Hiacynt
Sunday
We’ve been living at the cemetery for many years now. I don’t know how many. The cemetery stands between me and people. I feel the magnificence of the cemetery, where we live.
I dig graves. I know that I must dig graves. Trees grow between the grave plots. They rustle and sigh in the wind at night and make me a happy man.
I woke up today at six. I got up and went over to the window. There were a lot of wet leaves on the graves. A strong wind was blowing. People will come by today, probably, to tidy them up. I’ve grown accustomed to the sight of graves. They make me happy like the view of boats on the lake down below the cemetery makes the fishermen happy. The lake is ten kilometres long and two kilometres wide.
Our house stands right at the wall. The border of the cemet
