xxx
GRAVEDIGGERS - RELINQUISHMENT
xxx

When members of the Gravedigger clan bear children, they are obligated by custom to relinquish their firstborn daughter to Society. However, they have 3 years from the birth of this daughter to procure a son, either older or younger, whom they may choose to relinquish instead, provided he is younger than 14.

Society is obligated by law to raise this Gravedigger child as a ward of the state. Often, the state will arrange a marriage by weighted lottery. Though it is not mandatory to accept, it is generally deemed inappropriate and socially damaging to refuse. This marriage follows all laws and customs of Society. It is again customarily obligatory to send the firstborn - regardless of gender - from this marriage back to the clan.

Gravedigger daughters proffer no handsome dowries, Gravedigger sons receive none, and it is considered a misfortune upon an unlucky Society family to be selected to wed one.

—

***
THREE YEARS AGO
***

“Grandpa, I got accepted!” A young man, barely seventeen, bounds in through the rickety doors of a disheveled kitchen. Red hair wild, shirt muddied, he waves a crumpled letter and a wide, toothy grin at the old man who sits at the kitchen table.

“Graham, that’s fantastic! Shall we tell the family and celebrate?” Grandpa smiles, and his few, yellowed teeth peek from his wrinkled lips. He sets his chipped mug onto the love-worn wood, pushing himself slowly away from the table.

“I’ll grab the flowers. You bring the fruit. Let’s go now!” Graham says. Grandpa wraps his tattered bathrobe tighter around himself and beams at his last remaining pride and joy.

***

“Mom, I got accepted to train at a real gym, with a real coach. I brought you daisies from the garden. I hope you can be proud of who I’m gonna be. I’ll be the strongest man alive. I love you.”

The late afternoon light streams onto Graham’s cheeks, freckles and dirt highlighted against his fair skin. He places the flowers on the mantle, in front of the ceramic urn. Her faded photo is obscured by the glare, but he knows her smiling face lies underneath. He would know her gentle grin with his eyes closed, anywhere.

Grandpa kneels in front of the mantle slowly, effortfully, creakily. He places a small tangerine in the cold hearth filled with tepid ash. The weather is yet still too warm to need a fire at night. He says, “My dearest daughter, I know how you are so proud of your son. I am honored to be this outstanding young man’s grandpa, as I was honored to be your dad. He’s the light of my life, you should know.”

Graham laughs and says, “Grandpa, you tell her that every time! But thank you, anyway.”

Grandpa says, “Dearest Marina, we’ll visit your mother next to tell her the news. I pray you both cheer him on as you look down upon us. Go change, Graham.”

Graham slides his feet into his muddiest tennis shoes - they are going somewhere that would ruin his good ones.

Grandpa painstakingly leans over to don his nicest dress shoes - they are going somewhere that would be shameful to visit wearing anything but his Sunday best.

Graham ushers Grandpa to lean back in his chair, and kneels to tie his shoes for him. They step out of the rickety kitchen door and march through the back garden, sloshing through the summer mud to the graveyard.

xxx
GRAVEDIGGERS - DESIGNATION
xxx

A Gravedigger ward who marries may opt to remain part of Society with their spouse and bear more children after relinquishing their first, should they be able and desire so. Any subsequent children may remain part of Society and are granted automatic Society-citizen designation. Marriage earns a Gravedigger ward the status of former ward and designation of “Society-Gravedigger.” The Society designation takes precedence over Gravedigger designation for most legal matters.

Should no marriage occur, a Gravedigger ward who reaches adulthood must return to the clan or apply for Society-citizenship. This is extremely rare, and application for a Society-type designation has never been successfully approved for an unmarried former ward.

Society members are welcome to seek apprenticeship at any time, and take on the Gravedigger name and designation. Few do.

At 18, the age of legal adulthood, Gravediggers of the clan may apply to immigrate into Society, provided they retain the designation of Gravedigger-citizen and have a Society-citizen-sponsor. Few do.

—

***
THREE YEARS AGO
***

Every Sunday morning, I brush dirt from the stones. At dusk, I sweep the walkways and rake the leaves. At night, I ring a bell to guide the lost and comfort the lonely. If it will rain or snow, I collect flowers and offerings before it falls, though rarely ever are there any. Uncle says that in the old times, there were enough flowers and offerings that they had to be collected daily.

I am to wear gloves, so that I do not touch unclean things, but I never do. I have never found any of my duties to be unclean. When I am fifteen, I will start my apprenticeships, and assume duties that exceed “unclean” and traipse proudly into territory that Society deems “unholy.” I have always found those duties to be of the holiest. I believe Gravediggers touch divinity.

***

I am ridding the sidewalks of debris when I hear them shuffling through the forest. They are an elderly man dressed in pressed church-clothes, muddy at the hems and shoes, and a boy, two years my senior, dressed in ragged shorts and t-shirt. His curly red hair is unkempt, stiff tufts poking at odd angles toward the sky. His crooked white teeth smile bright against the dying light. To my knowledge, I have never seen him in the daylight before now. I know his name, Graham Torres. He knows mine, too, though I think the old man isn’t aware of this. I know the old man’s name, too, Armando Torres, but he may be aware of that one.

I hide behind my favorite oak tree, ancient and comforting. It is the largest, oldest tree in God’s Blind, situated just outside the grounds, and I use it often to hide, rest, or eavesdrop. It’s best for hiding, decent for resting, and horrible for eavesdropping. Whenever I come by, the tree always remembers to thank me, and I it. We provide each other life, and it is always in one’s best interest to thank the hand that feeds you; Uncle taught me this.

The man and the boy chatter to each other and laugh and smile, and as golden hour breaks and evening creeps over the horizon, the wild-haired young man kneels in his dirty clothes before a headstone. He does my job without hesitation, tenderly brushing leaves and dirt off the top with bare fingers. He leaves one green leaf and the small inchworm who is there to munch on it. My heart flutters.

The old man places a withered hand upon the stone. They speak to the dead for a while, words I cannot hear from my favorite hiding-resting-eavesdropping tree. It’s just as well - this conversation feels private.

The boy peels a small orange and sets it on the ground in front of the grave, but not before stealing a slice for himself and the old man.

I also know the name of the grave they sit at: Maricella Torres, nee Gravedigger-Buono. She was the mother of Uncle Daniel of the neighbor family Buono, and the late ward-wife of the old man. I know every grave in this cemetery, as is my duty as a Gravedigger.

However, I am young, and in my lifetime, Society no longer prefers entrusting their loved ones to rest in the careful hands of my people. They do not fill our empty plots with bodies anymore. There is new death, but there are no new graves. We, the Gravediggers, do our thankless work, and when we are done, we burn them and send them away, our efforts met with touchless exchanges of ashes and upturned noses. Society needs our services, but Society abhors our existence.

I know, though, that there are a bright few who do not abhor us. Old Man Torres rises, smiling at his grandson and the headstone, and together the two leave the peaceful little cemetery of Raildusk Grave.