Herta
Müller
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Land of Green Plums (part)
Old people came, one by one, to visit a grave that would soon be theirs too. They brought no flowers, the graves were covered with them anyway. They didn’t weep, they stared into space. Sometimes one would search for a handkerchief, bend down and wipe the dust off his shoes, retie the laces, and tuck the handkerchief away again. They didn’t weep because they didn’t want to make work for their cheeks. Because each of their faces was already on a tombstone, cheek to cheek with the deceased in a round photograph. |