– Who are you? – said Ivan Petrov with difficulty and at the last moment he yawned heavily.
– Paun – the Roma boy replied seriously.
– And what are you looking for here, Pauncho?
– Uncle Hristo said that you should come with me.
Ivan Petrov finally managed to stand up, settled and stretched again on the stump.
– I’m sorry, boy, but I don’t know Uncle Hristo.
The Roma boy thought, thought, then repeated:
– Uncle Hristo said that you should come with me.
Ivan Hristov suddenly remembered.
– Oh, you’re talking about Hristo the gravedigger?
The Roma boy nodded with a serious expression on his face.
– Why shouldn’t he come instead? I’m an old man, it’s dangerous to hang around in this heat. Come on, run and tell him I’m waiting for him here.
The boy did not move from the spot.
For some time both of them observed each other in silence, then Pauncho tremblingly said:
– Uncle Hristo said to bring you. Uncle Hristo said not to return without you. Otherwise he will beat me.
– Okay, since that’s the case… Just don’t cry. I won’t let anyone beat you.
Pauncho had already run ahead and Ivan Petrov had no choice but to follow him.
In front of a shed, next to an old wooden reel, like the ones they used to wind the cables for power lines, Hristo the gravedigger and three Roma women with bright orange vests were in a good mood. Two were older and the third quite young.
– Well, uncle Ivan, is that proper? To come all this way and not call on me!
The Roma women moved, the young one smiled shyly and made room for him. Ivan Petrov sat between them.
The makeshift table was piled high with food – sweet, savory, slices of pie and countless plastic cups with wheat lined up like soldiers. In the middle was a large cardboard box of red wine. The day had apparently sent more than one deceased on their eternal path.
– Who is the commemoration for? – Ivan Petrov became interested.
– We aren’t commemorating, but celebrating – the gravedigger laughed. – For some it’s the end, for some it’s the beginning. You know how it goes.
And they poured him some wine.
– Come on, to your health! Welcome!
There was no clinking of the glasses, they were plastic, but the wine was sweet.
– These are Dochka, Cenka and Sofka – the undertaker introduced the ladies. – Colleagues from the public utility company. And this is Uncle Ivan, I’ve told you about him.
Sofka, the young one, smiled again, no longer so shyly. She was still a girl, beautiful, her eyes were dancing, with her swarthy hand absentmindedly caressing the little boy, who sat on her lap at that moment.
– And this hero here is Pauncho, but you already know him.
When he heard his name being mentioned, the child jumped nimbly from his mother’s lap and disappeared behind the shed.
– Do you have children? – asked the older woman, probably Dochka.
– I have – answered Ivan Petrov. – But they are big. I also have a granddaughter. Nicole. A little younger than Pauncho.
– Very nice – said the other one. – Children are a beautiful thing, a gift from God. May they be healthy and alive.
They toasted again.
Ivan Petrov had no idea what time it was, he did not care. It was long past noon. When the wine in the carton finished, the gravedigger took out the bottle he kept half full and poured it into the glasses.
Later, no matter how hard he tried, Ivan Petrov could not remember what he had been talking to them. He remembered only the rough, even obscene laughter of the gravedigger and the high, excited women’s voices.
Of all of them, Sofka laughed the most.
A breeze blew from the cemetery. The two adult Roma women got up to leave.
– You stay, stay – the gravedigger told Ivan Petrov commandingly, when he also tried to get up. – Here, Sofka will stay too, it’s too early for you to leave. I still have a whole bottle, unopened.
Ivan Petrov wanted to refuse the invitation, but his eyes fell on the girl.
She seemed even more beautiful to him. There was something about her – and he could not say what. He strained, remembered some old jokes, made up a bunch of nonsense, just to hear her laugh.
A little before evening she also got up.
– I need to go – he said. – I’m from Kostinbrod, I’ll miss the bus. And the child is sleepy.
– Incorrect! – shouted Pauncho from somewhere behind the shed. – I’m not sleepy! Tell her, uncle Hristo! Tell her I’m not sleepy!
The gravedigger said nothing.
– I’ll accompany you – Ivan Petrov stood up. To his surprise, he stood firmly on his feet. – If you allow me, that is.
– She allows you, she allows you – Hristo answered for her.
The young Roma woman took off her orange vest and put it in her bag.
They left.
The boy followed them, still angry. From time to time they heard him muttering:
– Tell them, Uncle Hristo! Tell them!
Ivan Petrov’s shirt had dried a long time ago and now shone festively under the slanting rays of the setting sun.
– Are you in a hurry?
Sofka shook her head.
– Then come let me take you to my place. It is very beautiful, you’ll see. The most beautiful in the whole cemetery.
The girl obediently followed him.
The ground was warm and smelled intoxicating. Ivan Petrov had the feeling that the linden had blossomed again. In the lowest branches, like fantastic fruits, their clothes hung and the grave breeze swayed them ecstatically.
With her head on his chest, Sofka was breathing deeply and evenly, as if sleeping.
– Are you tired? – Ivan Petrov stroked her hair.
– A bit.
– If I were ten years younger, I wouldn’t let you blink all night.
He expected her to smile, but she said nothing.
– Well, it wasn’t that bad, was it? I can be your grandfather, can’t I.
Sofka continued to be silent.
– Plus, I was drinking. And this heat…
The Roma girl raised her head. In the half-darkness, her eyes shone, whether from joy or from something else, Ivan Petrov could not say.