concrete bench, scraping the cane on the sidewalk again, louder this time. Simon saw her exhale heavily as she settled herself. Both women were dressed up. The older woman was wearing an old-fashioned dark shirtwaist dress with a small print, a dark straw hat, and black orthopedic shoes. Her hair was almost completely white, and she was very thin. Her companion, whom Simon speculated was a granddaughter, was dressed in a stylish turquoise blue suit and matching shoes. She sat on the arm of the bench, with a hand on the old woman's shoulder. They were voyeurs, Simon guessed, visitors to the cemetery on some personal mission who stopped to watch the funeral while the old woman rested. Well, why not, Simon thought. We're all voyeurs in this instance.
At the appropriate point, the minister instructed a very uncomfortable Bobby Hinton to throw earth on the coffin. "Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our sister departed, and we commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ."
When the service ended, Bobby Hinton was visibly relieved. He wiped perspiration away from his eyes and pulled off his black armband.
"I need a cold beer," he said. "I didn't know this was going to get so intense!" He turned and walked quickly, very quickly, toward the parking lot and his car. He was followed by the minister and the president of the historical society. Simon heard the scraping of the old black woman's cane as she and her companion also left.
For some reason, neither Julia nor Simon moved. They watched silently as the grave was filled with dirt and the gravediggers smoothed the mound with the backs of their shovels. Simon helped them cover the grave with the flower arrangements that had come to the cemetery with the hearse. There were enough to cover the grave. The two biggest were from the Historic Preservation Society and Kenan College, but there were several from individuals. Simon wondered who would send flowers to the funeral of a woman who had been dead for seventy years.
The grave diggers piled their tools on a small wagon pulled by a converted golf cart and drove off. They were listening to old rock and roll from a boom box balanced on the dashboard. Simon could hear the beat of "Pretty Woman" reverberating long after the melody and vocals faded away down the road.
Simon and Julia looked out over the huge city of dead people. Old magnolias shaded its rolling hills from the hot, clear sun. The endless vista of markers was spotted with small Greek temples, little stone houses, and monoliths that gave the cemetery a skyline. Asymmetrical groups of gravestones were crisscrossed by paths that reminded Simon of streets and alleys in a neighborhood. Each plot was like a house with an address, inhabited by entire families and an occasional friend who had nowhere else to go. Simon had explored the graveyard many times, and he knew it even had its ghettos—the old black section and the Jewish corner. As in any southern cemetery worthy of the name, Confederate soldiers, both known and unknown, were proudly massed in troops and regiments, with their officers out front.
The cemetery was right smack in the middle of town, so the noise and bustle of daily life gave the impression that its residents were still somehow participating. Lawn mowers roared, dogs barked, traffic streamed by, and the band at the high school across the street was practicing for graduation.
"This is strange," Julia said. "Graveyards are supposed to be depressing. But I'm not depressed. I feel like we should have a picnic or something."
"I know what you mean," Simon said. "When I come here, I always feel like I've walked into a neighborhood block party."
"It makes death seem a little less cold. All the families are together, and lots of the people buried here must have known one another."
"Do you have time to take a walk around?"
"Just
At the appropriate point, the minister instructed a very uncomfortable Bobby Hinton to throw earth on the coffin. "Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our sister departed, and we commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ."
When the service ended, Bobby Hinton was visibly relieved. He wiped perspiration away from his eyes and pulled off his black armband.
"I need a cold beer," he said. "I didn't know this was going to get so intense!" He turned and walked quickly, very quickly, toward the parking lot and his car. He was followed by the minister and the president of the historical society. Simon heard the scraping of the old black woman's cane as she and her companion also left.
For some reason, neither Julia nor Simon moved. They watched silently as the grave was filled with dirt and the gravediggers smoothed the mound with the backs of their shovels. Simon helped them cover the grave with the flower arrangements that had come to the cemetery with the hearse. There were enough to cover the grave. The two biggest were from the Historic Preservation Society and Kenan College, but there were several from individuals. Simon wondered who would send flowers to the funeral of a woman who had been dead for seventy years.
The grave diggers piled their tools on a small wagon pulled by a converted golf cart and drove off. They were listening to old rock and roll from a boom box balanced on the dashboard. Simon could hear the beat of "Pretty Woman" reverberating long after the melody and vocals faded away down the road.
Simon and Julia looked out over the huge city of dead people. Old magnolias shaded its rolling hills from the hot, clear sun. The endless vista of markers was spotted with small Greek temples, little stone houses, and monoliths that gave the cemetery a skyline. Asymmetrical groups of gravestones were crisscrossed by paths that reminded Simon of streets and alleys in a neighborhood. Each plot was like a house with an address, inhabited by entire families and an occasional friend who had nowhere else to go. Simon had explored the graveyard many times, and he knew it even had its ghettos—the old black section and the Jewish corner. As in any southern cemetery worthy of the name, Confederate soldiers, both known and unknown, were proudly massed in troops and regiments, with their officers out front.
The cemetery was right smack in the middle of town, so the noise and bustle of daily life gave the impression that its residents were still somehow participating. Lawn mowers roared, dogs barked, traffic streamed by, and the band at the high school across the street was practicing for graduation.
"This is strange," Julia said. "Graveyards are supposed to be depressing. But I'm not depressed. I feel like we should have a picnic or something."
"I know what you mean," Simon said. "When I come here, I always feel like I've walked into a neighborhood block party."
"It makes death seem a little less cold. All the families are together, and lots of the people buried here must have known one another."
"Do you have time to take a walk around?"
"Just
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