3

They

parked their bikes in the racks in front of the church and headed toward the rectory. In the rectory's garden, daffodils and crocuses were blooming. Tulip buds peeked out from between the wide leaves. Fornol stopped for a moment by the fence and admired the flowers.

"My daffodils are just opening, and look at the whole garden, yellow."

Skowronek stood in front of the rectory door and waited for Fornol.

The rectory priest received them in his office. They told him, one by one, what had happened to them yesterday and today at the cemetery. They didn't withhold any details. Skowronek even mentioned yesterday's conversation with the ołma.

"It was very unwise of you not to come to me yesterday right after you dug it up." Fornol, you noticed right away when you said it wasn't a normal grave; such things need to be reported. Are you sure those weren't really young bones, let's say, only a few years old? You know, it could be about covering up traces of even a murder.

They both vehemently denied it. "Father, you know what old trees grow on the other side of the fence, and we had to chop down just such roots to get to the sand. These roots are as old as those trees. Believe us, we're not mistaken."

The firmness of Fornol's words and the certainty with which he spoke convinced the priest.

"Okay, I believe you. But what happened to those bones? Who took them? Maybe they were dogs? There are so many strays everywhere now.

" "Impossible, no dog could have gotten out of that hole." We hid the ladder in the chapel for the night as usual – Skowronek was sure of what he was saying – and the dogs would not have broken that stone.

"Yes, that stone," the priest said, studying the page with the text from the unearthed slab again.

He read the German original and Fornol's translation. "Don't forget to show me those photos you're talking about. And you say, Skowronek, that your grandmother knows that poem?

" "Yes," she repeated it just as it's written here. I was surprised myself. And then she told me that story about that hex, that it was supposedly for her, or about her.

" "You know, I remember right when I took over this parish, over forty years ago, someone—I don't remember who—told me a similar, or maybe the same, story about that witch and being buried alive. Back then, I was interested in everything connected to this land. I wanted to learn about its history, the people I would be blessed to live and work with, their affairs, and all the legends and traditions of this area. I was asking older people about such things, and someone told me about that hex." Apparently, she hurt people so much, brought illness to children and cattle, even killed them, that they couldn't bear it any longer, and one moonless night they dragged her into the forest and buried her alive. It was supposed to have happened somewhere in our neighborhood.

"But they didn't bury her in the cemetery and crush her with a stone slab!" Fornol couldn't resist.

"No, no, it was supposed to be somewhere in the forest. There were six men who did it, and none of them ever said where. They took this secret to their graves." The priest didn't let go of the note. He read the text again. "And this witch would hang a red ribbon on the door of the house at night where the misfortune was supposed to happen. I remember thinking about this once, and it occurred to me that she wasn't necessarily the cause of the misfortune, but rather that she somehow sensed danger and used that ribbon to warn people. But they saw her as the angel of death and killed her." Well, yes, assuming, of course, that it's all true and not a figment of human imagination. Although I'll tell you, gentlemen, that even in the most fantastic legends there's always some, even the smallest, element of truth.

As for this text here, I really can't say anything. It looks like a common nursery rhyme. But it must mean something, because I wouldn't see the point in putting such an inscription in a grave.

There was a long pause, and the guests understood that the priest had nothing more to say

. They shook hands and allowed themselves to be escorted to the door. As they were descending the stairs to the street, the rectory door opened again, and the priest called, "Gentlemen, let us go inside again; I've remembered something important."

When they sat down at the table again, the priest said,

"Gentlemen, if this date corresponds to the date the grave was created, then I must tell you that this grave was not initially located within the cemetery.

" "What do you mean?" – Fornol couldn't stand it.

Skowronek shifted uncomfortably in his chair and swallowed.

"This part, a six-meter-wide strip, on the forest side, was donated to the parish to expand the cemetery by a wealthy peasant named Zyla in 1823. That's what the records show. So what you dug up—I still assume the year 1798 is accurate—was beyond the reach of consecrated land. Zyla donated part of his forest to the parish for the miraculous saving of his daughter. The child became seriously ill, and there was virtually no hope of recovery. Zyla swore on Saint Anne's Hill that if Saint Anne miraculously restored his daughter to health, he would donate this very area to the parish. When our cemetery was being established, his great-grandfather refused to give this strip of forest to the parish. Zyla swore to repair it in exchange for the health of his beloved daughter. The child recovered, and we have a larger cemetery.

That's what the parish records show." I hadn't thought about it, but now that we've started looking for an explanation for your discovery, I remember.

"I heard something about it once, but I didn't know it was in this area," Fornol drawled.

"So we dug up a hex." Skowronek stared at the priest, waiting for confirmation.

"It's highly probable that you've stumbled upon the site of a terrible crime two hundred years ago."

Fornol took a deep breath and began rubbing his forehead. "Now it's all clear. They were digging near the cemetery because they used grave digger's tools, they didn't have to go far, perhaps the grave digger himself also participated in this crime. God, it's unbelievable! I can't imagine they buried that poor woman alive."

Silence fell. Skowronek broke it: "But what about those stolen bones? And that inscription? It all has some significance."

The priest picked up the piece of paper in front of him again and read aloud:

"The sun spreads its wings there, and death continues its misfortune." The sun, if it can

cast anything, would rather cast rays, not wings. Perhaps it really was the sun's rays?

Fornol also began to think feverishly about the text. Now he was influenced by the priest's remark and felt that this was the right path. Suddenly, he had an epiphany. "Paweł, when we were taking out those bones, remember, was the sun shining then?"

"I think so. I know that when the rain stopped, the sun came out, at first a blurry one, but when the humidity subsided, it even shone brightly.

" "But remember if the rays fell directly on the bones?"

"No. The bones were lying down, and the rays didn't reach them. We didn't carry anything up."

The priest glanced first at Fornol, then back at Skowronek, not quite understanding what the old man was getting at with these questions.

Fornol suddenly rose from his chair and practically shouted, "But I looked at some of them carefully and lifted them up to get a better look!" I remember now.

The priest and Skowronek looked at each other in surprise.

"Karlik, what's the matter? So what, you watched them? I watched them too.

" "But not in the sun, but I did!

" "So what?

" "Don't you understand? The sun fell on the bones and they came to life! They climbed out of the grave on their own and will continue doing what they did years ago! That's why they covered them with a slab and warned us with a sign.

"Mr. Fornol, have you been drinking new wine? What nonsense are you spouting?" The priest also rose from his chair. "It's not proper for a Christian to say such things, even in jest, because I understand you were joking. No one can rise from the grave except our Savior. What you just said is sacrilege. I forgive you because I know what was on your mind yesterday and today regarding those bones you dug up. Mr. Skowronek, please take Mr. Fornol home." And don't come to my pub, you know what happens to him! That's what always happens when you read and watch too many crime novels and horror movies. Anyone, but a grave digger, must be immune to such things.

If you'd informed me immediately, things certainly wouldn't have gotten this far.

"She's back among us," Fornol whispered again.

"Karlik, let's go!" Skowronek snapped, seeing that the old man was really starting to believe this nonsense. "We apologize to the parish priest for our intrusion, but we simply wanted to know what you think about all this.

" "It's very good of you to come, a little late, but as they say, better late than never. Don't forget to show me those photos when you pick them up from the photographer. And Mr.

Fornol, you'd best lie down and come see me tomorrow morning, okay?

" "Okay, I'll be there after morning mass."

"God bless you, gentlemen," the parish priest escorted them this time to the street.

When they had driven quite a distance from the rectory, Skowronek practically shouted at the old man, "Karlik, are you crazy? How could you say such stupid things to a priest? If I didn't know you, I'd think you were completely crazy too. Fuck, man!

" "I don't know what came over me, Paweł. I'm angry with myself now. Fuck, something like this had to happen to us too. We'll go to a pub for a beer, it'll do us good.

" "No, not a pub! I promised the priest you were going home. We'll grab a few cans from the store and go to your place, right?

" "Okay," the old man agreed.

Grayness was settling in, and the lights were already on in the apartments. They stopped in front of a shop. There were no people. Skowronek held Fornol's bike while he went to buy beer. They were lucky; after Fornol stepped out onto the street, the saleswoman started closing the shop.

"How much did you take?" Skowronek pointed to the overstuffed plastic bag. It seemed the bag would soon burst open and the contents would land on the sidewalk.

"Ten Tyskie. Put a few cans in your pocket, because I can't deliver this like this."

They got back on their bikes. They rode one behind the other on the very edge of the road, without lights, and dismounted before every approaching car. As they passed the cemetery, they glanced involuntarily at a new grave. They didn't notice anything unusual. The ribbons from the wreaths glowed faintly in the streetlights that barely reached this part of the cemetery. Fornol lived nearby. Teddy Bear greeted them at the gate. He was happy and jumped on each other's legs until the old man finally shouted, "That's enough! Teddy Bear to the kennel!"

Fornol wheeled his bike into the shed, and Skowronek leaned his against the wall of the house. As Fornol opened the front door, he noticed a piece of string hanging from the doorknob. He took it off and hid it in his hand. They entered the room. By the light of the lamp next to the armchair, he showed what he had found on the doorknob.

A crumpled red ribbon slid from Fornol's open hand to the floor.

Altena, April 2003

*Oma – German for grandmother, Opa – German for grandfather

*Hexe – German for witch, hag

*Spass muss sein – German for jokes