My name is Nicolas. I'm a caretaker at the cemetery. People say my job is grim, but I consider it my calling. It's the purpose of my life. The reason to wake up and face the day, to inhale and to exhale, to act and to succeed. I'm blessed with the comforting silence and the refreshing breeze in the back of my neck coming from the sighing earth of graves. It took me a great deal of wisdom to embrace the lurid reality of death. And this is the place where I belong.
I had other jobs before, but I failed in keeping them because I couldn't deal with being around people. It turned out I was better off with the dead. Despite my reserve, I managed to change for the sake of my current occupation. At first, the scared townspeople avoided me but gradually I developed the ability to find the right words of sincere compassion for their loss and in turn their demeanour towards me had changed.
I didn't reply to the vacancy of sexton instantly, though. I stumbled upon it in a newspaper one sunny morning as I mentally prepared myself for my loathsome job at the mall. The sunrays highlighted the word graveyard, as if drawing my attention to it. I wasn't sure if it was the proper choice for me. I had no idea what to expect of it, asking myself whether I was able to endure it longer than all my previous challenges or not. But at the same time, I felt a strange excitement taking over me, starting just below my stomach.
Doubt and arousal pestered me for a whole week. Furiously, I tried to fight that uncanny desire, getting off the tension every night, unable to fall asleep because of the soaking sheets sticking to my back. Eventually, I succumbed to the unexplainable curiosity and applied for the position.
I don't know what exactly the employer saw in me, but I got the job.
Maybe I was the best suited man for this.
Maybe I was their only candidate.
So, one night, I wandered around the cemetery, picking up rubbish left by inconsiderate visitors. It had stopped raining. I inhaled the smell of wet asphalt and the imperceptible scent of death into my lungs, as the utter tranquillity of the night interfered with the frequency of my thoughts. That deafening feeling had almost consumed me. The overwhelming apathy nearly made me overlook the radiating ruby-red pulsating force in the dark.
At first, I mistook that red glimpse for a firefly. It showed itself for a split second and then quickly hid behind a black marble tombstone standing next to an oak. It turned out it was a red tailflower, swaying with the wind. I came closer to it and recognised the place. It was a new grave. Earlier that day I dug it out myself and even attended the funeral.
A young woman named Gabrielle lay buried there. Two marble angels guarded her peaceful sleep on both sides of her cradle. Her precious features were accurately carved out in the stone.
I remember many people standing around her coffin, with grief reflecting from their glassy eyes as their contorted face muscles revealed a subdued hatred burning in their trembling chests. They directed their flaming gazes to the couple standing closest to the open grave. I figured the man was Gabrielle's father; the resemblance was remarkable.
He was a wealthy man, judging by his clothes and the much younger woman standing beside him. She couldn't be the mother of that girl; she was barely ten years older than Gabrielle. The father didn't look sad but rather confused. There were no traces of tears on his face. Only amazement. His wife on the other hand couldn't care less, conveniently hiding her obvious indifference behind her veil.
However, the veil couldn't hide the intense glaring of her wicked eyes. I felt them scorching my skin as I stood right behind the priest who read the eulogy. She wasn't paying any attention to him. She looked over his shoulder, devouring me with her eyes. The lust she discharged towards me made me feel nauseous. I had to leave the ceremony because I couldn't stand the intensity of her stare.
Before I left, I noticed people throwing white roses on Gabrielle's coffin, but I didn't spot anyone with tailflowers. Someone must have planted the flower at the feet of her grave after the ceremony had ended.
The longer I looked at the tailflower, the more I thought I was losing my mind. The flower bloomed at a marvellous speed as in a fast forward recording. It so captivated me I forgot where I was and what I was doing there. I sat down on the ground, with my back against the oak, and took in its magical manifestation.
The blood red veiny leaves unfolded slowly, bending their edges to the outside, exposing the huge fluorescent spadix in its centre. The smooth spike waited patiently for the leaves to open and swell on as he was resting between the two acclivities. When the leaves were finally ready and relaxed, the spadix came to life. As I observed its rise to maturity, I felt my own enlargement causing me discomfort. I don't know what came over me, but I couldn't hold back anymore. I couldn't stand the suffocating confinement of my clothes, pushing against the pulsating skin. Nervously, I unzipped my pants, giving in to the comforting but firm touch of my hand.
The spadix was still growing. The fluorescent white of its body turned into a toxic yellow, while its perfect soft surface gradually changed into a ribbed pattern.
The tailflower and Gabrielle's face made my feverish imagination go wild. I was trying hard to get rid of the insane throbbing in my hand. But I couldn't concentrate on my rhythm because I felt someone was watching me. No one could have entered the graveyard at that hour, nevertheless I kept my eyes open to see if no one was hiding behind other tombstones.
I managed to put an end to that madness and unloaded my frustration onto the red flower and the earth around it. At the same time, I thought I heard someone's weak moans coming from one of the graves.
When I came back to my senses, I was slightly shocked to find the flower tainted with my traces. I wanted to clean it but didn't dare to touch it out of fear of falling under its arousing spell again. Confused at being ashamed and satisfied at the same time, I returned to the sexton house.
As the blissful pleasure waned, I felt the bony grip of shame steadily clenching my neck. I didn't like what had happened there. All I wanted was to fall asleep and forget about it.
I had inappropriate fantasies about young widows visiting the graveyard, but I've never thought of doing something like that next to a grave.
Ignorant of the consequences, I planted the seed of addiction in my heart that night, unaware of the fact that it wasn't the first nor the last time I would give into that sin.