Free A Remarkable Kindness by Diana Bletter Page A

toward the autumn sun.

5
In the Burial Circle
Lauren
    S ophie and Aviva had invited Lauren to join the burial circle a few months after she’d given birth to Maya, and a few hours after the death of their neighbor, Ruth Rosen. They sat in Sophie’s living room, surrounded by a half century’s worth of books, photographs, paintings, knickknacks. Gila Salomon, who ran Garden of Eden Honey, was also there, along with Leah Zado.
    â€œI tried to get some of the other villagers to join, but they all declined with one excuse or another.” Leah’s dull brown hair hung like ear muffs.
    I don’t blame them, Lauren thought. In nursing school, she had hated even dissecting a frog. The stink of formaldehyde made her want to gag. She held her breath during entire lab periods and didn’t inhale deeply until she was safely out on the street, breathing in gargantuan gulps of smoggy Boston air.
    â€œMost people don’t have the—I don’t know what—the inner strength—to be so close to death,” Leah continued, dressed in a white blouse and a black skirt, her clothes a study in extremes. White and black. Like life and death, Lauren thought. “Nobody pays the hevra kadisha, and the dead women can’t give us anything in return.” Leah said the rite was a hesed shel emet . An act of remarkable kindness.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Aviva looked at Lauren over her teacup.
    â€œI’m not sure.” Lauren had been trying her hardest to get used to life in Peleg, but how could taking care of the dead help her with that?
    â€œIn any event,” Leah said, “we need to use an extra-large shroud tomorrow”—she pursed her lips smugly because Ruth Rosen was even more overweight than she was—“and we should try to find smocks to wear over our clothes.”
    â€œI might be able to get some jackets from the hospital.” Lauren jumped in before she’d even had a chance to think.
    â€œSo that means you want to join.” Aviva smiled. “Thank you.”
    What had she gotten herself into, Lauren wondered. “How did the burial circle even start?”
    â€œJewish communities have always had burial circles to take care of their dead,” Aviva replied. “It’s an ancient tradition.”
    â€œSince the start of the village, we’ve always buried our own. There was nobody else to do it for us.” That was Sophie’s matter-of-fact voice. “The men took care of the men; the women took care of the women, obviously, for modesty’s sake. I’m getting old . . .” Sophie paused, but her blue eyes twinkled, indicating that shewasn’t the least concerned. “I’d love to teach someone in the next generation.”
    â€œI know next to nothing about Jewish laws.” Lauren drank some tea. “I’ve never even heard of this.”
    â€œYou’ve heard of the shroud of Turin, right?” Gila said. She had limp, graying hair parted down the middle and pale gray eyes with no lashes, and wore the clear-framed, octagonal glasses of a lab technician—or a beekeeper. “That was similar to the kind of shrouds we use today. They’re sewn by hand. Simple linen. The most basic clothes you can find.” That struck Lauren as funny since Gila was wearing plain black Bedouin pants and a loose beige T-shirt with the Garden of Eden Honey logo.
    â€œThe shrouds have no buttons or zippers.” Leah Zado reached for a piece of lemon cake. “Because there’s nothing you can take with you.”
    â€œAnd the pants’ feet are closed, like very loose pajamas,” Gila added.
    Lauren listened, curious but polite, thinking of her father. “Your death and your salary,” he used to say, “two topics that are not up for conversation.”
    â€œThe dead are holy.” Sophie leaned her slender body toward Lauren and spoke almost in a whisper. “We are closing