recommended listening: when the stars go blue, by ryan adams
The next week, Lauren begins volunteering at the community clinic, making house calls, and becoming an active doctor again.
Monday, our cat disappears.
Tuesday, three international hotels announce that they would close within a month.
Wednesday, there is a riot at a bazaar.
Thursday, the militsia has a shootout a few miles from our home.
Friday, we see someone climbing on the roof of our house.
Saturday, Caleb breaks his toe.
This afternoon, our teammates are burglarized. Ella asked only, “Was anyone killed?”
Tonight, I sit in the courtyard with a warm beer.
Lauren approaches from behind me and puts her arms around my neck. “What are you thinking?”
“I won’t submit. I’ll find a way to rejoice. Sometimes rejoicing is an act of defiance.”
She’s quiet for a while. She kisses me on the cheek. “Don’t stay up too late. I love you.”
On the fortieth day, the grieving ends.
Friends from all over the community go to the home. Embrace. Sit. Pray. Pray. Eat greasy rice. Pray. You eat and start moving, and life goes on.
The wonderful thing about traditional cultures is that you never have to say, “I don’t know what to say,” because everyone says the same thing, even if it’s about a twenty-one year old wife of ten days, your friend, your student, who was raped and murdered. So, officially, Marsha’s death is now over.
Sometimes, saying doesn’t really help.
Joey’s back at the school now. His parents haven’t said that he’ll be able to teach for us, but he can have his current administrative job, as long as he’s home by early afternoon. “They said I didn’t have to be home with my mom during the day,” he explains, “because we got a dog. She’s a very angry dog. Oh, and I got an email from Geroge. He said he’s doing a lot better and is planning to come back in a few months. He said you were a good friend, and I should trust you.”
He goes to classes in the morning for three hours and then comes to the school. “Works” is a strong word for his actions at the school. Mostly, he’s on the phone or wandering the street, looking clues and dreaming plots to explain Marsha’s murder.
His feelings for Rachel are no longer hidden—she hugged him at the funeral—but no one, not even they, say it. Rachel just hums a lot, “Hmm, hmm, hm, hmmmm,” as she walks to class.
