THE INTERRUPTION OF SAMSARA

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THE INTERRUPTION OF SAMSARA

– Mom dressed like a “newly widowed” – the daughter said and smiled for the first time, and her smile was beautiful, still young. – I regret that I wasn’t there to see the spectacle. It must have been masterfully executed, judging by the results.
Ivan Petrov grabbed the document, hidden under the napkin, opened it again and began to stare at what was written.
– Huh?
– That’s a lot of money – he remarked deafly after a long silence.
– Now, are you convinced? – Ivan Petrov Junior could hardly hide the triumph in his tone.
– One would have to be insane to give that much money for two square meters of wasteland overgrown with weeds.
The daughter giggled.
The face of Ivan Petrov Junior turned blue.
– I won’t say that you are ungrateful, you are my father and I respect you. I’ll only ask you to think carefully once more. Come on, the gift aside. Look at it as an investment. But you won’t lie in that grave alone, huh. One day, God willing, mom will join you. Then aunt, than me… He fell silent just in time, before little Nicole was included in the list, so he made it more general: – No one is eternal.
– Ah, no – objected the daughter. – Don’t count me in. I’ll not lie down in a mass grave. I prefer to be cremated and have my ashes scattered.
– Where, if it’s not a secret? By Lake Como perhaps? – her brother sarcastically asked.
– Whereever. If they want, let them pour it down the toilet, I don’t care.
Ivan Petrov listened to the repeated sharp argument between the children and involuntarily remembered them as children. They hadnt grown up at all, let alone wise up. And who was to blame? Surely he, who else. After all, it turned out that the whole country weighs on his conscience, and what’s left for his own children.
The door opened and his wife stood on the threshold. Her mood was unnaturally cheerful.
– Coo-coo! – she started laughing, threatening them with her finger. – Why do you yell at each other like that! You’ll wake up the child.
– You are a cuckoo, thought Ivan Petrov and tried to imagine her as a “newly widowed”, as her daughter had described her. She was younger than him, maintained, and still maintaining. She had gained a little weight with age, her face was smooth and at the moment was glowing with youth under her carefully arranged hairstyle. She wouldn’t have to wait long. Some vital grandad would stick to her in no time.
– What’s happening, did you settle the matter? – she asked and unnecessarily started moving the plates around the table. – But you haven’t eaten anything!
Ivan Petrov Junior looked at her and slouched his shoulders. Then he nodded to his father.
– We did – said old Ivan Petrov and sighed. – Come on, woman, bring the cake, do you see what time it is? And call the daughter-in-law to come already. We won’t eat it ourselves, hmm.

No one mentioned the gift anymore. They must have discussed it among themselves – they had a habit of conspiring, but Ivan Petrov tried not to notice them. He was not bitter. He even reasoned that they did the right thing, far-reaching. He was more angry with himself that his sense of humor had failed him at the most critical moment. And he was considered to be a true prankster. But, on the other hand, his folks were not bad too! They gave him a grave! Why not a coffin straight away!
However, one day, having nothing to do, he decided to check out the new gift. He got on the tram that went to the cemetery and after a long journey from the heart of the city to the outskirts, he got off at the last stop with two old women and three Roma women from the public utility company.
For an eternity Ivan Petrov wandered through the cemetery park until he discovered his grave. It was tough, in some places the number plates of the plots were removed, so the layout itself was not as it should be. The narrow, scattered paved alleys, on the other hand, often ended suddenly and led nowhere. There was no one to ask. It was a working day and apart from the two funerals, which he came across at the beginning, Ivan Petrov did not see another living soul.
– Great investment, no problem! – he thought furiously. – Just like investing your money in a landfill!
Thirsty, hungry, his legs began to give way. From time to time he took out the municipal document to check the plot number, although it was already quite clear to him: there was no such plot. He passed the Catholic cemetery, next to which an abandoned excavator was dozing. He had completely lost his way, he was not even sure how to go back, nor where to continue. He followed the tracks left by the excavator – of course, it had to have come from somewhere. He might find someone there. But the tracks only led him to tall, uncut grass, where – far beyond his remaining strength – the cemetery fence loomed.
Ivan Petrov stomped in the grass, stopped indecisively and took out the document again.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a man appeared in front of him. He was black, bearded and dragging a shovel behind him.
– What are you looking for? – said the man and leaned on the shovel.
Ivan Petrov hesitated.
– A grave site. Here… – and handed him the document.
The man stared blankly at him. It occurred to Ivan Petrov, maybe he can’t read.
– There is no such place – the man said bluntly after a while.
– What do you mean there isn’t?
– Just so. These are from the new plots, not yet included in the urban plan.
– So, they lied to me.
– It depends. – The man returned the document to him and thoughtfully leaned on the shovel. – If the matter is to be rushed, let’s say, you have a deceased person to bury, you were lied to. But if it is not, after a few years it will be fine.
– Oh, I’m not in a hurry, not even… – answered Ivan Petrov with relief. – It’s… how can I say this. My kids gave it to me for my birthday.
The man looked at him, clicked his tongue and spat.
– If that’s the matter, if you want, I’ll show it to you. It won’t be the exact place, but it’ll be it more or less there. It’s not far.
Ivan Petrov began to follow the black man.
The man walked through the grass firmly, the devil knows how he oriented himself, his huge rubber boots making a path along which Ivan Petrov scurried and barely managed to follow him. Sweat broke out on his forehead, his thin city moccasins were completely scuffed. In front of them, in the middle of nowhere, towered a huge, lushly green linden tree. The man with the shovel was walking straight towards it.
– Well, it’ll be somewhere over here.

AuthorElena Aleksieva
2022-07-12T11:35:44+00:00 July 11th, 2022|Categories: Prose, Literature, Blesok no. 144|Comments Off on THE INTERRUPTION OF SAMSARA