When the local priest finally passed away in 1962, Rozi, a believer, naturally turned out to pay her respects to the man who had shepherded the community through war, collectivization, and more. All in attendance were impressed with the stunning rose-speckled black marble headstone.
"A beautiful stone for a beautiful man" one of the old ladies commented. Only Rozi recognized it. She had remembered her father cleaning pigeon-shit from the same stone back in the days when it was carved not with the name of the priest, but instead with Hebrew letters and the name Ábrahám Lichner. It had disappeared in the weeks after the deportation. And here it was again. A kind of resurrection.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment