Spoiler! :
Gravedigger
Arthur M. Russo – that’s what the tombstone read. The M resembled more of a V, and had I not known of the man, I wouldn’t have paid it much mind.
Nevertheless, my shovel dug into the cold earth again and again, until I heard a distinct wooden thud. Beads of sweat were beginning to form above my brow and at the back of my neck. It found it odd that I could be sweating on such a cool night. My arms ached as I continued with my work, but I didn’t dare stop. I needed this to be done before dawn.
The moon was casting an eerie glow by the time I pulled Arthur’s casket from the ground. It was a sturdy case - must have been mahogany. I knew that Arthur had been a rich man during his life, so why wouldn’t he spend a hefty amount on his death?
I stared down at the casket nervously. Opening it was what I was least looking forward to. I wasn’t sure if the body would be horribly decomposed or properly preserved. With a shaky breath, I raised the lid. Arthur was lying in a striking black suit and deep navy blue tie. To my relief, he wasn’t falling apart. He had only been buried a day ago, but his skin was already beginning to turn to mush like dough that’s had too much water added.
I took my gardening gloves from my coat pockets and slipped them onto my calloused hands. I have never touched a dead body directly and I didn’t plan on changing that tonight. Even the thought of it gave me chills. Arthur was stiff to the touch and I grunted as I struggled to lift him from his casket. Heavy bugger, he was.
It would have been easier to do this with another person, but I couldn’t afford to split the pay. I had a wife and two children to feed, and our bakery wasn’t bringing in the amount of customers that it used to. Margret was working so hard, too. It broke my heart. The money I would get from this job would be enough to pay for my family for months to come. It was the only thing that kept me going.
With images of my children’s faces swimming in my mind, I hauled Arthur into the sack I had brought. I’d underestimated how hard it was going to be to bring him back into town. The cemetery was at the edge of Florence and I knew that it was going to be a long, frightful walk back into town.
In a rush, for fear of being caught, I dropped the casket back into the earth, followed by my shovel. It wasn’t really mine; I had borrowed it from a neighbour. Well, I suppose “borrowed” isn’t really the correct word. I took it the night before, when he wasn’t home. I didn’t own a shovel; why would a baker need one?
Thankful for the muscles that had developed from years of hauling large bags of flour, I tossed the bag over my back and carried Arthur out of the cemetery with a bit more ease than I had expected. I took the long route through the mostly deserted streets. I didn’t want to get caught - I knew the sentence I would face if I were, and it wasn’t pretty.
I let myself become distracted as I made my way along brick walls, occasionally shifting the dead body on my shoulder when my muscles began to ache. The man who’d assigned me the job had never mentioned his name. Last Tuesday, he had walked into the bakery when we were about to close up shop. The only thing I could clearly remember about him was the kindness in his eyes. When he’d asked me if I’d like to do a job for him, I hadn’t expected this. After all, what sort of man walks into a bakery late at night and offers a grave-digging job? The thought made me chuckle aloud, but I quickly silenced myself and continued to move silently. I was almost there.
“Signor Oliver?” The voice made me stop dead in my tracks. Arthur slipped from my shoulders, hitting the stoned ground with a heavy thud. Wide eyed, I turned to meet eyes with an elderly woman. She held a walking stick in one hand and the other clutched to the fabric of her torn dress. Like my own clothes, her dress was covered in a layer of grime. The dress might have been purple when she bought it, or maybe it had been red, but now it was more of a dirt-brown.
I smiled gently at her. “Signora Ricci, what are you doing out at a time like this?”
“I should be asking you the same thing,” she said sharply, adjusting her dress with her free hand.
Signora Ricci had been coming to the bakery for years now. I considered her to be one of my family’s dearest friends, but I don’t think she was very fond of me. Although I’ve never been that fond of her either, she looked after my children sometimes when the shop was busy, and that’s all I could ever ask for. I didn’t like her, but I respected her.
I leaned down to grab the bag that accompanied Arthur. “Oh you know, just picking up some supplies,” I said lightly.
She nodded, bringing me some relief. She believed me. “Have a good night, Signor Oliver,” she muttered, turning on her heels and trudging back towards her home.
“You too,” I called back, waving with one hand and clutching my bag in the other.
Her walking stick made a rhythmic clang against the pavement, which echoed down the darkly lit streets. I patiently waited until she closed the door before I continued. Close call.
I only had to travel for a few more minutes before I reached the house that I recognized as his (whoever he was). The house was well kept - it looked much better than my own. When I reached the door, I dropped Arthur and rubbed my aching shoulder. There’s only so much a man my age can take. I wasn’t built for carrying dead bodies on my shoulders at midnight.
With a shaky breath, I knocked lightly on the wooden door. The silence that followed was much too long and I found myself wondering if I had come to the right house. My eyes darted around on the lawn until I saw a statue of an angel with one of its wings missing. I had noticed that when he’d brought me there earlier.
The door opened with a high-pitched creak and the man I met with earlier stepped out from behind it. “Signor Oliver, I was afraid you weren’t going to make it,” he said quietly. “Please, do come inside.” His eyes fell to the bagged body lying at my feet and he grinned a grin that sent a shiver though my veins. “And bring your friend,” he added before turning and walking back into his house, chuckling lightly as he did so.
Reluctantly, I lifted Arthur and followed the man inside the house and down a long hallway. Aside from the bits of moonlight that streamed in from the back windows, there was no light to guide me through the maze of furniture and what must have been piles of books.
“Where would you like me to put him?” I asked, trying to mask the nervous tone in my voice.
The man stopped outside of a door at the end of the hall. “In this room would be fine.”
He reached inside of his pants’ pockets, hands shifting around, searching. The hand from his right pocket came out empty, but in his left he held an object that reflected bits of light that had filtered in through the windows. My eyebrows furrowed together as I watched him bring it towards the door. With a click and a turn, the door flew open. Of course, it was a key. The night was turning my logic into mush.
I peered into the room as the man flicked on the lonely light that hung from the low ceiling. I didn’t expect to see what I did, nor did I expect the force of the smell that hit me. My hand flew to my face, covering my nose. I’d never smelt something so rotten in my entire life.
The man looked at me expectantly. “Well, come on then, let’s not waste time.”
I nodded, swallowing back the cold lump that had formed in my throat and took a step into the room. Then another. I had never seen anything like what I saw that night. There had to have been at least six different tables with six different dead bodies accompanying them. The first and second tables both had women, sliced down the middle. God-knows-what was falling from them and juices dripped to the bloodstained floor. It was enough to make my stomach churn and tighten.
My hand flew to my chest, up, down, left, right, forming an invisible cross. I didn’t dare speak; I didn’t want to end up like those people.
“Set him on the empty table over there, please,” the man said from across the room. He was standing in between the two gnarled girls, stroking the hair on his chin thoughtfully. I did as he asked in a hurry. I wanted more than anything to leave.
“Is that all?” I asked, glancing at the man hopefully. What had I gotten myself into?
The man nodded. “You don’t have to look so nervous, it’s merely science. Yes, you are free to leave. Thank you.”
“And my pay, sir?”
“Oh, yes, of course, I nearly forgot.”
My head felt fuzzy as he handed me a bag filled with coins. I stuffed it into my coat pockets, muttering a thank you.
“Let me walk you out,” he said. I nodded, letting him lead me out of the room and back through the dark corridors.
As we reached the front door, I turned to him. “I didn’t catch your name.”
He smiled, gently pushing on my shoulder blades until I was embraced by night’s crisp air. “You may call me Leonardo. Goodnight, Signor Oliver.”
“Goodnight.”
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