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My husband gave the grave I had bought beside my mother to his stepmother, while my hand was still on my mother's coffin. He had put it in her name three weeks earlier, during the last week my mother was alive. "Come away from there, Mara," he said, and held his umbrella over her instead of me. The priest, my relatives and the cemetery workers all watched. What they talked about afterwards was that I had made a scene. The workers bolted a new brass plate over the one with my name on it. I kept the second bolt in my fist. He still has not told any of them whose money bought that ground.-