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A graveyard is a lonely place, she thinks.
Rows and rows of greying tombstones sit silent and still on the gentle curve of the hill, their carved names offered up to the rain’s cleansing tears. Some take the shape of a cross, and others are tablets – yet the people sleeping beneath them are all dead, all gone, all not coming back.
She walks forward, alone, gazing at the graves before her. One by one she reads the names of those who can speak no longer. There, to her left, lies an old woman; there, a young man; there, a child…
It’s not raining. Yet the clouds have drawn up moodily to hide the sun, and the sky swirls stormily above her, swollen, struggling to swallow tears.
At long last, she reaches her destination.
“Hello,” she says. It’s impossible to ignore the inscription on his headstone, and her eyes rest on those familiar words once more – ‘Basch Zwingli, 1996 – 2018’ –
“It’s me, Erika.”
She wonders if her brother can hear her. Perhaps he’s out there somewhere, wandering the world, waiting for her to come back to him. For a long time they’ve only ever had each other, and being separated from him had always been unthinkable –
But now they’re worlds apart, and he’s gone forever, and there’s nothing that Erika can do about it.
Her face aches, but she tries to smile. “Roderich’s been doing really well. Recently, he performed a free recital dedicated to you, where he played all your favourite pieces. At the end of it – ” her fingers tighten on the skirt of her dress, “he…cried. He said that he misses you. And Erzsébet went onstage to hug him.”
She takes a breath. “That reminds me – they got married two days ago. I went to the wedding, and it was lovely. They didn’t look for another best man, because you’d agreed already and Roderich said you were irreplaceable – so I made a speech on your behalf. I hope you don’t mind. And…I’ve been watering your garden. I…I really tried, but some of your flowers died. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll get better.”
Silence echoes in the chilly air; his marble tombstone stands before her, unmoved, unfeeling. When she raises a hand to touch it, the warmth flees her fingers.
Her eyes sting. “I miss you,” she says, the words tumbling from her mouth, “I miss you so much, I – I don’t know how to take care of your garden, and I can’t look at your flowers, and I – ”
She doesn’t know what to say, for there’s nothing more than she can say, or do, to make anything better.
And when it rains she wonders if her brother can feel the cold seep into his skin, and remembers that he can’t feel anything, anymore.
---
She returns.
The sun shines gently on the hill, and the leaves sway in the trees as the wind breathes and rouses the air to dance. Time has passed, and the path before her has cleared. It’s easier to think of him, now.
Whenever Erika visits, she considers bringing flowers, and decides against it – there’s no need to lay flowers at his grave, for his own have bloomed so beautifully.
She smiles. “Hello,” she says, and though it’s difficult to read the inscription on his tombstone, it’s easier to breathe now. “It’s me, Erika.”
Somewhere, somehow, she knows that he’s listening. “I’ve been watering your garden. Those daises you planted last year have finally flowered, you know? You’ve always been better at gardening, so I’m surprised that they bloomed under my care. I…” she closes her eyes, feels the breeze tug at her hair. “I hope you’re proud of me.”
She exhales. “That’s what I’ve always wanted, I think,” she says. “For you to be proud of me. I wanted to thank you for all that you’ve done for me.”
“I hope it’s not too late to say it now.” Her vision blurs, but Erika continues to smile. “Thank you. Thank you for being my brother. I can’t – I can’t express how much I love you. And I wish I’d said it more often. I love you.”
Tears roll down her cheeks. “And I miss you,” she says, “And I think of you every day. I wish you weren’t –” Something aches in her chest and it’s getting harder to speak, and if only her brother were still here to draw her into a hug and tell her that everything was going to be alright –
And slowly, lovingly, the calm wind embraces her with his gentle arms.
The sun’s warmth dries her tears. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispers. “I’m going to be okay.” At her feet, the wildflowers nod in the breeze. “I’ll be alright,” she says, her voice growing louder, “I promise you. So, don’t worry about me, okay?”
She turns her face to the sky. There, the clouds ripple white in a sea of blue, drifting blissfully across the horizon. Her brother’s gone, but his presence lingers in the air; when she reaches out, she can almost feel his hand in hers –
“Brother, I’m going to be a stronger person,” she says. “I’ve always been leaning on you, but now I’m going to change. So, please, watch me. I’m going to make you proud.” She smiles. “And, wherever you are, I hope that you’re happy. I know that I’ll see you again, someday. But for now, I’ll treasure my memories of you.”
For a moment she thinks she sees him there, standing before her once more, smiling gently as he beckons her forward –
“And, Brother?” she says, watching his figure melt into the air and vanish with the fleeting breeze.
“I’ll keep watering your garden.”