“Hey, Mimi,” the cheetah girl replied, a smile on her face. She was leaning up against one of the standing supports, her brother Shartha hovering behind her. “Glad to see you’re okay.”
Meea leapt forward to embrace her friend, a gesture that Timirza happily returned. Shartha walked over to Matakh and gave him a friendly hug as well. “Good to see you, buddy.”
“Same,” the lion replied, momentarily forgetting the tragedy that had befallen him. The knowledge that he still had friends that he could count on was comforting, and although the shorter cheetah had to stand up on the tips of his toes to hug him properly, the gesture was no less welcome for it.
When they separated, Timirza looked at Meea with sad eyes. “I’m so sorry this happened. So much death… It’s just awful.”
“How many have died?” Meea asked her.
Shartha sighed. “In Tuthana alone? Nearly a hundred-fifty, with hundreds of others wounded or homeless, us among the latter.”
Meea gasped. “You mean you lost your home, too? What about your family?”
Timirza placed her hands on Meea’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “They’re all fine. We got out before our house went up. Don’t worry about us, Mimi.”
“She’s right,” Shartha said softly. “You should be worried about yourselves, and what to do with your parents.” He sighed. “If you’re hoping for a formal final ceremony, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. The air raid destroyed cemeteries and funeral homes all over the city, and transportation’s pretty much ground to a halt.”
“But we can’t just leave them out in the open!” Meea protested. “I can’t take the thought of someone or something just traipsing all over them!”
“Don’t worry,” Timirza assured her, clasping the lioness’s hands in her own. “We’ll think of something. We may not be able to have a proper funeral, but we can at least put them to rest. It probably won’t be much, I’m afraid. We don’t really have a coffin lying around.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Matakh told her. “They always said that they never liked the idea of being buried like that. I think they would have preferred having nothing between them and the earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, you know… natural.”
Timirza nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Luckily it seems like your tool shed was untouched, so we’ll have something to dig with besides our hands.”
“I’ll see if I can find Pastor Damios to perform the last rites,” Shartha offered.
Matakh nodded. “Thank you.”
In response, Shartha gave a weak smile of reassurance and headed off.
Turning back to the two girls, Matakh cleared his throat. “Okay. The first thing we need to do is get some shovels and start digging. I think seven feet long, five feet wide, and six feet deep should do it.” The girls nodded in approval, and together they walked over to the Etaris’ tool shed, where they retrieved three shovels.
Finding a suitable area for the gravesite proved to be far more difficult. Debris had been scattered across the Etari’s lawn, decimating the well-tended grasses and shrubbery and ruining the landscaping Linalia had worked so hard to cultivate. The three teens spent several minutes walking the property, tapping the ground with their shovels in search of a large stretch of soft earth. It was Matakh who finally found a decent place, several meters from the remains of their home. The girls raced over to help him, and soon the air was filled with the scraping sounds of their shovels delving into the earth, and the pants and grunts of the felines’ efforts.
It was slow going. The first foot of earth was soft and easy to work, but after that they started to hit chunks of stone and denser soil that fought against their efforts to remove it. Matakh found himself repeatedly lifting a hand to wipe the sweat away from his brow, his shirt already growing damp with it. With their lighter fur, the girls were not as badly affected, but the work was taxing, and all three of them were perspiring heavily before long. Still, inch by inch and foot by foot they widened and deepened the hole that would become Kotaho and Linalia’s grave.
No-one spoke a word, and the task was carried on in silence. But within his head, Matakh was bombarded by a tumult of doubt, grief, concern and anger. The pain of the loss he and his sister had suffered weighed heavier on him with each clump of earth that he shoveled away, and he cursed the injustice of it all. “It’s not fair!” he screamed silently. “Mom and Dad were good people. They loved me, and they loved Meea, and they loved God. They shouldn’t have had to die like this!”
“And then there’s us. What are we going to do now? Our home is gone, and we don’t have any other family. Where will we go? Where can we go?” The realization struck hard, and a cold pit settled in his stomach. Desperate to distract himself, Matakh began digging faster, sinking his shovel into the ground with harsh jabs and forcing it deeper with his foot before wrenching it sharply to tear away chunks of soil. He was grunting loudly now, practically growling, and the girls began glancing at him in concern, but to his own ears his voice sounded unsettlingly muted, like his ears had been clogged with thick wool. He began to sink into a disturbed trance, one that slowly grew in pace as the minutes passed. But the harder he worked, the louder the voices in his head became, until everything seemed to mesh together. Up, down, up, down, and on and on his brooding went.
A soft touch to his shoulder snapped him out of his haze and back to reality. He yowled and spun around, dropping his shovel and raising his hands defensively. But when he saw who it was, he relaxed and sighed in relief. “Reverend Damios,” he breathed out. “It’s just you.”
“Yes,” the puma replied, his pine-green eyes looking tired and sad. Shartha stood just behind him, looking slightly out of breath. “Shar caught me on my way to the church and told me what had happened.” He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the teen, a shaky breath escaping him. “I’m so very sorry for your loss. Your parents were good people, some of the best that I knew. They will be dearly missed.”
“I guess this isn’t your first service today,” Meea put forward, indicating to Damios’ clothes. Matakh realized that she was right; the pastor’s suit pants were nicked and torn in several places, his shoes caked with dust. And his suede jacket, usually ironed and spotless, was streaked with dirt and soot, as well as faint splotches of blood.
Damios sighed. “The work of the Lord is often difficult, but never in my lifetime have I found it so hard to carry out. So many lives lost, so much hatred. So much evil. Satan’s grasp is strong in this world now.” He looked over Matakh’s shoulder at the makeshift grave that had been dug. “You children did a fine job creating a suitable grave. I only regret the need for a grave at all. I do believe the only thing that we need to do is to lay them to rest. We’ll work together.” The younger felines all nodded in affirmation, and they set about with the task.
If digging the grave had been difficult, this was torture. When they pulled the blankets aside to lift the bodies, Matakh felt bile rise in his throat as he realized just what it had been covering. Kotaho’s chest had been scorched by the flames, and Linalia’s blouse was soaked in blood from wounds on her abdomen. The sight made Matakh’s stomach heave, but he kept his composure. He had to show respect for his parents. By some miracle, he managed to remain stoic all throughout the process. He heard Meea’s strangled whine, but he fought the urge to turn. He knew that if he saw her face he would break down, and he needed to be strong.
Gently, reverently, Linalia and Kotaho were lowered into the grave their own children had created for them. There was a deathly stillness in the air once more, not a word spoken among them. Matakh and Meea were too busy holding back the flood of emotions that threatened to burst, and their friends respected their need for silence, knowing that it was best for the two lions to sort things out themselves.
When the task was done, Kotaho and Linalia were once again lying side by side, and the rose and leaf had been replaced.