Grave Giver

The next day the grave pit was empty again. There’s a pile of dirt next to the whole. The sun hitting the farmhouse on the way up and down made it look yellow. A pile to the side with a shovel shoved in was the only evidence. Jim brought seed to cover the compressed dirt atop his wife’s plot. The fence didn’t keep vermin from harassing their family plot. The coffin was shiny and polished as if dirt hadn’t just surrounded it. Someone or something had pulled the dirt back out. 

When he opened the lid, she was undisturbed. The eyes were still closed. Her smile was lost long ago. He grabbed the smooth shaft of the shovel and got to it. By midmorning, he’d realized the chores needed done. The hole near full, he stepped away to his duties. He hadn’t had fear yet. No fear that the grave would be empty again. Cows needed milking. Tilling and seeding and sowing wasn’t going to do that itself. Except if nature took its course. And time enough to waste.

The next morning, he filled the grave again. This time her dour demeanor seemed fitting. She hadn’t much in the way of patience. She seemed disappointed even that she’d been found in her coffin again. 

Jim needed gas and took the tractor to the cusp of town. He pulls his tall tractor into gas pump. He hits the gauge. It’s half-empty. 

“You can fill it, yeah.” he tosses the keys to the kid before he can speak.

“You know we switched to self-service?” the man behind the counter says.

“The lad pumps the gas diligently.“

“He seems to not take notice. I think he likes it.

“Tip?”

“Of course.” Jim liked to provide work for those who wanted it.

“You know you can buy these, but the carton?”

“I know.”

“Just like seeing my sorry face, egh? Wink.”

“Face like that liable to make me quit.”

“Here we go ago. 20 years of quitting. A 20 year broken record. That’s a record. They’ll kill you.”

“I know. Just don’t tell my wife, she don’t know I smoke. She won’t even let me keep them in the house. For guests. She never knew I’d buy smokes and stash them around the farm. Besides, I’m quitting.”

“I tell my wife everything. It’s like a weight off my shoulders every day.”

Must be nice.”

Oh I’m sorry to bring it up. You sorta brought it up. You know you could talk about anything, Jim.”

“No worries.”

“Seriously. Anything.”

Customers walk in.

“Her grave is empty.”

“What? What do you mean?” He leans in.

the customer slaps a twenty down, “I’m in a rush, can I get ten on three?”

“I know. I gotta run.” Jim backs out of the intimacy. “Gotta get back. Only got a limited time on this earth. Can’t spend the rest of it shooting the shit. Gotta fix what you started.”

At night when he got home, he finished filling the hole. After five days he’d given up trying to cover it first thing in the morning. He’d drop fill throughout the day. Because otherwise I’d be dead tired for all the other chores. Returning to her frequently he could have someone else to talk to. She’d taken care of the livestock. He did the rest. The animals didn’t speak to him like they did her. He couldn’t understand the whispers or speak their language. When she last spoke, she told him to put her to rest. She said “ I don’t want you leaving this earth with all the dirt on you.” The clouds were like pillows begging him to sleep.

He came back, again and again, each day to fill the grave pit. Exhausted, He’d given up one day. His plan was to finally stay up all night and watch on. Find the beast that clawed her free every day. He took extra rest and waited and watched all night. He looked on from bed, but it became too dark. When he got closer, it was empty again. It being hours to sunrise he took the shovel and added the dirt in his pyjamas and boots. 

The next morning he had his coffee late, milk late, till late. Etc etc. And when it came time to plow, well he should have had lunch. The harness was on wrong and nicked Stephen. 

He had to be put down. 

One less animal to take care of, she’d say. One less memory of you, he’d never say to her. He’d just smile and hug her. He’d hold her at night so close sometimes my forearm would be useless all day. One less thing to do, that can’t all be bad.

She died suddenly after a nine-month battle with the disease. She had oxygen, all the monitors, and looked like a stick with eyes. Not those googly eyes, but more like the kit kat clock when it needs winding. His son came by once a week, never with his kids. He offered to pay the bills. Jim always answered that the “farm was fine, we were fine. She just wants to see you more.” 

“And you?” He’d ask his father. Never once was it answered. The subject moved to the farm or to Martha. How can I be fine? Jim would think.

Sunday was usually the only day Jim could stay longer. He’d see the logbook of visitors Martha kept. And it was quiet Sundays. 

“Jim? I’m Angie. We play bridge together. Is she asleep?” He looks up from his slumber in the chair and nods seeing her eyes closed. He gets up and escorts her out the room. 

“Must be hard on you.”

“Well, she’s not doing great.”

“Listen, I promised Martha I’d check in on you.” At once he looked shocked and curious.

“We don’t just play bridge, we rarely got to the game half the time. We’d gossip and talk and let go of the things that bothered us that week. Like how my husband refuses to go to bed earlier even though his eyes are closed watching the static screen. Before she’s gone, you should try it sometime. Talking, not bridge. That’s boring as hell.”

“Thanks for the offer.”

“Do you want to talk now? She’s asleep.”

“I don’t mean to burden you.“

“It’s no burden, you’re releasing your own burden. Lay it on me. I’m fine. You should try it sometime. It’s nice to go from grey to black and white. No pun intended.”

“Licensed?”

“Oh I went to college for it, but never made it out. Billy came too soon. You know how boys are.”

He nods. And says nothing.

The first time the coffin was uncovered, He thought it was a dream. It was an intimate ceremony with him and her, the priest, and the extra labor. Danny, his son, couldn’t be there in time. He couldn’t find a sitter. Jim said he understood. When his father died he was at war. When his mom died, he was there to shake every hand. He covered the grave as best as I could. He tended the farm and let it be.

Plan A was to ignore it. Now he can’t turn an eye to it any longer.

Plan B was to watch it alone.

Finally, he was proactive. He went to the hardware store and got trip wire, and a motion alarm.

“Raccoons?” The hardware store associate asks. 

“Maybe,” Jim answers. “But the plot of land is all alone. I don’t know raccoons to travel through fields to claw a bunch of holes.”

“That is peculiar. Could be a sign. you know it's Sunday, you should relax. or ask a preist."

"oh no it's Sunday, they are at their most busy now. I went and saw them and they told me to go to the police. Or take it in my own hands.”

What the priest really said was, “What about your son Danny?” Jim, ever the stoic said, “Oh he’s doing fine. Big shot executive in the city. I don't want to burden them with this nuisance. He’s busy, I don't want to pry.”

The tripwire was no help. The video was inconclusive. 

Danny was on the porch looking in. His black SUV looked like a black diamond in the rough dirtscape. Jim parked next to it and blocked the exit. 

“Thought I’d bring lunch,” Danny says holding up a white paper bag.

“Not hungry.”

“Well, make room.”

“No kids?”

“Do you remember the last time they came?”

“Christmas last year yep. We ate Gladys and your mom was there. It was a sad time.

Right and you put them to work right away. Milking the cows.”

“They loved it.”

“They hated it.”

It needed to get done.”

“Always something. Anything to avoid other people. Look in the eye. They didn’t want to watch you work.”

“Yeah well they wanted those video games.”

“They wanted to know you. I guarantee they wanted to hear a story about you more than that.”

“What is there to know? I tend the farm. Feed the pigs. Everythings falling apart.”

Danny looks around. “It looks fine.”

“Because I fix it. I keep it all together. Running smoothly. It takes time.”

“How are you?”

“How am I? I just told you. What are you my therapist?”

“You have one?”

“No.”

“You should.”

“Pssh. ain’t got the time.”

“You’d rather spend your time miserable, complaining than actually fixing it.”

“What’d you bring?”

“Fried chicken. Thought maybe we could get some waffles going.”

 “Mom loved waffles.”

“That she did. 

“She loved my cooking.”

She liked not cooking. I don’t think she loved anything you made. She knew you were so proud of your waffles, though. But She cared more not having to cook.”

“I guess I could have cooked more.”

“No Sherice?” He says holding the door for his son and grandsons.

“No. We’re done trying to make it work.”

“Your mom was special.”

“A saint...for staying with you.”

“But I’ve got two sons I love. So it all works out. I’m ok with it. We wanted different things. We still talk. No hard feelings. Just not lovely-dovey feelings anymore.”

“Kids need a father and mother.”

“What happened to mom?” The youngest said.

“Don’t listen to them. Mom and dad are fine.”

“I meant together.”

“Like you and mom? She slaved over you. And you didn’t think I remember the screaming? Yelling, smashing, broken glass? Can’t go back.”

“Drink?” His father offers. Danny nods. Pour after pour they say not a thing. The sound of the glass on the wood table and pour is all that is said for minutes. Finally, Danny breaks the silence.

“Let’s go see her.”

“I can’t let you.”

“What do you mean you can let me? That’s my mom.”

“Son,” He grabs Danny’s forearm. “Something’s wrong.” Danny runs out to the tree and the fenced-in plots up on the hill.

“This plot looks like new! Thought there’d be grass by now,” Danny said.

“She doesn’t want to stay buried,” Jim said.

“Don’t tell the kids that,” Danny said.

“I’m sorry. Something’s been messing with the ground.”

“Are you sure you’re not unburying her to…”

“Make sure she’s dead?”

“no, gosh no. so you can see her again.”

“I tried to watch it one night, but still the grave was disturbed.”

“Oughta get a camera.”

“I think it’ll stop soon.”

“I could help. I can find a good camera.”

“For how long?”

“For however long it takes.”

“We’ll see.”

Danny turns to his father. “Never enough for you, huh? You’d rather me leave so you can complain that I haven’t helped enough. Remember when you got me that discman and then flew it across my bedroom because I couldn’t hear you grunting and complaining? Well, I could hear you. Woe is you. The provider, everyone has to cater to the king. Well, I’m king shit now. And I’m here offering you whatever you need. Take it or leave it.” Danny turns and walks away.

“Where you running to?”

“I’m getting my bags.”

The morning after he had left, the grave hole was half empty. He couldn’t take another peak at her decomposing smile. So he shoveled on top and went on my way. To milk and till, plant, and reaping and sowing. He’d forget to take a look before bedtime. After dinner, He looked in Danny’s old room. He saw the baseball trophies, and awards sunburnt and barely hanging on the walls. And went to sleep. 

The next day, I didn’t remember to look until near lunch. I had the sickle cut the long grain. It came back to me. I finished the row, packed the tools in the back of the trailer. Tractored back. There was Danny again. And his boys.

“Let ‘em eat before you put them to work.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” He says to his son. “Waffles ok?”

“Sure thing, grandpa Jim.”

In the kitchen, the grandsons devoured the stacks of waffles until there was no more flour. Then the syrup ran out.

“You know your grandma used to love to cook. I never really got the hang of it.”

“Dad’s a real good cook. He can make Indian and Mexican and waffles too.”

“Waffles are easy.”

“Not his. They are really good.”

“I’d like to learn your secret,” Jim said.

After they were past full, the four of them went to the plot. Jim grabs a shovel and starts dumping dirt on her grave instinctively. 

“Grandpa. Let me.” The eldest grandson said.

“Yeah, we got this.” Danny said.

“Tell us more about grandma.”

Jim kneels on the ground. “Supper was always waiting. She had a way with the animals that I don’t.” The boys take turns dropping dirt into the grave pit.

“I’d like to meet them one day.” he dropped dirt in.

“Oh sure. They’d like a smiling face.” Jim smiled. He lays down. The dirt washes over his face.

“Tell us about grandpa,” 

Danny paused. “Grandpa loved grandma. He’d make her coffee every morning, even if he was sick. He took care of the animals after she passed on. He hated it. He’d go on and on about the things to do around the farm. He missed baseball practices, championships, graduations, recitals. But he let me know he loved me. Even if it was just at the end.”