"Obsequy"
He wanted to be buried, he said. There was something in bones, in stones laid above the head and feet, that was permanent and reassuring. There was always the possibility of his failure. And books were lost, generals eclipsed; but if his flesh remained, if his bones remained, if his dust remained, perhaps, somehow, so would he.
So Riza told him that she wanted to be cremated. There was something noble, she said, in the flight of ashes, in the age-old ascent of embers to the sky. And she had no need for permanence, for there was this moment, there was the momentary joy; there was the sight of him, the sound of him, the breath of him, that made death and everything it entailed insignificant. She had no need of the afterlife, for with him, she had life.
He complained of his lack of courage. He shook his head, his brow furrowed, and said that he was simply too terrified of being forgotten. He was afraid that without something solid, to intrude upon the daily routine, she would forget him. So she informed him with all frankness that he was an idiot.
He admitted besides that he simply didn't want to be burned; there was too much poetry in it, too much justice. She kissed his forehead and held him for a long while.