RENAISSANCE

35. Motorcycle

The flower I placed on the grave was of a dazzling whiteness, contrasting with the dark gray of the stone. The sweet scent of the chrysanthemum mingled with the fresh morning air, while the silence of the cemetery enveloped my actions in an almost palpable solemnity.

The feeling of humiliation I had felt the day before was still vivid. Yes, the sensation of their eyes on my naked body was still present and painful, but I wanted to remain stoic in front of others and push these thoughts as far away from my mind as possible.

Today, death was with us.

Men had buried the bodies in the night. I had insisted on being present, despite the speed and discretion of the ceremony, because a part of me felt connected to their fate. They had died coming to my aid, a debt of blood and suffering that I could never repay.

It was Suzan who had insisted on organizing this quick event, a rare demand in their habits. Perhaps it was to honorably mark the end of their long war, Caleb's fall?

She stood there, with an emotion she struggled to conceal, the only one among us to let the sadness of farewell show. Suzan had always been the most sensitive, feeling the losses they suffered most keenly.

Mike, by my side, placed a flower on each of the six graves with measured solemnity. His face was impassive, a fortress of restraint, but his actions betrayed a deep respect for those who had given their lives.

The morning air began to be tinged with light, the first bird songs breaking the silence of the cemetery.

I glanced at Isaac, whom I had not noticed before, and saw him leaning against a tree, a cigarette in hand, his eyes lost in the distance, or perhaps in his thoughts. He had arrived after us, for a reason I didn't know.

Suzan, noticing my distracted gaze, leaned slightly toward me and murmured in my ear:

"He hates funerals."

I reflected on what I knew about him, on the shared moments, often marked by his eloquent silence or his cutting remarks. Maybe his father wasn't wrong; maybe I didn't know him as well as I thought.

Mike interrupted my thoughts with his hand on my back, silently inviting me to join the black sedan parked a little further away.

The night before, when I thought he had stayed inside during the explosion, I admit I felt like my heart stopped. And then, seeing him outside, searching for us too, I was relieved as I had never been before. Yes, my heart clenched at the thought of losing him, of never seeing his familiar face again. At that moment, I understood that my attachment to them, to this makeshift family, surpassed by far what I had admitted until then.

We got into the car, each finding our place as if we had always belonged there. Isaac took the wheel, his hands firm on the steering wheel. The engine rumbled softly, breaking the silence without completely dispelling it.

Where to go now? Was it time for me to resume my life as if nothing had ever happened? The very idea seemed unbearable, and yet it was taking up more and more space in my mind since the night before. I was doing everything not to think about it, but it was inevitable.

At first, I would have given myself body and soul to escape their presence. And now, the idea of leaving them was as painful as parting with a part of myself. Isaac had conquered a corner of my heart, a territory I didn't even know was vacant. But I remained silent, a prisoner of my feelings and of this silence.

The landscape passed by through the windows as I lost myself in my thoughts again, my heart tight. Spring had now settled in, and the sky displayed its most beautiful azure, accompanied by the generous sun.