Clean Bones

The relief I felt at my father’s funeral was something the old timers had told me to look forward to. Savor it, they’d said. It’s the end of the beginning.

I was sad, of course. But the relief was stronger.

My mother’s funeral, a year prior, had been the beginning. There was much to do, and my two siblings and I did our duty to our mother. We bought food, we set up tents and hired the flayers to strip the flesh from her bones. Ezer couldn’t resist showing off how much money he makes, so we hired a big band to play music for the town to dance to.

Our old mayor Lalemi said our mother’s funeral was the best she’d been to in decades. “Makes me a little sad,” she mused. “My own is not going to be nearly so lively.”

My sister Zaha and I shook our heads. “Lalemi, everyone will be out to see. This town loves you.”

“We’ll see after I’m gone,” she said, winking a milky eye. “I suppose I wish I could see how it all shakes out.”

I was nominated as the bearer of my mother’s bones. Once they’d been cleaned of all flesh, they were wrapped up in an intricately woven prayer bag and given to me in a special leather case to carry on my back until my father died, at which point his would be added to the bag, and I would search for a place to bury them. I didn’t tell anyone at the time, but the occasional sound of my mother’s bones knocking together when I moved almost made me physically ill. I got used to it after a few months, though. Everyone does.

If my father dying was the end of the beginning, my mother’s death was the beginning of that beginning. Our custom was to bury parents together, at the same time. A child, usually the family’s youngest, had to find the proper place to bury his or her parents. It was, without a doubt, our most important tradition. Every rule has exceptions, however; sometimes elder children were chosen to carry the bones, but this was rare and almost always looked down upon.

What surprised me the most was the weight of the bones. I’d heard about this for ages, ever since I was a boy. Zaha and Ezer would tease me, saying that the weight of the bones increases and decreases sometimes. “They’re going to weigh a ton for you,” Ezer would say, Zaha snickering behind him. “They’re heavier if the parents didn’t love the child.”

It turned out they weren’t entirely wrong. The bones were heavy and did seem to get heavier. We had no idea where my parents wanted to be buried. I doubt they even told each other so much as they just knew—and it was the bearer’s task to find that place. Zaha and I spent many hours trying to figure out where the magic place might be. There were always a few good options—the first place they met, the first home they’d shared together. Some unlucky bearers had to inter bones at the wind-scorched summits of tall mountains, or underneath rivers. Zaha and I laughed about the thought of our parents scaling mountains together. “I’d pack some rope just in case,” she’d said.

The old timers always smirked when I asked them about this.

“Wouldn’t it be so much simpler if my parents just told me where they wanted to be buried?” I’d say.

“You kids just think you should be given everything,” they’d grouse. “Please. The least you can do for your parents is figure it out yourself. If nothing else, the weight of the bones will tell you.”

And that was the key. Sometimes the bearers knew nothing of their parents. Sometimes the bearers had been estranged or hated their parents—sometimes the parents despised each other at the end. The weight of the bones was horrible for those unfortunate bearers, yet somehow refusing the responsibility always seemed worse. A girl Zaha and I knew from when we were younger had turned her back on the ritual entirely once her father died, and she refused to carry him. This hadn’t happened in our town for generations, as far as anyone knew. Yet she had the nerve to show herself in public for a little while after with an unbent back, tall and proud and serene. The town breathed a sigh of relief when she left for good, though. I caught Zaha crying over her once. She refused to talk to me about it.

When my father’s bones were added to the prayer bag, I immediately felt lighter. I had been told to expect this, too. The tightly packed bones didn’t make nearly so much noise anymore, and sometimes I would jerk around just to see if I could hear the familiar click-clock from inside the bag once his were added.

Our customs gave bearers three months to find the burial spot and inter the bones. The clock started as soon as the flayers were done, and the elders handed my father’s denuded bones over to me. Zaha and Ezer threw a big celebratory send-off dinner for me, and I spent the entire time crackling with nervous energy, barely able to eat or focus on the conversations swirling around me.

Ezer was thoughtful, though, and he paid to have a stenographer on hand to transcribe the stories some of my parents’ friends told about them. “These may help you later,” he’d said, handing over the transcripts. “I mean, how the hell did we not know they met on a ferry?”

I suppose my face fell when he said that. He laughed. “Oh, come on. They definitely did not want to be buried at sea. Remember how seasick Pop got even when we were at the lake?”

That allayed my nerves a little, but not much. Zaha agreed with Ezer. “Landlubbers. The both of them.”

I set out the next morning with mourning bands tied around my biceps headed for Tesere, my father’s hometown. The train ride there was long and slow, but people were courteous to me, offering to share food and drinks with me once they saw the bag and the bands. They asked me questions about my parents and promised they’d make offerings to them when they got home. I thanked them all profusely and tried to answer their questions as best I could, yet every time I had to answer someone with an “I don’t know,” my gut seized up in a knot of dread.

I got into Tesere at nightfall. It’d changed since I last saw it as a teenager—the buildings were taller, the people seemed meaner, and more beggars seemed to be huddled in and around the grubby train station. I left as quickly as I could, my back starting to ache underneath the weight of my parents’ bones.

I lost my way in the new neighborhoods that had sprung up. I was worried when I couldn’t find any familiar landmarks, and the bones grew heavier with every step forward I took. I turned and doubled back, walked new streets, but the bones only grew lighter when I headed back the way I came.

Why was I heading there? I tried to remember. Zaha had suggested it. Was worth a look, she’d said, as Tesere was on the way to the city where they’d gone to school together. To the best of our recollections, our parents had lived together here before Ezer was born, but then I remembered that they’d also had children before Ezer—two or three of them, none of whom had survived their early years.

Exhausted, I decided to get a room at a small hotel nearby. The owner was a sleepy old woman listening to a recording of traditional opera, a voice and song I recognized but couldn’t name. She gave me a brief smile when she saw the mourning bands, and a discounted room with a narrow bed and washbasin. “Bathroom’s down the hall, but no one’s here tonight, so it’s all yours. If you’re hungry, you have twenty more minutes to order something from the kitchen. I’m afraid we don’t have much here at this hour, though.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I said. “I’ve got food enough. Though I’d love some water. It’s so warm out here, even in the mountains!”

She limped off without another word and returned with a bottle of water. She eyed my bag and armbands again. “Here. May I give you this as an offering to them?”

I accepted it and thanked her. “Of course.” I reached into my pocket after a short but awkward silence and handed her a crumpled-up clutch of small bills, which she took by unfurling two crooked fingers.

“Check out is at 10. There’ll be food out in the morning. Good night.”

I left early the next morning. My walk was easier, and I was glad at how much lighter the bones felt as I made my way back to the train station. It didn’t look much better by daylight, but there were at least commuters waiting with me. Everyone was headed to the city. No one spoke, but I did receive a few kind smiles as eyes settled on the bag. I read through the transcripts Ezer had given me to pass the time.

Mayor Lalemi: Borai and Ruza had a way of making even silence seem like it was alive. You never wanted to sit next to them at school during an exam because a single look from Ruza could send you into convulsions of laughter.

Djoru: Borai was my protector. There’s probably a lot of us here who know him for that; raise your hand if he ever beat up a bully of yours. [Audience roars with laughter, hands go up.]

Mizehena: I’ll miss Ruza’s wit the most, I think. [Audience laughs again.] Can we go around and share what was the best backhanded compliment Ruza ever gave you?

Meroë: Together, they were a fantastic team. Their business flourished, and Ezer has done an excellent job at continuing it and is a testament to their legacy. But what I’ll always be in awe of was how they single-handedly kept those Adaram idiots from building that awful resort over the hot springs. I doubt anyone here has ever caught Ruza or Borai swimming, let alone taking part in the hot spring’s rituals [audience laughs at Zaha blushing]. And I asked Borai why he’d done that, why he’d spent so much money to keep the springs the way they were. And he said, “I hate the look of those new buildings,” and wouldn’t admit really why he did it. So, let’s all raise a glass and take a second to imagine Ruza and Borai taking part in the Spring rituals.” [Audience roars with laughter, Zaha, Ezer, and Kammas all cover their faces. They are beet red.]

I blushed again just reading the transcript.

We got into the city mid-morning, and I was hopeful that the way would become clear as I went toward the house Ezer grew up in. The load seemed neither light nor heavy; and as I was jostled by the crowds in the station, I couldn’t hear the bones on my back.

It took me a while, but I made my way past the university and then toward the old house. My heart sank as the bones became heavier with each step. This wasn’t it, either. I began to wonder if I was imagining it—at a certain point, the weight stopped increasing, but it didn’t get lighter, either. I wracked my brain for anything helpful the old-timers might’ve said, but the only piece of advice that kept coming to mind was the supremely unhelpful, “you’ll know.”

I decided against visiting their old home. The university seemed more interesting anyway, and since no step seemed heavier than the last, I made my way back to it.

I asked around in the main office if anyone could point me toward records or alumni and was directed to the office of an ancient looking man with papery skin. The office had a museum-like quality to it, yellowed paper and enormous glass-faced cabinets full of books. He leapt up with surprising agility, face breaking into a toothy grin.

“Come in, come in!” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “I always have time for bearers.”

I smiled. I had read somewhere that bearers were supposed to be solemn.

“I’m Kammas. I’m here to talk to you about my parents, Borai and Ruza.”

“Well, hello Kammas. And welcome. I’m Dr. Kereph. I am the chief alumni records keeper here at the university. Do you need anything? Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I said, shaking his hand.

“How’s the journey been so far?” he asked.

“It’s been fine. Only a few days in. I guess I’m a little worried that the time might go by fast, and I don’t figure this out before three months are up.”

Dr. Kereph waved a liver-spotted hand. “Oh, don’t worry. Three months is pretty generous, and most people usually find the place within a few weeks, if not days. Tell me a bit about your parents. Were you all close?”

“No more or less than the average family, I guess,” I said. “We were pretty normal.”

“Good! That’s good. I think you’ll be just fine, if you don’t mind me saying so. How’s the burden here?”

I gave a little shrug. “It’s not bad. Feels like I’m carrying two sets of bones.”

“Ah, no need to be bashful,” he replied. “Some people never let on how heavy those bones can get. I felt like I was dying. Every day was a struggle—I just could not figure out where to go, and when people asked me how it felt, I’d just say, ‘Oh, you know! Getting by. Please also make offerings.’” He laughed and shook his head. “I think it took me almost the full three months to figure out where my parents wanted to be. I was so embarrassed.”

“Can I ask... were you very young when they passed?”

He smiled again. “Oh no, even worse. I was very old. They lived a long, long time, my parents. Outlived my siblings, even, who fortunately had children of their own to be bearers. But I was already old. I mean, you’d have probably thought I was old then.

I suppose it’d have been one thing if the bones weren’t so heavy. But eventually I got there. The shame, I think, was what made them so heavy.”

“Shame?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, of course! I was mortified. I figured that at my age I knew my parents well enough, that I should’ve figured them out by then. Big shock when it became clear that wasn’t the case. But I bet you have a bunch of questions about your folks. Lots of people come to universities first, you know. But before we start, you’d said Borai and Ruza? Is that right?”

I nodded and gave him our family name. I blushed when I couldn’t tell him when they’d attended, which he waved away kindly.

“It’s okay. Lucky for you, I’ve been here forever, so I think I can pick them out.” He opened cabinets and inspected files, one after another. He grinned as he read some, exclaimed at others. “Such promise,” he said, putting one back on the shelf.

He shook his head. “I keep thinking I’ll organize these... Never mind. Would you like to take a walk with me? I doubt I can find the files here with you right now. I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a mess. But I do know who your father is for sure. I remember him very clearly.”

I stood up. “Of course. I’m not in a big rush, I don’t think.”

“Very good. Then let’s go. I have something you’ll definitely want to see.”

We walked through the university’s main square. Students were flitting about, some performing traditional dances, others buzzing to classes with arms full of books. My own university was tiny by comparison, and I felt a twinge of envy to see how lively everyone seemed. No one seemed to want to look at me any longer when they caught a glimpse of the bag on my back or my armbands.

We arrived at a gallery where signs advertised an exhibition of ancient pottery. I couldn’t imagine what this had to do with my father, who generally couldn’t be bothered with anything that seemed even the slightest bit frivolous. But the bones on my back seemed light, and it was cool inside the gallery, so I went in, holding the door for Dr. Kereph.

“This way,” he said, nodding toward a door marked Employees Only. He waved hello to a security guard. “He’s with me.”

We descended a few flights of stairs down into a large storage area, where innumerable works of art stood wrapped and catalogued.

“Probably goes without saying, but please don’t touch anything,” Dr. Kereph said. “Officially I’m not supposed to bring people down this way, but it’s a terrible long walk to the other side and my hip just isn’t willing to go that far. Can you keep it a secret?”

I nodded. We were in a long, low room, brightly lit, with broad, waist-height cabinets against the walls. Dr. Kereph hobbled a bit over the cabinet at the far side of the room, hand clutching a bit at his hip, and waved me over. He rolled a drawer open and took out a portfolio.

“Here we are,” he said, sounding a little winded. He gave me a smile. “Take a look.”

I laid it out flat, not entirely understanding. It had my father’s name on it. I opened the cover to reveal a stack of small paintings.

“He was exceptionally talented,” Dr. Kereph said.

I didn’t need him to tell me—the paintings were excellent. I took one out after another, my heart a little heavy to see them. They all seemed to be of historical scenes, recognizable tableaux but with modern elements injected into them. The characters were engaged in lascivious embraces like our classical paintings but dressed in modern clothing. I’d had no idea he could do anything even remotely close to this.

“You’ll see he’s really captured something in the faces, which I still can’t figure out. There’s such a manic energy to them. Do you see it?”

“I... I think I can,” I said, now feeling a little embarrassed. “Are they all... Are all of his paintings like this?”

Dr. Kereph gave me a wry smile as I pulled another out, this one depicting a nude couple embracing under a bower. “He wasn’t one for still life, as far as I know.”

I closed the portfolio, filled with a sudden urge to laugh. “I’m not sure I know what to make of this.”

“You have questions, I can tell,” he replied, “though I bet by how red your face is that you’d rather not know the answers. But ask, please. It’s not like he can be embarrassed.”

“Why are these here?” I asked once I’d collected myself. “Were they ever displayed?”

“Oh, no. Never. I remember it was a bit of a dust-up. He’d been talked into exhibiting them but then said no at the last minute. Some stick-in-the-mud professor somewhere told him that having his name attached to this kind of artwork might harm his career.”

“Given the paintings, I’d say so.”

Dr. Kereph shook his head. “I suppose it did. Harm his career, I mean. Looking back, I suppose that listening to that idiot professor all those years ago did more than just harm his career; killed it, in fact. And he became a big businessman instead. Was a big moment for him. Your father could’ve had a very different life.”

The sound of a bell tolling reached us. He turned to me. “I’m sorry, Kammas, but I have student meetings to get to. But here. I want you to have one.”

I protested, but he just laughed.

“No one’s likely going to see these or miss one if it’s gone. I’ll give you a small one, here. Not even remotely objectionable. Just a pastoral scene. Take it, please. It’s the least I can do.”

He put it in a temporary frame and wrapped it up for me. I was unsure of what to say, so instead I just mumbled thanks and helped him up the stairs. Once we’d made it back to his office, I told him I was going to go.

“Of course. Check back in with me in a few days if you’d like. I will look for more on your mother. I know she’s around here somewhere. And also—if you’d like to see his other paintings again, you’re always welcome. We’d be glad to let you come see them.”

Famished, I found a café to order lunch and took the painting out. It depicted a lush landscape, with a cliff, a waterfall, and in the distance, trees bursting into flower. There was a figure of a woman in blood red standing triumphantly over a man, who was lying on his back, arm raised up as if in wonder or fear. The figures were small, but I couldn’t help feeling like she was smiling and couldn’t help but think she looked just like my mother.

I put the painting away and ate quietly, then spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the city to see if anywhere else spoke to me. My parents’ bones on my back didn’t seem to get heavier or lighter until I started toward where my father used to work, when they grew so heavy I turned back to my hotel.

I stayed and searched for two days before deciding to take the train home. I was tired from all the walking I’d done. I worried that it’d take me weeks or months to figure out where to bury my parents. The bag on my back was a familiar weight now, at least, and I’d gotten used to having it on all day. I still hadn’t quite adjusted to people stopping to ask me about my parents, and I was still embarrassed to burst into tears at the drop of a hat when they asked. I was always furiously wiping tears away, waving off their promises to give offerings.

“That’s kind of you, thank you,” I’d sob, and flee.

But I began to feel better as I got away from the city. On board the train, I was lost in thought when I heard someone calling my name. We’d just stopped in the suburbs to let a few passengers on and off, and as I stared out the window, I heard my name coming from across the aisle.

“Kammas! I thought that was you!”

I knew the face immediately. Classmate, possibly, or a co-worker. His name escaped me. “Oh, wow!” I said. “It’s been... Years! Been a long time!”

He waved me over, and I had no choice but to join him.

“Turam,” he said. “I know it’s been a while. We were in school together, but different years.”

“Of course,” I said. “Good to see you again, Turam.” He’d always been the thoroughly unserious type. Chasing girls, barely showing up for lectures. We’d partied together, but I couldn’t think of a single serious conversation we’d ever had.

“Sorry about your parents,” he said, nodding at my bag. “Always hard to lose your folks. How long have you been out and about?”

“Thanks. Been a couple days so far, more or less. It’s been good.”

“You know where you’re headed next?”

It occurred to me to lie, but I didn’t. “No idea.”

“I’m scared it’ll be completely impossible to figure out for me,” he said. “I just... I don’t know. I’m not the youngest, so I don’t think I’ll have to, but it could, theoretically, be me, you know?”

“Uh huh.” A lump rose in my throat. My voice quavered. I clenched my fists, willing myself not to burst into tears.

“Sorry. Don’t mean to be... Never mind. Have you been doing well otherwise? You married?”

“No, not married,” I said, glad for the change of subject. “Just working, been trying to get my life together so I can buy my own house. Trying to stay close to where I am already.”

“That’s excellent. I’ve been living with my brothers for two years now and it’s really been cramping my style.”

“I can imagine,” I said, not unkindly. “You were always a wild card.”

He grinned. “Less so these days. But then again, considering where I’m going, maybe not.”

“Oh? Where you headed?”

“There’s a town down closer to the bay that does their spring rituals later than everywhere else. Decided to go check it out this year.” His face flushed a little.

“Oh? I hadn’t even thought about that—it is about that time.” I’d avoided the rituals before just because they seemed terrifying—I doubted very much I’d want to see what they were like with my parents’ bones slung over my back.

“This one’s big, so I’m hoping it’ll be a good time,” he said. “I realized I’ve been working for too long, so I’m going to just let off some steam. You should come too!”

I laughed. His face fell as his eyes lighted on my armbands bag.

“I appreciate the offer, Turam, I do. But I think we both know no one would want to be near you if I was there.”

I was surprised at how sad I was to see him go when he got off the train. I hadn’t minded talking with him, even if most of his conversation was about classmates I could barely remember and whether they’d been successful or gotten fat. I suppose he was the first person who talked to me without needing to keep tying it back to my parents.

I was lost in thought as I got off the train. I pushed my way through the crowd toward the exit, the bones growing heavier and beginning to feel sorry for myself when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find Zaha standing behind me with a bag of her own over her shoulder.

“Where are you headed?” we asked each other.

She went first. “I’m going to see some friends in the city. I need to get away for a little bit.”

I tried not to scowl. “Oh, how fun. Just a little vacation?”

Zaha’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t take the bait. “How’re they?” she asked.

“Heavy. Most of the time they’re pretty heavy.”

She gave me a wan smile and put her hand on my shoulder. “You’ll figure out where soon. Sometimes it just takes time.”

“Uh huh,” I said. “That’s what everyone says.”

She took her hand off my shoulder. “Sorry, Kammas... What I mean is you’re probably close.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes a little. “I hope so. Then maybe I can have a little getaway myself.”

She sighed and rearranged the straps of her bags over her shoulders. “Listen, I’m not going to do this here. But yes, once you find the place, you absolutely deserve one. And you try spending four days with Ezer while he’s drinking and then tell me if you don’t need to get away yourself, okay?”

The bones on my back were like boulders. “Fine,” I said. We stood looking at each other, suddenly six and seven years old again. I wondered if I should apologize for my tone, but I couldn’t seem to form the words.

She moved first. “It’s okay. I won’t be gone long.” She leaned in to give me a quick kiss on the cheek, which I did not retreat from. Turning on her heel, she walked toward the terminal, leaving only the jasmine scent of her perfume behind.

“Zaha,” I called. She stopped, then turned.

“Did you know Dad painted?” I asked.

She shook her head. “What? What’d he paint? No.”

“Yeah. He painted. They’re really... Well... I never knew. Do you think Ezer did?”

“Definitely not,” she said. There was just the briefest flash of something desperate and stricken in her eyes.

“I’ll show you when you’re back. You’ve got your train to catch.”

She took a few steps toward me, the expression on her face growing hungrier and more desperate. I held up my hands. “It’s okay. Really. I’ll show you when you come home. If Ezer’s been as bad as it sounds, then I’d say you could use the time away.” I tried to smile to be reassuring. The look on her face was unbearable.

“Okay,” she said. Her voice had lost all of its certainty; all of a sudden, I wanted her to stay. But before I could ask her to, she straightened up, cleared her throat, and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Then I’m off,” she said. I wished the ground would open up beneath me and swallow me. She gave me a quick wave goodbye to vanish into the crowd, and I wondered if her bags felt lighter or heavier with each step. I got back to my parents’ house feeling utterly defeated, asking myself over and over again: why did I let my sister go?

Inside was cold, empty and dark. I unwound the straps of the bag from around my waist, muttering the traditional prayers as I did, and set my parents’ bones down on my bed so I could wash up.

I was surprised to hear the front door close as I stepped out of the shower. I wondered initially if Zaha had indeed come back, but then a deep voice singing one of our mother’s favorite songs off-key revealed it to be Ezer.

I dried off quickly and got dressed. I crept out to find Ezer sitting alone at our parents’ kitchen table, head in his hands, a stack of letters to his right. He’d only lit a few candles for light. I flipped the switch on the wall.

“Kammas,” he said, blinking owlishly at me. “You’re back?”

The dullness of his voice told me he’d been drinking, sending a pang of anxiety through me.

“Yeah. I had to come back for the night. The bones were too heavy in the city.”

“Huh.” He picked up another letter and opened it. He rolled his eyes as he read. “The nerve of these people,” he complained. “Already asking for money. You haven’t even found where to put them yet, have you. Unless you’ve lost them?” He eyed my shoulders.

“I was just showering,” I said, a sullen child again. “And then I was going to go to sleep.”

“Uh huh,” he grunted, standing up to rummage through the cabinets. He procured a bottle of wine and a glass and poured himself a full cup. “Doesn’t look like you’re showering or sleeping right now, though.”

I gritted my teeth, trying to hold back the wash of bile in my gullet.

“We’re never going to have this again, you know?” he asked. “Ma’s apricot wine. There are only a few bottles left.”

“Guess you’d better drink it all tonight, then,” I snipped.

He smirked at me, something ugly and porcine in his expression. “You don’t even drink. What’s it to you?”

I suddenly wanted to put the bones back on again. I needed to see how heavy the bag would feel now.

“Did you know Dad could’ve been an artist?” I asked.

Ezer took a deep gulp and smacked his lips. “And did you know that if I had wheels and handlebars I could’ve been a bicycle?”

“No, ass. Dad could’ve been an actual artist. Well, he was an artist. We just never knew. There are paintings he did from when he was in school.”

“An artist,” Ezer grumbled. His dark mood seemed to deepen.

“I’ve got one of the paintings.”

He blinked at me again. “And?”

“Stay here. I’ll show you.”

I went back to the bedroom to get it, taking care to put my parents’ bones on my back again. I took the painting out of its wrapping and set it down on the tabletop to show him.

“Careful, Ezer! Your glass. You almost knocked it over. Idiot.”

He swatted me away. “Pipe down. Move.”

I stepped back as he leaned over the painting, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What a weird painting,” he said. “It’s like any one of them you’d see in a museum, but that woman’s somehow too in focus, or like, too intense. You see what I mean?”

She was painted with vivid red and pink, wild dark hair, and flashing eyes.

“Do you think she looks like Mom?”

Ezer squinted. He was quiet for a while. “No,” he said, finally. “I don’t see it.”

“Looks like her to me,” I murmured. He shrugged, which briefly infuriated me. “I thought you’d see it right away.”

“No,” he said, this time with finality. “But I think I recognize where this is.”

“What?”

“I think so,” he said, taking a step back. “Hold it up?”

I held it against my torso as he looked. “I think this is near the hot springs. You know where? There’s the springs, behind the trees there,” he pointed, “and then the waterfall. Haven’t you been?”

“I’m not sure. I couldn’t say.”

“Trust me, I’ve been to a spring ritual before there. Same waterfall. No one goes to it because it’s too hard to hear someone talking and the rocks are slippery.”

I tried not to laugh. “I had no idea you’d been before.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t be such a prude. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

I put the painting back down and tried to affect a neutral expression. “I guess I’ll just make a note not to go to that festival, then, in the future.”

He laughed his harsh, barking laugh. “Oh, man, Kammas. You would hate it. You’re not ready yet.”

I decided not to feel insulted. “I don’t even want to know,” I said. “I really don’t.”

Ezer finished his glass and wrapped me up in a tight hug. “Maybe not. But enough talking for tonight. I’m going to bed. Will you be here in the morning?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Good night, Ezer.”

“Night.”

He left. I switched the lights off and blew out the candles and just stood for a few moments, staring at the point in the dark where the painting was. The moon was out. I could only hear chirping insects outside. I finally went off to bed myself, this time saying each prayer out loud as I unwound the straps from my shoulders, from my waist, and set my parents’ bones gingerly on an altar. The bed was warm and soft and covered in a quilt I’d known since I was a child. I slept fitfully and woke up unnaturally early when it was still dark out. The house was quiet and calm. I dressed quickly and picked up the bones, securing the bag to my back, and left without making any noise. I could hear Ezer snoring from his room.

I walked the usual way until I came to the train station, where I knew the local commuter was due to arrive. I bought a bottle of water as I waited. By my count, I’d probably get to where I needed to be before sunrise—which suited me just fine.

When I got off the train, I was heartened to feel the bag seemed as light as ever. My stomach began to grumble, though, and I wished I’d brought food.

It was slow going. The trail up the mountain was rocky, but empty. I realized there was no birdsong at first. It was eerie, but the silence was soon broken by the occasional chirps, and then at last I heard it: a waterfall.

The sun was about to rise when I found it. The morning air around me was soft and cool yet somehow crackling with electricity. The rushing water made my pulse quicken, and even though I’d been hiking for a while now, I didn’t feel the slightest bit sore or tired. Ezer was right; the noise was deafening, and the rocks were slippery. It would be hard to do much of anything here except gingerly pick your way across the rocks to get back to the hot springs.

I was looking to see if I could find the exact vantage point from the painting but wasn’t finding it—and as I took a step back, I slipped, landing squarely on my back, and on the bones.

The horror and pain were immense and immediate. I rolled slowly onto my side, furious at myself for being so clumsy. I felt behind myself with shaking fingertips to check the bag first, then my lower back for any injuries. No bones poking through anywhere to my relief. My hip throbbed like a beacon, pulsing and red in my mind’s eye. I curled up into the fetal position with a wince and concentrated on taking a few deep breaths. Once I’d regained myself, I tried to sit up, and then I saw it.

The exact place my father had painted. There was the cliff, there was the waterfall. And there, in the distance, slightly smaller than had appeared in the painting (my father’s perspective left perhaps a little to be desired) was the copse of trees, which concealed the hot springs.

I searched until I found a bit of flat ground where an artist might’ve set up his easel and began to unwind the straps from my waist and shoulders. I set the bones down on top of a smooth stone, whispering the prayers. I took a swig of water and rolled my sleeves up, laying hands on the heavy rocks beneath me, prying them up from the black soil. I looked up at the waterfall, impossibly beautiful as the sunrise hit it, and smiled. I hummed my mother’s favorite tune. I could hear birds nearby and even heard someone singing somewhere behind me—I’d found the place. I laughed and began to bury my parents.