Blitzed(161)

I nodded, kissing her on both cheeks. “Your son died with honor. He died my husband, and he died to protect me and his brother.”

“Then help me carry him inside. The burial and memorial will be tomorrow. He’s been out of the earth for too long already.”

I helped, refusing the assistance of the two other men, who were staying in the barn for the night in the makeshift barracks we'd had for the mission before returning to their families the next day. We carried Francois to his bedroom, where we laid him on the plastic covered top. The room was cool, the last vestiges of winter still clinging to the night, and while it wasn't the best environment, there was nothing better available. Considering the way he'd died, we couldn't involve the authorities, after all. Thankfully, the same rules applied with the way Felix's apparent death had been handled, and there were no rigmaroles to go through on bringing him back to life either.

We unzipped the heavy bag, Charani helping me unwrap the body. There was remarkably little discoloration or bruising on his body, and except for the crusted blood around his entrance and exit wounds, he looked calm and remarkably lifelike, as if he were just sleeping. Charani stopped and stroked her son's cold cheek. “My boy, my precious boy,” she whispered. “Where did I go wrong?”

“You didn't,” I answered, taking her shoulders. “You raised a man who atoned for his mistakes and died to save us. Come, let's make sure he looks ready for tomorrow.”

She leaned down and kissed her son’s forehead, then found the steel and strength inside herself that she'd helped her sister with just a month prior. Nodding once, we went to Francois's closet and picked out his clothes, choosing a wool suit that was in the urban French styles that he preferred. Working together, we spent the next hour cleaning and dressing him, using a cotton bandage to pack and seal his wounds. Our goal was to bury him with no inorganic fibers on is body so that he would truly return to the earth. By the end, my lower back was on fire from lifting and turning him, but we finished eventually, and I looked down on him, tears in my eyes. “Come on. If I stay, I'm going to cry, and I want to save my tears for tomorrow.”

“You go,” Charani said, finding a blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. “You've had days to say your goodbyes. I'm going to spend the night with him.”

I went over and got another blanket from the closet, wrapping it around my shoulders and sitting down next to her. “Then we'll do it together.”



The next day, the four of us carried Francois's body to the family plot, where we buried him near his grandfather, his cousins, and members of his clan stretching back generations. There were no headstones, no markers. It was only from memory and tradition that anyone knew who was buried where.

As opposed to Felix's memorial in France, Francois's burial in Albania was attended only by Charani, Syeira, Felix, myself, and a local priest, who was a member of the tribe and would log it in the official tribal registry. Despite his efforts, the rest of the tribe had deemed Francois to have died without honor, and his death wouldn’t be respected.

We were dressed strangely for a burial, as each of us was wearing jeans and work clothes. It was a sign of respect, however, as the four of us dug his grave by hand, using shovels from the estate to make it deep and large enough for him. When that was done, we lowered him by hand, then heaped the dark, clay-rich dirt back into the hole over his cotton shroud. When it was finished, I was sweating, although I think some of the wetness on my face was tears. Still, it was cathartic, and I don't think I'd ever said goodbye in such a complete fashion.

Afterward, Syeira prepared a combined welcome home and memorial feast for Felix and Francois, while Charani changed. For the next month, she'd wear black, mourning for her son even when few others would. For my part, I was also in a black mood, although for different reasons. It was nearly sundown when Charani found me, sitting in what was going to become my room, wearing my black pants and blouse I'd chosen for the dinner. “I'm the one who lost my son, yet you look more despondent than I,” she said, coming over and sitting beside me. “I know part of it is that you lost Francois, but I suspect part of your feelings are because of Felix as well.”

“They are,” I whispered, looking down at my hands. So many times during the day I'd wanted to reach out and find comfort in taking Felix's hand, but each time he wasn't there, his attention on Syeira or lost in his own thoughts. “I don't know how to reach him.”

She thought for a second, then went over to the closet. She opened it and withdrew a familiar looking case from inside. “Francois had more than one of these prepared, you will find,” she said, unsnapping the cover. “You and he shared the love for this that will give you comfort for the rest of your life. It would honor me if you would take this and play it for him, and for Felix. If I remember correctly, it was how you reached him the first time.”

She lifted the case, and I once again looked at the black carbon fiber of Francois's acoustic guitar. Fresh tears mixed with a smile as I looked at it, so unlike any other guitar I'd ever played in my life, with the steel wrapped strings and neck made of artificial materials, unaltered and unwarped by temperature or humidity. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

It took me a while, but I decided eventually on two songs, one for each of my husbands. One that was lost forever, and one that was lost, but I hoped to find again. When Syeira found me, my fingers ached but I was ready. I was looking at my now-red fingertips, smiling ruefully. “Remind me in the future if I do get involved with more crazy adventures with your son or with this family, that I don't neglect my guitar calluses while building the calluses on the rest of my hand.”