The Earth Remembers

Sankee walked among the headstones in the old cemetery. There, she was afforded windows of introspection. It was a quiet world, over ten miles away from the nearest town of any real consequence. An absence of trees within the barbed wire plot allowed the wind to have its own particular voice, uninterrupted by the sounds of traffic, cell phones, and sidewalk chatter.

Occasionally a jet would fly overhead. The noise, industrial and far away, redirected her gaze upward. She loved the way swirling white vapor trails lay against the sky. Sankee thought about the passengers. Where were they going? Where had they been?

Wayfaring dogs trotted past frequently. How strange that none of them approached her or even barked in her direction. Not a one broke stride. They all sauntered by as though carrying out a directive of significant importance. Sankee sighed as a tall, black hound popped into view. It would march past the gate without so much as a skipped beat. It would round the bend and be gone, intent on whatever sort of secret mission dogs undertook. She herself was free from engagements.

Most of the grave markers were familiar to Sankee. She had moved past them so many times—daily, in fact—read the names, calculated each age at death, recited their epitaphs. She didn’t know how many graves the cemetery held, but she memorized as many as she could.

Wrought iron enclosures marked family plots. Sankee wondered what criteria entitled one to rest within those ornate fences. Likewise, the question remained why other relatives were separate from the fold--even before their interment.

Absent loved ones caused Sankee to labor over her own solitude. Weekend barbecues and Sunday dinners were no longer planned. The phone stopped ringing long ago with impromptu invitations to the picture show, stage productions, and concerts. No one was available anymore for a single art class or even a game of chess.

The last time Sankee remembered having visitors or a family get together, it felt as though they had all become strangers. No one would talk to her. Company huddled in groups. Most of them clutched at each other, patting shoulders, crying into tissues. Instead of the cheerful music or sports that usually played on the radio and television, someone insisted on maudlin and dreary old instrumentals that droned on all day. Sankee tried to console her family. She asked repeatedly for someone to tell her what she had done to make them gaze at her with tears in their eyes. They refused to answer and turned their backs. No one laughed or spoke about their favorite books, travel, pets, or the latest gossip. Sankee tired of the debacle and lay back against a satin chaise, watching shadows cross the ceiling.

After that, Sankee’s visitors dwindled. They stopped by less often. Their stays faded from hours to minutes until one stormy day Sankee realized she was truly alone. Left to her own devises, she sought diversion in whatever way might appeal to a lone wanderer. She tried to enjoy services at the church where she had grown up, married, and baptized her children; that was abandoned when she saw a newcomer had usurped her regular seat in the pews. Sankee tried to explain to the young woman with the short skirt and long hair that the spot was taken. When the woman turned to her companion, asking if he also heard a strange voice, Sankee thought someone might come to her defense. No one stepped forward. Sankee hung her head and slipped out the closest exit. She never went back.

Trips to the mall were spoiled by unsupervised bands of unmannerly adolescents. They pushed and shoved their way to the front of queues with raucous laughter, jostling and disorienting Sankee. Spitballs launched during the picture show landed all about, drawing her attention from the screen. No one cared how often she was trod upon by crab-walking patrons traversing the narrow rows of occupied seats. Many times, she left the theater before the movie ended.

At one time, she enjoyed a country club close to her home. Sankee had taken the membership after her husband replaced her with an aide from the local daycare where their three children attended. Insult to injury, the girl, barely eighteen, had been Sankee’s Sunday school student just two years before. For a newly single parent, the club provided a way to have fun and meet new people. She satisfied herself with platonic relationships for many years. Sankee enjoyed a few romantic liaisons, but they were superficial and uncomplicated. She chose not to remarry. As time passed, fewer people interested her. She cried the day she let her membership go.

Sankee had been a wonderful writer. She had a way with words that made every home improvement column she crafted seem both realistic and attainable. Her affiliation with several newspapers and some particularly good how-to magazines provided income, but it was just enough to keep her household afloat. Things became dire when Sankee’s columns were dropped by some of her carriers in lieu of more witty, current writers.

With more relief than regret, Sankee received word that her prodigal spouse had succumbed to heart disease. Busy with his new life, the man neglected to change the beneficiary on several large life insurance policies from Sankee to his teenaged partner. The children completed their education using that money. Sadly, they sought their fortunes in cities far away from Sankee. Her world grew muted and still.

As a result, for lack of anything better to do, Sankee took her first drive out to the countryside, down the long dirt road where she discovered the lonely little cemetery. It was the perfect place to think. Headstones became her friends. The dead were family that would not leave her.

There was one marker in particular Sankee visited during every stroll. It was that of a woman named Ocia, whose headstone proclaimed her as “Most Beloved.” Sankee remembered Ocia from her own childhood. She was the grandmother of some of Sankee’s closest schoolmates. Granny Ocia lived a long and productive life, a hundred years to be exact. Sankee remembered the love and the reverence Ocia’s family held for her in life. In death, the epitaph on her gravestone spoke volumes. Sankee studied the inscription at length.

Sankee drew to Ocia’s grave for another reason, too. Of all the plots within the cemetery grounds, this one alone continued to receive tribute. She was fascinated by the notes left for Ocia in bright blue canning jars. Sankee was not too proud to read them. In children’s hand Ocia now received missives from her grandchildren’s grandchildren.

Sankee was bewildered by the depth of emotion Ocia’s life had inspired. The passage of time had done little to dim her memory, yet Sankee’s legacy was one of solitude. Were she and Ocia so different? Why had all those Sankee loved disappeared, leaving her to take solace in another woman’s adoration? Where had they gone? What did Ocia know Sankee did not? Despite seeking answers from meditation and self-examination, Sankee found neither illumination nor comfort. Perhaps the truth had been interred with Ocia.

Ultimately, Sankee reached the limit of her endurance. After traversing the cemetery for thousands of days and perhaps as many as a thousand more, the wail she released rose so high as the break the vapor trail of the jet that passed by only moments before. The hound she had seen striding up the road halted before the cemetery entrance, its eyes searching across the plots for the source of the disturbance that raised its hackles and pierced its skin. Finding none, it sat just beyond the gate and lifted a cry so mournful that Sankee heard it beyond her own. When Sankee quieted herself, the dog followed in kind, its eyes still darting across the landscape.

Sankee was undone by the dog’s unexpected behavior. She approached, tentatively calling to him. No recognition flickered across the beast’s face as he shifted, foot to foot. Sankee expected him to bolt, but he held firm, sniffing the air over and over.

When she was within an arm’s length of the dog, Sankee paused. A hint of remembrance tickled deep in her mind. How very much this hound resembled one she recalled from her early childhood. A name came forward: Rob Roy. Sankee reached out to the dog, which whimpered sadly and uncertainly. As her hand touched the velvet of his ears, she called his name. In that moment, the veil between them was torn asunder. Rob Roy’s eyes at once focused upon Sankee. Unexpected laughter sprang from her lips. Rob Roy rose from the dust and greeted Sankee with the enthusiasm of a puppy. Time stood still as the two reunited. Sankee surrendered to the impossibility of the scenario playing out before her.

Eventually, Rob Roy’s elation settled back into contented companionship; he again sat in front of Sankee. His dark eyes sought hers. Sankee gazed back into the hound’s peaceful countenance and found a balm to ease her troubled soul.

With words unspoken, Sankee conveyed to her old friend how she had come to walk among the dead. She recounted all the emotion of her recent existence. Rob Roy attended her every word with a tilt of his head and thump of his tail.

When Sankee finished speaking, Rob Roy rose to his feet. He circled her legs and leaned against her, panting in a knowing sort of way. He again sniffed the air, this time with purpose.

Soon thereafter, Rob Roy beckoned Sankee to follow him. Taking the sleeve of her gown between his teeth, he led her to a part of the cemetery choked with wild roses. Previously, Sankee had avoided the place. The headstones were covered, unrecognizable except for the rise and cascade of a hundred fragrant blossoms. When the pair came to a slight clearing among the thorny vines, Rob Roy released Sankee’s sleeve and nosed up a clump of the foliage just high enough to expose a section of ornate iron.

Sankee dropped to her knees. She reached into the vines and pushed them aside. She ripped up what she could with her bare hands. Rob Roy followed her lead, nosing and digging without regard to the thorns that tore at their flesh. Indeed, neither paused in their assault until the gate of the fence stood exposed.

Sankee stood and raised the bale. It fell against the iron post heavily, in sharp contrast to the elegant intertwining of wild roses. The gate swung outward with a petulant cry, protesting the end of its long sleep. They entered within, pausing only a moment to watch the rush of a hundred dragonflies startled from the fragrant boughs. Sankee watched them ascend until they were beyond her sight. She stood motionless until Rob Roy resumed his digging. They worked feverishly to remove the overgrowth, tearing away at the calamitous greenery until their effort was rewarded. When a pair of markers glinted in the sunlight, Sankee drew a shuttered breath. She read and reread the names of her siblings. She sat for a moment to keep from falling, fearing her knees would not support her weight. Her body trembled.

Curiosity and confusion ultimately transformed to grim purpose as Sankee resumed her labor. With Rob Roy’s help, more headstones were freed from the vines. Faster and faster, they worked. Their labor was fruitful, yet each new discovery was bittersweet.

Suddenly Sankee understood the reason her loved ones no longer came for visits or picnics or Tuesday tacos. Here they all lay, peaceful, quiet, at rest. Her parents and grandparents were there. Sankee wasn’t surprised she had outlived them, but to find the graves of her children was disconcerting and painful. How had she overlooked such devastating loss?

Rob Roy’s yip brought Sankee’s attention back to the task at hand. One headstone remained uncovered amid the cacophony of pink rose petals and thick vines. Sankee viewed it thoughtfully. Her hands shook as she pushed disheveled hair away from her face. She rejoined Rob Roy in removing the last of the thicket.

Beneath the verdant tangle of shrubbery, Sankee’s eyes were drawn away from the granite stone to a makeshift altar at its base. The ground lay covered with years of tribute. Silk flowers, rendered limp and faded by the elements, were accompanied by a menagerie of other offerings. There were candles, ceramic figurines, beads, tiny photos, and yellowed copies of her newspaper articles, all sheathed in plastic. A multitude of Mason jars still contained handwritten notes. Sankee realized the person sleeping at her feet was as cherished as Granny Ocia, perhaps even more.

Sankee wrung her hands as she lifted her eyes to read the name of the dearly departed. It was a tall stone with thick columns on either side. Across the top in bold font read, “Our Heart.” Her eyes stung and blurred with tears. Rob Roy moved next to her and sat, leaning his head against her leg. Sankee blinked hard to clear her vision.

It was no small surprise when Sankee read her own name on the gravestone. There it was, undeniable, practically inevitable, along with the span of her earthly existence. She contemplated the departure date and compared it to the rest of her family. After her parents and grandparents had passed, Sankee was the next to go. One grandchild lay within the family plot. His grave was the newest, but even it was over a decade old. Sankee staggered against the wrought iron with the realization that the world had seen countless sunrises since she had last drawn a true breath. Entire lifetimes had come and gone, and she had missed so much.

Sankee absentmindedly stroked Rob Roy’s head, grateful the universe had granted him leave to divert from his path into hers. Without his instincts and fine nose, she wondered if she would have discovered the family plot on her own. Even in death, Rob Roy was a genuine friend.

A roar overhead alerted them to the passing of another jet. Sankee marveled at the frothy white trail in its wake. She wished the passengers a safe flight and a happy journey. She made one more pass through the cemetery with Rob Roy at her side. With him, she didn’t feel lonely at all. She paused at the graves of those she had known and loved, lingering at Ocia’s plot. She was grateful to have shared Granny’s tribute, but more than that, Sankee realized that to have shared life with those she cared for was a remarkable gift.

Finally, Sankee led Rob Roy back to her grave. She read the message in every jar before turning to her faithful hound. They looked deep into each other's eyes and confirmed a love that had outlived their earthly bodies.

Soon thereafter, weariness came upon them. Rest was long overdue. Sankee lay down in front of her headstone, and Rob Roy settled by her side.

While her lamp of knowing dimmed, one memory after another drifted away like chaff on the breeze. It was safe to let them go. Sankee’s fear of being forgotten was reconciled. The reality of her being was interminable. Like love, it would continue.

As her spirit rose above the remnants of those mortal remains, Sankee blessed the ground that cradled her bones. Her essence and existence were enshrined there, ashes to ashes and dust to dust. When all others had forgotten, the earth would remember.