Dirges in the Dark

This was the moment she dreaded. The others were waiting to see what she would say and do. The mid afternoon breeze found it’s way through the tall trees, slapping her face and making her eyes close. Even in the darkness she could see them staring at her, waiting. She opened her eyes again, and suddenly everything seemed brighter. Like technicolour in the seventies, every word, every stop she took, mono-graphed in a studio. She walked forward, one foot in front of the other, gaze cast down, mind racing. She swallowed her, as if swallowing would make them all go away. Her white blouse flapped furiously in the wind, a small white accompaniment to the black flags that surrounded her.

She had reached it by now, all six feet of it. She ran her fingers over the delicate woodwork, tracing every dip, every curve. The pride of an undertaker. Looking in she saw the familiar face, whitened by everything they had filled him with. His eyes were closed, his lips drawn together, stitched. He had always hated the needle, and yet here he was now, stitches holding his very lips together. Maybe six, maybe twelve. She brushed her palm against the bottom of his chin. No stubble. She had always loved a day’s growth of beard on him. But even that had been taken away from her. She turned slightly and saw Uncle Herath smoking a cigarette and laughing with his law firm colleagues. The old ladies were growing impatient, she could feel it. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the goose bumps form as the coldness of her fingers ran in to her upper arms. She threw her hair back, feeling the breeze run in rivulets up to her scalp, cooling her startled mind. She stared ahead at the Navy band, standing at attention. Gathered together to say good bye to their comrade, their brother-in-arms. Perhaps they were the only people standing still, she thought. Perhaps they were the only ones who knew what it meant to fight for what you believed in.

But she had fought. Keeping the home going, working at her day job. Weekly visits to St. Theresa’s. A candle every fortnight. For him. And yet he had been taken away. She wished she had gone back to school, maybe done her MA. Then none of this would have happened. Marx was right after all – Religion is the opiate of the masses.

“Duwa.. shall we start?”

Aruni turned around, facing her mother. She could see anxiety running in every fold of skin, every crease of old age. Behind her, her father stood ackwardly, staring at the ground. All her Aunts and Uncles were slowly gathering around.

“We can’t keep the Commander waiting any longer.”

And with that Aruni walked through the crowd and out of the crematorium gate. Everyone had quickly made way for her. Almost like she was a leper. Crazy woman. She could hear them behind her, contemplating the state of her mind. But soon she was well away, and all she could hear was the sound of her own feet meeting the tall grass. The weeds rubbed against her slim ankles, making them itch. She bent to scratch and straightening up she saw Suren standing there, his usually playful face drawn tight with something she could not quite place.

“Akka, you have to get back there. What do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t belong there. Don’t you see them? Staring, condemning?”

“They’re going to bury your husband in a few minutes..”

“He’s not my husband..” interrupted Aruni, “he’s just a man I once knew” she cried, choking on the last syllable. Suren turned away angrily and slowly walked back the way he had come. As he turned the corner, Aruni knew that he too would be condemning her, judging her.

It was a lot cooler where she stood now, and wrapping her arms around herself Aruni made her way towards the gate. She could always wait in the car. As the road came in sight however, the deafening sound of the Borella traffic also reached her ears. Rush hour. She turned around and walked slowly in the other direction. Passing a freshly buried grave, she noted that the candles on top had not yet stopped burning. Funny that two people should be taken away on the same day, at the same place. The path was narrower now, and shaded on both sides by overhanging Nuga trees. The dying sun was casting sending slivers of light through the cracks in the trees, bathing the whole area in an unreal shade of white. Aruni sat on a gravestone. Felix Dissanayeke, 1901 – 1972. A loving husband and father. She kicked off her sandals and let her feet loll in the cool grass.

In the distance she could hear the guns starting to go off. One. Two. Three. She counted them unconsciously. Twenty one guns to salute the very purpose of her existence. Twenty one salutes, and it would all be over. Everything. Fifteen. Sixteen. Aruni cupped her hands over her ears, refusing to listen. And then it was over. Silence. Her hands ran down her sides and on to the gravestone, feeling the cracks and blisters of the passing years. Gazing up the path she could see them all walking down towards the gate. They couldn’t see her, but she could see them. A blur of black and white making it’s way back to reality. Back to the world. Aruni sighed, and for the first time noticed that her hands were quivering. She gripped the grave with the little strength she could summon, wishing she could melt in to the sandstone. Her feet hurt, and she gingerly lifted each up, rubbing the sole with the palm of her hand. She could see her parents walking down the path now. Her mother looked like she was crying. She watched them till they disappeared over the hill. Then there was nothing to see.

In the fading light, Aruni started to notice the little things around her. She watched an ant as it clambered up the tombstone, walking right across the inscription and in to a crack at the top. She listened to the wind run through the high branches above, searing the evening air with a flood of noise. She sat there looking at the tall grass, and for the first time didn’t know what to feel. It was Suren who came to get her.

“Akki.. let’s go..” he said softly.

Aruni looked up at him, her dry eyes taking him in. No, he hadn’t judged her. He didn’t care what they thought. She got up and slowly walked towards him. With each step the hard gravel dug in to her soles. It hurt, but she did not show it. If Suren had wondered where her sandal’s were, he kept this question to himself. She could feel the warmth of his hand envelope hers, scaring the coldness away. And as they walked out in to the night, neither said anything. Perhaps, there was nothing left to say. But as they drew near to their parents, he was to Aruni, more than the world itself.