The final reason that I have to return to this village is to pay my respects at the cemetery. I still know a few people there, but it would feel very awkward for me to suddenly just show up on their doorstep unannounced, even though I know that all of them are good-hearted enough to appreciate the idea that I still think about them and their lives (which I do). The younger ones are the children of the family friend who died unexpectedly just a year ago. She was the village powerhouse, visiting all of the old people and was even the representative for the Red Cross in the area and spent one or two days a week visiting the residents of nursing homes in the nearby towns. I sent her money twice a year because she also took care of the tombs at the cemetery and put flowers on them twice a year -- Easter and All Saint's Day. But she suddenly died of a heart attack at about age 85, so that's that. Her husband, whom my mother went to school with, is a good old guy but conversations with him tend to revolve around plumbing and masonry, so no thanks, I don't really want to hear about it. I have known all of the children since they were young and they have always seemed to really like me because I would bring the touch of exoticism to their lives. A Parisian visiting the village! And sort of an American, too. Amazing! But they have families and children, so I know that they are doing quite will without a visit.
The only person about whom I feel guilty is Zouah, the widow of my grandfather's best friend. She is a delightful person and I am in complete admiration of the fact that she has stuck it out in the village all of these years, an isolated Algerian mail order bride. I want to see her, but when I think of her small apartment which smells like mothballs and the never empty coffee pot, I can't bear the thought of being trapped there for half an hour, particularly since there is a multitude of small objects that my grandmother gave her when she left the village in 1981 -- needlework cushions, little ceramic statues, decorative dishes... They are all displayed as important artifacts in the room where she sits all day watching television.
So once again, I just stopped off for a few minutes at the cemetery. I still really like the fact that it is a monument to what a melting pot the region is, with graves of every origin mixed in complete harmony.
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One thing that I find amusing is that all of the local gypsies have chosen this cemetery for their tombs. They absolutely love putting all sorts of mementos on the tombs.
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Muslim tradition is for deceased Muslims to be buried in a Muslim country or at least in a Muslim cemetery. Not so here -- everybody is from Lorraine and that's where they want to be. This is the tomb of Zouah's husband.
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The gypsies like to have big tombs, as impressive as possible if they have the money to pay for it.
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These two tombs had arrived just since my last visit about a year ago.
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Flore is one of the biggest local gypsy families, along with Boglioni. I think they might be having a contest, even though both names are together on a lot of the gypsy tombs.
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But quite a few of the graves are a source of pride to the families, no matter the origin.
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I am impressed by the special engraved imagery on a lot of the tombs. I know that computers do this now, but the images really do convey part of the story of these people.
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In the new part of the cemetery, they keep adding places for the cremated.
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This was actually the very first cremation monument and it stayed mostly empty for years.
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Now they have had to add more and more of these other ones.
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I like this design with little shelves for adding personal tributes.
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The new section of the cemetery should have enough room for at least the next 40 or 50 years if there is no epidemic or huge terrorist attack in the area.
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I went back through the old section where my family is before leaving. I am rather amazed at how many flowers can still be found on the tombs in December. People are not forgotten.
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Time to go. I don't know when I'll be back.
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