A Walk Through a Cemetery

      The sky was glowing like fire as the elderly couple slowly made their way across the cemetery lawn.  The solemn old man and woman walked side-by-side, without holding hands or talking, along a row of graves that ran from the country road to the edge of the cemetery at the woods.  They were the only visitors at the time, though others had been there recently, as was evidenced by the fresh flowers placed upon several graves that they had passed.  It was a quiet time of day, before the sunlight faded to dusk.  They could hear the fluttering wings of the little swallows that flew through the air before them, and every now and again a car would rumble by on the road.
      The old man walked with a cane in his left hand, and for the most part he stared down at the grass, watching his feet as he walked.  He then gazed west, toward the burning sky, and took his right hand from out his pocket and reached for the hand of his wife.   The palms of her hands were soft and gentle, whereas his were as rough as sandpaper from endless years of labor on farms and vineyards.  His wife, who was wearing a long, rustic dress, received her husband’s hand without looking for it, as she was peering down at the tombstones they passed.  She had been reading the names on each grave and was calculating how old each person was when they died.  Some were only babies and had died before the woman herself was even born.  The sun was sinking lower in the sky and a gentle summer wind drifted through the dying warmth of the day.
“It’s nice how the moss grows on these old graves,” said the woman.
The man looked toward the graves, his were eyes cold and blue, he said, “Mm-hmm.”
They came to a little slope where the graves transitioned up toward a knoll and the man said, “Shall we start heading back?”
Without looking at him, the woman said, “Yes, we’d better go before it gets dark.”
They turned around and walked back along the row of graves toward the service road where their car was parked.
"What would you like for dinner tonight?” the woman asked her husband.
For the old man, the word dinner conjured up thoughts of roast chicken and pork, of steaming yams in cast iron pots.
“We still have that beef.  Perhaps we can make something to go along with the beef,” he said.
“I have some beets,” said the woman, “I can cook some beets.”
“What’s that?” the man asked, not having heard her clearly.
“I can cook the beets,” she said a little louder.
“Oh, I thought you said beef.”
“You said beef,” she said.
“I know what I said,” said the man.
They walked along and the old man thought about his past and he looked toward the location of the grave that they had come to visit and had walked away from.  His eyes began to water but he held back his tears and said, “You know, darling…” he took a breath and his voice cracked, “You know, I can still remember the last thing he said to me.”   The man stopped walking and he lifted his hand which held the cane, and with the back of his hand he wiped away his tears.  His wife squeezed his hand and then held his arm.   The old man was looking west toward the pink clouds billowing in the sky.
“He said, ‘Dad, you’d better not hurt yourself while I’m gone, because... because when I get back we’re gonna have a feast.  And they’re not going to let you eat abalone if you’re in the hospital…’”
Tears were streaming down his face which was taut with sadness.
“And that was his way of, of trying to keep me out of trouble.”
His wife leaned her head against his chest and said, “He was always trying to keep people out of trouble.  And when they were in trouble, he was always trying to help get them out.”  She too began to cry, “He was such a good boy…”  Her tears flowed down her cheeks as she pressed her face against her husband’s sweater.
The old man said, “I didn’t even tell him goodbye.  I was so mad at him from the night before, I didn’t even tell him goodbye or that I loved him.  I wasn’t there for him Mary, I should have been there… my son, my own son,” he cried out.
“No Dick, no,” said his wife shaking her head.  “You were always there – you were a good father.  There was nothing we could do, no one is to blame.”
“I couldn’t have asked for a better son,” he said, “He said he’d come back with the abalone even after we had that stupid fight.  He was trying to patch things up.  God, he was a better man than me.   He knew better about life than to hold grudges over stupid things.  He didn’t hold a grudge, not over money, not when we talked about those worthless politicians. God, he was my boy.”
“You are both good men, and he respected and loved you.  We raised a fine young man,” said his wife.
The old man said, “It just isn’t right, for us to lose him like we did.  For him to go before us, it’s just not right.  He never did anything bad, he never hurt nobody, he was always there for us.  And I wasn’t there for him.  I could have at least been at the shore.”
“You did all that you could for him, and we will be there for his children” said his wife. “He wouldn’t want you to agonize like this, he loved you so.”
The old man buried his face in his hands and wept, “I didn’t even get a chance to tell him how proud I was of him,” he cried.
“He knew,” said his wife, “he knew.”
She held her husband and gazed at the immense clouds drifting before the setting sun.
They walked back to the car – an old Ford pick-up truck – and Dick opened the door for his wife.  Before she stepped in, she hugged him and gave him a kiss on the lips.  The sky was red and the world was spinning along.
The old man looked into the eyes of his wife and she was beautiful.
“I love you,” he said, “I love you with all of my heart.”
They got in the car and drove out of the cemetery, down the country road, and the sun set behind them as they made their way home.