We unearthed the professor in April, just after the snow melted. His unmarked grave, supposedly dating back to the 16th Century, posed a mystery that tempted local historians and genealogists. One man even went insane trying to figure out who lay under the dirt in that dark corner of the cemetery. He was institutionalized with his homemade metal detector firmly in his grip. After years of technology developments, we X-rayed the site. Still, we had no answers, save that we knew a body indeed lay in that spot. We finally assembled a team and got approval to disinter the unknown inhabitant.
I stood aside from the rest of the group and daintily held my mask over my mouth. Not only was I avoiding the bacteria and diseases surely present in such an old grave, I was also concealing my reactions. No one needed to see a grown man weep over the unfolding of such an elusive mystery. I had spent my entire life's work searching for this dead man's identity, and now I would finally know.
There was no coffin protecting the corpse, so the excavators turned off their machines before they got too deep. Out came the shovels and picks, and a few men--who promised to be gentle--climbed down into the grave to clean away the mud.
After an hour or so, one of the men shrieked. Then all three of them scrambled out of the grave. They didn't stop scrambling until they were a hundred feet away. One man was crossing himself with broad slashes of his hand.
I stepped forward to see what had scared them, perhaps a snake or a rodent, but there was no need. A head popped up over the edge of the grave. Scraggly white hairs floated from his head as if underwater. His flesh was dried and shriveled, a color between yellow and green. He peered around the scene with eye sockets that still seemed to flick back and forth though empty of eyeballs.
With a voice as deep and rough as a dry mountain cave, he asked for assistance. No one moved. He asked again, ever so politely. I hesitantly extended him a hand, which he took with a slimy, bony hand of his own. I was surprised by his strength, considering the decomposition of his muscles.
When he rose from the grave and planted his feet beside me, totally naked, he introduced himself as the professor. I didn't think to ask what he studied. More pressing questions were on my mind, but I didn't even ask them. The mask fell from my face.
He asked for my coat, which I shakily handed to him. Then, without another word, he strode off, out of the cemetery, past the stop sign. He walked until we could no longer see him. The entire team stood, almost paralyzed, at the graveside.
Finally, one of my colleagues spoke.
"Richard, I think you just gave your coat to a dead man."
No comments:
Post a Comment