To Garden: To Grave | Alexei Perry Cox
December 13, 2022
image: Drea Scotland
To Garden: To Grave is a novella that wonders what it would be like to garden where the bodies are buried. Set in a time of unending, following the Algerian War, Ilham performs this project of digging with an indefatigable spirit and gives us a reason to spend time in the dirt. The following is an excerpt.
MARCH 21, 20—
I brought home one of the persons who decided even after
flirting with me and understanding that they didn’t
understand me to give it a chance.
I showed Ilham around the garden. It’s nice that there is a
full moon. You can see almost as well as in daylight. Ilham
was surprised to discover the jasmine and gardenia. Ilham
saw the pits as well. I told Ilham I was looking for the dead. I
don’t want to keep anything from Ilham. Ilham looked at me
without understanding. I must not have explained it very
well, since Ilham still did not understand after my
explanations.
I don’t want Ilham to think I have changed just because we
are different. Or just because we are more different than we
first realized. Won’t that always be the case? Won’t I always
learn how different you are from me, I ask Ilham. Isn’t that
the point of finding out?
Ilham didn’t think there was anything wrong with that.
That’s good. That was nice of Ilham. I told Ilham that I have
a project and it will last my lifetime and that I will stay in it.
Ilham seemed relieved. I wondered if Ilham seemed relieved
because it seemed to mean I wasn’t going anywhere.
I have read that people who want to love you – and then
those who do love you – want you to stay put.
I’m not going anywhere, I said, so that I could kiss Ilham.
MARCH 21, 20—
Ilham and I spent the night by the edge of the third pit. It is
the nicest pit because it has a view of the mountains and the
valley and every part of the world beyond. It is also the nicest
because it is the deepest yet. The flowers around it made a
kind of white carpet that I noticed more when I wasn’t
wearing any clothes. Ilham said I was a beautiful garden.
Ilham said I was a beautiful cemetery. Ilham and I have the
same tastes. Even if Ilham doesn’t understand about the
dead, what does that matter? Ilham tastes good. We were
both bitten by insects.
At night the third pit appears even deeper than it is. You
can’t see the rock bottom so you feel you can keep looking.
That the looking could be endless.
Ilham and I slept on the edge of where the dead might be
covered up and, smelling of flowers and blood from the
mosquito bites, I was happy for once. The daylight woke us
up.
MARCH 21, 20—
When my father the author woke up, I introduced Ilham
to him. I told him Ilham was his assistant. Ilham is perfectly
able to assist the author to his death. The author looked at
Ilham without speaking. He could have said something to
welcome Ilham. But Ilham is an other individual the author
cannot understand.
I understood all of a sudden why the author was not saying
anything at all. The paralysis had spread to the lower half of
his face. The author can no longer speak. This spreading
paralysis would be a real torment for the author except that it
has eased his pain. The author isn’t suffering – if he ever
really suffered. I understood from his expression that he was
tired of lying down, and that he wanted me to put him in his
wheelchair. That would not be wise in his condition. He
might fall out.
MARCH 21, 20—
Today is another day that I am taking as a day off from
looking for the dead.
Ilham straps the author to his wheelchair to go into the
garden. The author closed his eyes. He didn’t even open
them when he was in front of the pits. It is as if he no longer
wanted to see.
Ilham wants to show him but Ilham is more forceful than I
am. Ilham will get the job done better than I can. Ilham will
put the author back to bed for another day.
MARCH 21, 20—
Ilham and I have love for each other. I showed Ilham
around my home and the town and the country as I know it.
As I have experienced it. I show Ilham the valley as well as
the mountain and tell Ilham about the traffic. When I take
Ilham to the Foundation for the Disenfranchised where
Amina is alive and dead inside, Ilham agrees that it is an
undiscovered beauty spot. Amina died without making it
famous. But that she wanted to, even without succeeding,
makes it beautiful. Ilham agrees with me on this. The setting
has a certain grandeur that looks possible in a certain light.
I could see that Ilham was interested in what I was saying.
Borders attract Ilham. I have never been over the border of
my country but Ilham is a border crosser.
The author had always told me that a passport for someone
like me would be useless but I am learning otherwise.
Amina had never been over the border either even though
she spent so much time with customs officers. No one ever
allowed her abroad.
Ilham wanted to spend the afternoon there at the far end,
the farthest end, the border. I did it to make Ilham happy.
The mountains changed colours with the sun. Ilham said it
was a lovely spectacle. Ilham said it was also lovely from the
other side that I should see some time. I said I would spend
time any where there was shed such different kinds of light.
And then also I said I would spend time anywhere where
Ilham was spending time with me. I would have stayed if I
had been alone but Ilham kept showing me different places
past the ones I had become familiar with. Ilham look toward
the pass. Ilham asked if I was interested in passing. There is a
sort of notch in the mountain where a possibility goes
through, Ilham told me. You can see it clearly. I had never
looked before.
MARCH 21, 20—
I start looking for the dead again. This is my last chance to
find them before the author is gone. If I don’t find them in
the next pit, then perhaps they are not here and I was wrong.
Ilham put the author in front of the place where the fourth
pit will be, and I carefully laid out the perimeter like I
learned to do digging the other pits. The fourth pit has
exactly the same dimensions as the second. The symmetry of
the pits has to be maintained – if I am aligning myself with
myself. Which, as I’ve admitted, might be my greatest
weakness.
Ilham does not strap the author in his wheelchair. He is in
danger of falling out. He keeps his eyes closed. He doesn’t
even watch me dig. Maybe that shows that he is no longer
interested in the dead, or else he has lost hope for this final
chance at his own legacy. But he has to stay by the pit until I
am done digging. That has always been my wish. And I want
to respect my wishes until his dying day. I can’t be
sure his mind is still working. The paralysis might have
started spreading to his head already. The author is there by
the edge of the pit, even if he closes his eyes to my
discoveries. It is easy for me to dig now. I have been digging
for four weeks of Eternity, so I am in shape. I don’t have any
trouble lifting the shovel any more. I have the strength to dig
a new grave with it, that is for certain.
Ilham digs with a pick. Ilham loves helping me dig, even if
Ilham doesn’t understand why I am digging. I don’t want
Ilham to wear out Ilham’s heart. I don’t think I will find the
dead in the direction of the sunset. That is not a good
direction for the dead to face.
So I quit digging. I leave the author by the pit edge. And take
Ilham to where Ilham showed me to go, past the place the
sun sets.
Alexei Perry Cox is a writer, teacher, and organizer. She is the author of Night 3 | اليوم الرابع (Centre for Expanded Poetics, 2021), Re:Evolution (Gap Riot Press, 2020), Finding Places to Make Places (Vallum, 2019), as well as the full-length collection Under Her (Insomniac Press, 2015). To Garden: To Grave is forthcoming with Ditto Ditto, and PLACE was recently published by Noemi Press. Her poetry and criticism have appeared in a wide variety of publications, including The Adroit Journal, Painted Bride Quarterly, Jouranl Safar (جورنال سفر), Arc Poetry Magazine, Moko Magazine, carte-blanche and The Georgia Review.
