"No, not again!" Cyril shoved his garden tools into a box. A large table in the shed was occupied by a headless, naked body.

Basil, hearing his father's voice entered this provisional laboratory wearing a butcher's apron. His face was still glowing with pride.

"Look, dad!" he said pointing with a knife at the corpse's neck. "A clean cut."

"Yes, I know. I was there. Remember?" Cyril said calmly while rolling his eyes, also calmly.

"Sorry about that", Basil waved his hand in the general direction of the table, "but I heard he had a kidney pain".

"Ah, and you want to check what caused the pain?"

"That's right. I'm sure it will be stones blocking the tiny pipes inside. Just like with that guy from a year ago. Where is mum?"

"I don't know. Agnes plays outside with her doss. Don't let her see what you're doing. I'm going to the town, to talk to the mayor. After you're done clear yourself properly."

"About me?"

"What?"

"Are you going to talk about me? The mayor?"

"Yes. And don't make a mess."

It was a kidney stone indeed, just like Basil predicted. He also found the liver not smooth and brown but covered in light red and yellow bumps. It wasn't the first time he saw something like that. When was it? Oh yes, that man that was executed for robbery and murder, last spring maybe? He was a drunkard. Wait, this one here was a notorious drinker too. This is a thought worth noting.

Basil reached to a shelf and from among small boxes and a variety of tools took a small leather thing, his greatest treasure. It was a book of blank parchments and edged charcoal. Very carefully, trying to use as little space as possible, he made a note underneath many other notes he had made in the last couple of years. Notes about perforated intestines, about a heart that stopped minutes before his father's axe could end its owner's life and where inside Basil found a lump that shouldn't be there. Notes about abnormalities in the organs, hypothetical causes of pain, and changes to bones that once in the past were broken. Drawings of female parts with Basil's comment "It must be so stretchy!".

When he finally finished he carefully cleaned the shed and then himself. Then he put the body in a grey sack and started dragging it away on the path for the funeral. If only they could afford a cart. The resting place for criminals was not the cemetery but a tiny field not far from the crossroads on the southern outskirts.

A young, bored priest was already waiting there, sitting on a rock and sipping from a bottle. The shallow grave had already been dug by workers, now probably drinking in a tavern. Basil threw the sack, with the help of the priest (not that he needed it, the priest simply wanted to show some kindness to the young man with a horrible job, awful living conditions and - unlike his father - innocence). They covered the hole with fresh soil and made the sign of the cross. A reduced funeral, just like the man's moral life had been.

"How are you doing? I heard you did well today." the priest asked politely afterwards.

"Fine, fine" Basil answered thinking about something else.

"Is it true you are going to leave us?"

"An executioner in Gerunda Nova is old. I might take his place, yes. You know, I wanted to be a butcher" he suddenly felt he could tell the young man in cassock what was in his mind and heart.

"Yeah, I wanted to be a butcher like my friend, Tom. The master even wanted to train me for a reduced price but..."

"Yes? What happened?"

"For some reason, he changed his mind. Tom said he found himself in financial trouble."

"Oh yes, I remember. Something about a tax from twenty years ago, one judge from Agrippina Minor is a very relentless man."

"Anyway, I'm glad I stayed home until now. It's good to help your parents. My sister is still little, so it's good I am there for my family."

"You are a good man, Basil. I hope you do well. It's time for me to go and prepare for the evening prayer. Goodbye."

When they parted, Basil didn't go back home. He went to look for his mum. He knew where to find her.

The town's cemetery, unlike the unmarked field with unmarked graves he just left, was well maintained. Some graves had tombstones, some were simple mounds covered with grass or flowers, with wooden crosses. Anne was standing next to one of the simplest and smaller ones in the very back. It was his elder brother's grave. Marcus was his name. He lived for less than two years.

Anne heard his footsteps when he was still far away and waited with a smile on her lips mixed with calm sadness in her eyes.

"What's worrying you today, mum?"

"I think about my children. What will they become. What future the fate holds for them."

"I don't believe in fate."

"Hmmm maybe neither do I."

"And you think about Marcus. What would he be like if he lived, right?" Basil was a rather straightforward person.

"Actually, no. I'm thinking about him as he was. And why did you look for me? Did something happen? Everything alright at home? Agnes and your father?"

"Yes, mum. Everything is fine. I just wanted to see you. Did you hear how well I performed today?"

"Of course. I asked Cyril. You know I couldn't be there, darling?"

"I do. You hate such things. I knew you wouldn't come, don't worry."

"Son, I am very proud of you. Don't doubt it. But remember, today was not about you. It wasn't about that murderer. It wasn't even about this girl he killed. It was about the girl's family."

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"And what do you think was the funeral about?"

"About all of us. What we are as a society."

"That we treat disgusting men like rubbish? Don't get me wrong, I don't think he deserved any better and I didn't wish for him any better. Yet such funerals are miserable, you know."

Anne took a deep breath and explained:

"But there are funerals. He was buried. There was a prayer for his soul. A formality? Yes. And still followed, still performed. And sometimes I myself wonder: is it for the dead or the living?"

They stood by little Marcus' grave in silence for a few moments before Basil turned to his mother cheerfully, kissed her and headed home.

Anne wanted more time to think. How about her son's funeral? Was it for his innocent soul, his lifeless body, or for her? Or maybe for other people gathered here that day.

Now she did not suffer when thinking about the boy. She remembered what he meant to her.

Anne always had one dream since she remembered. A dream about love. Hearing somebody saying "Anne, I love you". She was obedient and let everybody treat her horribly in the hope that one day someone would start liking her. She knew parents could love their kids. She was a smart girl and she could tell the difference in people's faces, voice tones and body language. She knew her siblings were treated differently. She knew she would never hurt any of the toys she made for herself from rubbish and pieces of dirty thread, so the fact she was bitten and kicked all the time had a grave impact on her. Probably the only reason she did not grow up bitter and revengeful was his great-grandmother who, although frail and sick all the time, was kind to her. What also helped was Sundays. She would stand quietly in church listening to wonderful stories about this guy called Jesus who lived a thousand years ago on the other side of the empire. He seemed nice and Anne thought it would be good to die and meet him in Paradise and then she would hear "Anne, I love you". For some time, a few years, she hoped to die. She was disappointed when her body kept refusing to succumb to hunger, diseases or cold. Instead, she grew up. At fourteen she experienced what being in love means. There was a pretty boy who used to buy his father's dyed linen for his mother who was a dressmaker. Her sisters would giggle when he walked nearby or when he spoke to one of them. Anne overheard them talking about him with adoration, about his wavy black hair and smooth lips, his long fingers and even teeth. She did not care about any of it until one day he politely said "hi" to her. Oh, how she longed to see him all day! She was aware there was no chance such a wonderful, perfect boy would want to have anything to do with such a hideous creature like Anne. But she could dream and she dreamt of him speaking the words "Anne, I love you" until two years later he got married to a beautiful potter's daughter. That's when her heart let go.

Anne was very happy that now she knew the feeling of being in love. She didn't know it was not real love, just a crush, but what did it matter? She was content.

Years were coming and going one by one, uneventful, filled with more pain and misery. Her dreams changed from being loved to feeling love again. She put all her effort into loving her parents, but it was all a charade. They never had a kind word for her. They called her name many times but never with the phrase she wanted to hear.

And then one day her father came home, dragged her from the kitchen and led her to the main place. That was the end of her suffering and a new, so completely unpredictable era of her life began.

Anne never told Cyril she started adoring him the moment he showed her kindness and fell in love when they first shared a bed like husband and wife. She didn't want to be stripped away from this tiny hope she held so dearly deep inside her soul. His kindness was the reward for the suffering she endured during the twenty-five years of her life.

When Marcus was born she experienced what true love is. Nothing could match the feeling she had for her baby, for his little fingers, golden eyelashes, the smell of his skin. She would not be separated even for a minute from this little angel she believed God gave her.

She knew what her face looked like, she didn't even need a mirror - people's gaze were all she needed for reflection. And now, there was someone who looked at her without either pity or disgust. Marcus, as soon as he learnt how to, followed her with his little grey eyes everywhere. He would fall asleep watching her face, he would seek her attention when awake. Then came the day he smiled at her. A genuine, happy smile met the ugly and deformed face. Anne never before imagined she would ever be so happy. Her son didn't see her as disgusting, he saw her as his whole world. Anne worried one day he would discover she was different from other people but for now, that day was away.

And as for her dream of hearing the words she forgot she had longed to hear? She heard them one day. Just she was not "Anne" any more.

When her son was suffering from whooping cough Anne was as heartbroken as every loving mother in history. The only reason she did not sink into despair was eight weeks old Cyril in a cradle next to his dying brother. Anne loved both her sons equally and poured all her love into the younger one when the firstborn left this world. However, all her life she would remember that Marcus was the person who first said the words "Mum, I love you".