning, I couldn’t help but notice, I thought I saw a blanket lying in your garden, right there on the ground, by that pit you were digging, and now I’m wondering…”

David felt the smile he’d painted on his face freeze. What if the old man had seen something? What if he suspected? He desperately tried to think of a response.

“... could it be? That I saw a blonde lock? In the blanket, I mean?”

“A blonde lock?”

David, panicked, tried to buy time.

“Yes, a lock. Exactly the same colour as Laura’s hair.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I see now. Yes, neighbour, that’s quite possible.”

David’s mind was racing in all directions.

“You see – but this is just between us, you understand – Laura had, - has a habit of keeping all sorts of things. Souvenirs, she calls them. Her first baby tooth, the first bouquet I ever gave her, a lock of hair…”

“Ah, I understand. And now that she’s out of the way, you thought, why not tidy up a bit?”

“That’s it, neighbour. That’s exactly it.”

David sighed in relief, running a hand through his hair. He felt feverish and downed his glass in one gulp.

Mr. Johnson kept talking, half to himself: “Yes, yes, I see, and then you bundled it all up in a blanket and went off to dig a hole.”

Mumbling, the old man walked back towards the terrace. As he reached the kitchen door, he turned towards David, who was watching him with a mixture of fear and relief. Old Johnson raised his arm as if to ask something, stood still for a moment, then waved his hand dismissively and went inside.

All in all, David thought he hadn’t done too badly. He walked after his host on unsteady legs.

Candles were burning inside now too. David’s throat felt dry again. He really should cut down, but not now, not tonight. As he downed another glass of cognac, he thought of Laura, her disapprovingly raised eyebrows whenever his gaze wandered to the bottle. 

As he stood there, indecisive with the empty glass in his hand, David became vaguely aware that something was wrong. He sat down on the red plush sofa and let his eyes wander over the group of neighbours outside.

They had stopped the old gramophone and were whispering in small groups. Then old Johnson came to stand right in front of him. Suddenly, he looked frighteningly imposing. David wanted to get up but lost his balance and sank back into the cushions.

Johnson placed his heavy, hairy hand on his shoulder with a serious yet almost tender gesture. Timmy Rice had also stepped out of the group and was eyeing him nervously from under his lashes.

So, this was it. They knew. David braced himself in the cushions, anxiously awaiting what was to come. Blood rushed wildly in his ears. Paralysed and swathed in spider’s silk, he realised there would be no escape. 

He had no memory of how he came to be in the fresh outdoor air. The clock of St. Martin’s was just striking twelve. Though it was dark, he could clearly see Elspeth Johnson’s bright red tent dress, outlined against the dark mass of trees behind her.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. There were no candles here, no colourful wreaths hanging from the branches, only the weak moon trimming the guests’ black and red outfits with silver. 

David tried to wrestle free, but Timmy and old Johnson held him firmly on either side. With a theatrical gesture, Elspeth Johnson raised her arms.

“Dear neighbours, we are gathered here tonight to see justice done. Justice!” The shrieking crow’s voice went on in a deeper tone: “David Horner, you know why you’re here. You tried to escape the laws of our community. Did you think you could get away with this unpunished? Did you, foolish, thoughtless man, think you could deceive us? You, a man!!!”

She croaked in indignation. With a dramatic outstretched finger, she pointed to the dark patch at David’s feet. It was the pit. They must have opened it while he was at the party.

He tried desperately to free himself from the iron grip of his neighbours, but he could feel himself being slowly pushed towards the crumbling edge of the grave.

David began to scream and curse. From the corner of his terrified eyes, he saw a contemptuous smile appear on Elspeth Johnson’s face.

Now they roughly tied his hands behind his back. The rope scraped against his skin. Hysterically, he began to call for help.

“No! Please! She was ill! Johnson, don’t do this! We’re on the same side, aren’t we? Have mercy, please!”

He kicked wildly, but the force against him was too great. In no time, they had tightly bound his ankles. Everything became very still. The moment was so solemn that even David dared not speak.

The bitter taste of panic rose from his stomach. He gagged. They all stood around him motionless now: the women of Colmerston, all-powerful.

Then Timmy Rice’s girlfriend stepped forward, a red blur in the dark November night.

As the youngest among them, the honour was hers, he knew.

Before he even realised what was happening, she gave him a push in the chest. He tumbled straight into the pit, landing with a dull thud on top of Laura.

The girl did her job more than adequately. With large shovelfuls, she threw dirt into the pit. The edge of her dress was covered in dark stains that looked like blood in the darkness.

The men stood silently, reverently waiting on the sidelines. David saw his neighbour, old Johnson, the traitor, wiping away a tear of emotion. Or was it fear?

A clod of earth landed on David’s head. Desperately, he tried to free himself from the ropes, but they were far too tight. His eyes watered from the dust, and he could barely see. The earth fell faster and faster on top of him.

It crept into his nose in cold, wet clumps and stuffed his gasping mouth like a plug.

Beneath him, he became aware of Laura’s cold, stiff body. In his mind, he begged her forgiveness, as if she could still exert her influence from the grave, a woman’s influence.

After ten minutes, it was over. The grave was neatly filled, and the burial had gone according to the rules. The residents of Colmerston walked quietly back to the house, chatting in low, serious voices. The women drunk with excitement, the men awkwardly keeping to themselves.

Smiling, the neighbours said their farewells, comforted by the knowledge that civic duty had ultimately prevailed. Only the men remained silent. But that was their place.

As Elspeth Johnson put it when she closed the door behind the very last guest: “A man must follow his wife, even into the grave!”