We reached the Hardy farm just as the moon was clearing the horizon and the Adriatic was turned into a milky white sheet of glass from the reflected light. I was glad too, because in addition to being exhausted, I was feeling depressed. Despite the fact that Felix was continuing to remember more and more as we drove, for some reason he wasn't recalling anything about me or our relationship. I could tell he found me attractive, but the thought of losing all that we’d been through together drove splinters of fear into my heart. I was glad when we pulled up in front of the house, as riding with Felix had turned from an opportunity to find further ways to unlock his memory, to a ride through my own insecurities and concerns. I needed support, and I needed to think.
Syeira was standing next to Charani as we pulled up. Charani had known since the day we extracted Felix that her son was dead, although she didn't know the details. I hadn't been able to tell her over the phone but promised her the full recollection when we got back.
Getting out of the car, I came to her, and her eyes were already brimming with tears as she looked at the now silent van that had pulled up behind me. “Francois?”
“He's in the van,” I said, pulling her into a hug. We embraced, not crying but just sharing strength for a moment, before turning to see the scene that added a measure of happiness to our sadness, as Syeira held her son in her arms again. Felix was stiff at first before his mind opened the locks inside and he embraced his mother, his memories of her starting to return. “He still has a long way to go.”
“We’ll be his strength,” Charani whispered. “Jordan, tell me, at least now before I see his body, did Francois die well?”
I nodded, kissing her on both cheeks. “Your son died with honor. He died my husband, and he died to protect me and his brother.”
“Then help me carry him inside. The burial and memorial will be tomorrow. He’s been out of the earth for too long already.”
I helped, refusing the assistance of the two other men, who were staying in the barn for the night in the makeshift barracks we'd had for the mission before returning to their families the next day. We carried Francois to his bedroom, where we laid him on the plastic covered top. The room was cool, the last vestiges of winter still clinging to the night, and while it wasn't the best environment, there was nothing better available. Considering the way he'd died, we couldn't involve the authorities, after all. Thankfully, the same rules applied with the way Felix's apparent death had been handled, and there were no rigmaroles to go through on bringing him back to life either.
We unzipped the heavy bag, Charani helping me unwrap the body. There was remarkably little discoloration or bruising on his body, and except for the crusted blood around his entrance and exit wounds, he looked calm and remarkably lifelike, as if he were just sleeping. Charani stopped and stroked her son's cold cheek. “My boy, my precious boy,” she whispered. “Where did I go wrong?”
“You didn't,” I answered, taking her shoulders. “You raised a man who atoned for his mistakes and died to save us. Come, let's make sure he looks ready for tomorrow.”
She leaned down and kissed her son’s forehead, then found the steel and strength inside herself that she'd helped her sister with just a month prior. Nodding once, we went to Francois's closet and picked out his clothes, choosing a wool suit that was in the urban French styles that he preferred. Working together, we spent the next hour cleaning and dressing him, using a cotton bandage to pack and seal his wounds. Our goal was to bury him with no inorganic fibers on is body so that he would truly return to the earth. By the end, my lower back was on fire from lifting and turning him, but we finished eventually, and I looked down on him, tears in my eyes. “Come on. If I stay, I'm going to cry, and I want to save my tears for tomorrow.”
“You go,” Charani said, finding a blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. “You've had days to say your goodbyes. I'm going to spend the night with him.”
I went over and got another blanket from the closet, wrapping it around my shoulders and sitting down next to her. “Then we'll do it together.”
The next day, the four of us carried Francois's body to the family plot, where we buried him near his grandfather, his cousins, and members of his clan stretching back generations. There were no headstones, no markers. It was only from memory and tradition that anyone knew who was buried where.
As opposed to Felix's memorial in France, Francois's burial in Albania was attended only by Charani, Syeira, Felix, myself, and a local priest, who was a member of the tribe and would log it in the official tribal registry. Despite his efforts, the rest of the tribe had deemed Francois to have died without honor, and his death wouldn’t be respected.