Fingers brush lightly over the smooth marble, words freshly carved, dated not even a week.  There’s a sound behind her, and she turns, looks into a tired, weathered face.

“Come on,” he whispers, smiling faintly.  “I could use the company.  It’s cold out here.”

“You got soup?” she asks the other European.  “I like soup.”

“I know you do.”  He reaches out, grabs the youthful woman’s hand.  She allows him to lead her away.  He’s just over sixty, but he looks younger than that.  Has taken care of himself.  “I have soup, somewhere.”

“Kiddo...”  She stops, and when he looks at her, smiles sadly.  “Where’s your lover?”

Tawny eyes blink at her in bemusement.  “Ah... I’ve lost him.”

And with that, they walk away, leaving behind the headstone, and the memories.  She pretends to be dead.  He thinks about life.

And the marble speaks for both.

Christoph
Best friend, lover, brother