It was a cold and misty evening. A thin drizzle was falling. Real autumn. Renis and I were
creeping slowly along the muddy and slushy road leading to the city, hoping to find some empty bottles in the roadside
ditches. The thin, irksome rain soaked right through our ragged clothing. The dampness was telling on our bones,
our heads ached with hangover. There had been no clients, not a single one. People seemed to have absolutely no
wish to die in such weather. Damned rain, damned autumn. Anyway, in winter it is even worse. It is impossible to
dig in the hard soil with a spade and we had no strength left to use a crowbar. Besides, we had to find some shelter
for the night.
When Renis punched my side with his elbow I growled angrily, but all of a sudden I noticed a black BMW sweeping
towards us. We jumped aside, to avoid being splashed over with mud. The car stopped directly beside me and the
thick, dark window went silently down showing a broad-shouldered, brazen-faced guy, for some reason he was wearing
the sunglasses. A cigarette was smouldering between his fingers. "WINSTON" I thought enviously. I was
seldom lucky enough to find such stumps.
"Hi, would you like to earn some money?"
"Sure. Tell me who wouldn't," - I murmured hurriedly. At last the end of the day seemed to be quite promising.
The BMW and WINSTON might mean a good earning.
"You'll have to dig a grave. I'll show you the place and the depth. It's urgent."
Both of us nodded. No problem, we'll manage it by the nightfall. Besides, the rain has ceased. The moon was already
shining in the sky. The night seems to be moonlit.
When we returned to the cemetery the guy was already waiting for us, leaning against a massive granite tombstone.
Some slow, mournful music could be heard from the car parked nearby.
"Dig beside this tombstone. The length and width should be standard, but the grave must be much deeper than
usually. Dig until I tell you that it's enough."
We started to work in silence. The spades went easily into the damp soft soil. However, as soon as we had dug some
half a metre we found a layer of water-bearing aluminia making us toil hard enough. We panted and groaned, digging
up wet lumps of clay. The guy in the long raincoat was chain smoking. I decided to pick up his stumps afterwards.
It started to rain again. Dark clouds covered the sky, it was getting dark rapidly. We couldn't see him any longer,
only the cigarette butt was glimmering in the darkness. Swearing silently we waded in the clay-and-water swamp,
digging that unusual grave deeper and deeper.
"Well, that'll do," echoed a husky voice from above, from the starless darkness. The clouds covered the
full moon, you couldn't see it any more.
For the first time during all this digging I felt myself stupid. What about getting out of there? The guy never
mentioned any ladder. And, of course, there could not be any ladder in the car. So how shall we...
"Your salary", echoed a calm ironical voice. Something flopped into the mud right at my feet, hitting
my toes. I picked it up and cleaned off the mud. A bottle of vodka. And that's all?
"Hey! Why don't you throw us something for a snack?" I asked for a joke.
Silence.
"Listen, just a bottle is not a proper payment for such a job," I tried to protest, feeling a cold wave
of fear rising inside me. Renis got anxious too. He was suffering with a chronic cold, and it was getting too damp
and chilly at the bottom of the grave.
"Hey! Just help us out quickly!" shouted Renis. He had already lost hope of getting any additional reward,
so he did not care to speak politely.
Silence. He must have gone. Maybe long ago. But I never heard the car engine start. The water in the grave was
nearly reaching our knees. And our feet were already getting stone cold. Cursing aloud I opened the bottle of vodka.
Having gulped down several mouthfuls I felt warmer. And, of course, much more courageous. Then, I got some ideas
of how to escape from that damned grave. The guy must have left us to the doom's will... Nothing doing. But tomorrow,
during the funeral we'll create such a scandal... We can freeze to death here. Nights are cold in the autumn. But...
He never mentioned any funeral. Not a word about its time... A complete crackpot.
We dug several hollows in the walls of the grave. Then we drained the rest of the vodka. I threw the empty bottle
in the corner. Grabbing at the hollows I carefully started climbing. Coming near the top I grabbed at the ridge
of the pit (it seemed strangely soft and flabby). Straining every muscle I pulled myself up... and suddenly got
an awful blow to my fingers. Shouting at the top of my voice I fell down and flopped happily into the heaving mud.
Half an hour passed until we had exhausted our whole stock of curses. Silence above. No more vodka, no more ideas
what to do next. It was getting badly cold. Renis made an attempt to climb up, but he slid down again. His shivering
hands failed to get a grip in the slippery clay. I rubbed my aching fingers and made one more attempt to climb
up. I soon got near the top. With both my hands I grabbed at the edge of the pit (somewhat soft and fat...) And
then I got a terrible blow on my fingers again... Falling, I just had time enough to scream with anger and pain.
Now we felt quite terrified. We started shouting and begging. Threatening and trying to persuade... Silence. Dogs
were howling somewhere, predicting somebody's death...
Renis was broken down completely. He moved to the corner of the grave and huddled in the mud moaning, babbling
incoherently.
A thin layer of ice on the surface of the water and slush was getting harder and I made up my mind to try my luck
once again. This time my cold damaged fingers clasped especially firmly on the ridge of the grave (yet oddly warm
and flabby). There came a blow on my fingers. The first one was followed by some more. I clenched my teeth and
kept silent. And tried to pull myself up and get out. And then... All of a sudden I felt a strong slap in my face.
And one more. After the third one I lost my balance and grabbing in air with the both of my hands I cried in wild
despair, falling down again.
But what is this? The bottom of the pit was unbelievably soft and warm. An unexpectedly bright light of a night-lamp
suddenly flashed into my eyes. The angry voice of my wife (my Lord, where did she come from?) roared in my ear:
"You, old libertine! Will you stop grabbing me in the middle of the night? You've clenched your fingers on
my breasts so firmly that I can't get you off! You'll see, tomorrow they be covered in bruises! No, I can't stand
this, we'll have to sleep in separate beds."