The coffin was lowered into the grave, specks of dirt fell from the ground on top of its polished lid. There was no weeping there was no tears, no sobs of wretched pain from the widow. Everything was quiet and calm. The son of the deceased no older than fifteen took the shovel and began filling the hole. They all knew that his time would come eventually they had planned for months and they were all grieved out. The only emotion they could come to bear was comfort, the warm comfort of never having to call the nurse, or empty the bedpan, or inject medicine into a vein withered arm, to stare into cold deaden eyes that were waiting for their time to come and were growing impatient. They left the cemetery and returned to the house where they took out one chair from the dining room table and put it in the corner.