Scattered Minyan
Grace Sudlow
“I’m going to sing with you one day,” the musician cried. “Even if I have to die to do so. Which I probably will.” He barked a short laugh; it echoed eerily in the dim forest.
He traced his hand along the small clumps of earth under which his mentor was buried, Jacob’s rich singing voice pervaded his mind.
“Some say twenty-three’s too young to die,” the musician mused. “I think you were ready. Anyone’s got to be ready for death out here.”
Shelling detonated in the distance.
“We’ll be moving on from here, soon, pal. They say there’s not enough of you left to transport home, although we gathered what we could. And you have no family ‘cept us. Guess I’ll be leaving you too.”
The musician stroked the edges of the small rough wooden cross the sergeant had insisted on putting at the head of the grave, splinters pushing at the skin under his finger nails.
The sergeant had no cause to believe that Jacob’s death was his fault, but he’d said the cross was his way of honouring his comrade. The musician gave a wry smile: he and Jacob were Jewish… but it was the thought that counted.
He picked up a large stone that lay nearby and placed it in front of the cross on top of the grave.
“There,” he said. “Now those who come across your resting place will know that many remember you.”
Tears pricked at his eyes. It should be him in this grave, not his friend. Not his best mate. It didn’t feel right to take another breath.
“I’m going to sing with you one day, Jacob,” the musician cried.
(A Minyan is a group of Jewish adults required for certain religious observances in Judaism.)