500: An Anthology of Short Stories

The hole is precise. It’s six feet wide by six feet deep, one which Sheldon could dig in his sleep. He’s happy with the clean edges, the neatly flattened bottom and the heaps of clod piled to the sides.

“Let’s see if Walter can fault anything this time,” he thinks to himself, remembering all the other times his supervisor had criticised his graves. Right then, the man running through Sheldon’s mind approaches.

“You’ve finished, I see,” he states the obvious.

“Yeah, an’ ah made it ma aim to keep everythin’ sharp and edgy, as you ’structed.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Shelly,” Walter says, using his nickname for Sheldon who loathes it with unbridled passion.

“Why do he need to go callin’ me Shelly Shellfish?” he had asked Flo the first time it had happened.

“Sheldon, you let it go, you hear? You need this job and we need the money, little as it is,” his wife had replied.

Sheldon thinks about how he would like to call his wife an unflattering nickname, something like Fatass Flo, but he never dares do so.

Walter is walking around the hole now, peering at it from every angle.

“You stay calm, Sheldon,” he reminds himself. “Your shift is near over, then you gets to go home and paint.”

He smiles suddenly, a wave of pride overwhelming his entire being. His latest piece of art is definitely his best yet, he thinks with unabashed delight.

“Do you know, Shelly, I think you might just have finally given me the most perfect hole you have ever dug,” Walter now says, surprising Sheldon somewhat even though he knows the hole is better than perfect. He says nothing, however, fearing to jinx the moment with any comment Wicked Walter could choose to misinterpret as insubordination. Sheldon stands absolutely still, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the grave.

“Let me share a secret with you, Shelly. The difference between a good grave digger like you and a master digger like me … is knowing your sand. Knowing when to pause in your digging so that the earth can settle before you continue. Then you can dig a hole that looks as if it has sprouted naturally from the very ground itself.”

Sheldon dares to comment. “So, you’re satisfied with tha hole then?”

“I am, Shelly. Indeed, I am. Today, we shall finally toast your success, but there’s just one more thing,” Walter says as he bends over to peer into the grave.

Sheldon isn’t surprised, for he has been waiting for the one thing Walter says without fail every time Sheldon has dug a hole.

“Is it exactly six feet deep?”

In Sheldon’s mind’s eye floats the nearly finished painting: a man standing upright in an open grave, measuring the depth of the hole.

“I dunno. Why don’t you get in and find out?” Sheldon says, pushing Walter over the edge.

As Walter screams in fright, Sheldon laughs heartily and walks away from the occupied grave.