Thirst by Marina Yuszczuk

Author:Marina Yuszczuk [Yuszczuk, Marina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2024-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

Part Two

“What do I do now?”

“Same as before. Keep getting up in the morning,

going to bed at night, doing what has to be done in order to live.”

“It will be a long time.”

“Perhaps a whole lifetime.”

—Ágota Kristof, The Proof (translated by David Watson)

November 6

I spoke briefly with someone at the entrance, reminding him that I’d called earlier and had clearance from the administration. He stepped grudgingly into an office to confirm; two minutes later, we were walking along the alleys in search of our location.

It was just one photo, for the cover of a trashy book of urban legends that my bosses thought would sell, but it needed to be eye-catching. The more sinister, the better.

Julia waved me over to an art nouveau mausoleum. It was beautiful, maybe too beautiful. We needed something more threatening. Like the tomb of Facundo Quiroga, but more macabre, I explained. And not well-known. It shouldn’t call anything specific to mind.

With the camera hanging from her neck and a heavy bag slung over her shoulder, Julia continued the search, testing the light by taking photos—mostly of the tombs, but also a few of me. The second or third time she noticed my annoyance, she paused, rested a hand on my shoulder, and asked if I was all right.

“Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry,” I replied, wanting it to be true.

I glanced at my phone: three o’clock. I had two hours before I needed to pick Santiago up from school. Julia told me not to worry, we had plenty of time. In fact, she’d just found what she thought was the perfect mausoleum, and she explained her reasons in detail. I agreed with her, mostly because I didn’t want to keep looking, and asked if she needed help with the equipment. She said no, she didn’t need the filter for now, she could do it with just a camera and flash. So I retreated and sat on a stone bench to watch her; I still felt weak and couldn’t be on my feet for very long. I always loved to watch her work, but that day I sensed a distance between us. She was my best friend; she knew there was nothing I hated more than pity, but she hadn’t even bothered to ask me what I’d been thinking as we’d walked around the cemetery together. Or maybe she had, and I’d just blocked it out. As usual.

There was nothing left for me to do, so while Julia worked, I relaxed on the bench and took a few deep breaths. That was when I realized the cemetery was completely silent. It was wonderful. We’d come in from the noise of a Wednesday afternoon in the city and had suddenly found this peace. Nothing made a sound, nothing moved, and the stillness . . . It was such a treat. I felt something in me soften, despite my earlier worries that I might find the place depressing. But sitting there under that perfect blue sky, even if I

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