I had to bind tightly, gives me a weak, pained push toward the tent flap, as if telling me I should go and be a part of the grieving.
I only add to it, I want to tell her. I only make it worse. When all my work is done and I’m unable to invent more, I huddle within the canvas walls, fading with exhaustion while the fires outside burn, while the wailing and weeping continues, until I finally leave to use the pit latrines at the outskirts of the village. The air is laced with sage and lavender and other heady scents, and there is a haze of smoke above the village, trapping the torchlight in a foggy dome.
As I return to the square, the funeral procession is heading for the southern side of Dagchocuk. Sticking close to the cottages, concealed within the almost dark, I follow it until we reach a graveyard, plots marked with piles of rocks from the Western Hills.
There are twelve freshly dug graves, each adjacent to a pile of stones. A thick post has been hammered into the ground at the foot of each plot, and tied to them are the family colors, delicate scraps of sorrow fluttering in the breeze. Melik and his mother kneel in front of the post bedecked with the red cloth embroidered with leaves and black diamonds, saying their final good-byes to Sinan. His body has been washed, and he has been dressed in a simple cream-colored tunic and pants. He is pale and handsome and perfect and young, far too young. Melik holds Anni as she kisses Sinan’s freckled cheeks and white eyelids, smoothing his hair, her tears falling on his unblemished brow.
His eyes dry and his face blank, Melik climbs into the grave and carefully lays his brother down. For a moment I cannot see him at all, and my chest squeezes tight as I wonder what he must be thinking, walls of earth close around him. Finally he slowly rises, and Anni helps him climb out, because for once he looks too weak to do something for himself. He grits his teeth as he shovels dirt over his brother. Though all those around him are weeping as Sinan disappears into the ground, Melik is silent. He keeps tipping soil into the grave, smooth and empty. It is so unlike him, so unlike what I expected, as if his soul has dimmed completely. By Itanyai standards his calm is admirable, but for Melik it just seems . . . wrong.
Anni covers her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. Melik outlines the grave with stones, positioning each one with care, and then he pulls his mother into his arms. Whatever he says to her makes her nod and hug him tightly.
When she lets him go, he strides away. Right toward my hiding spot. I press myself against the wall of the nearest cottage as he walks by, looking neither left nor right. He ducks into his mother’s home and emerges a few minutes later with a pack, which he slings onto his shoulders as he walks toward the canyon. I stare at his back as he fades into the darkness.
“Why did you not come to the grave site?” Anni asks in a choked voice, making me jump. I have no idea how long she’s been standing next to me. “I made sure Aysun remained with the wounded so you could come and stand by Melik’s side.”
“I . . . I didn’t want to intrude on your grief,” I say.
“So you abandoned Melik to his sorrow instead? He is so lost in it that he cannot cry. He said he cannot even stay here tonight. He was afraid the grief would swallow him.” She covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m afraid it still might.”
I turn to her, this strong woman laid low by what she has lost. Her rust-colored hair is in a single gray-streaked braid down her back, but several strands have come loose and hang around her face. She looks twenty years older than she did this morning. “I did not abandon him, Anni. I am here. I have been here. If he asks me for something, I will offer it—”
She tilts her head, her brow creased with puzzlement. “Should he have had to ask you for comfort? Why wouldn’t you give that to him freely?”
Tears start in my eyes. “I don’t know how!” I throw my arms up. “I don’t want to hurt him, but