Almost a week had passed.
Lina hadn’t gone back to the old part of the city.
Not because she was afraid.
She simply had no reason to.
She kept telling herself that the first meeting had just been a strange coincidence.
A woman.
A mirror.
A few odd phrases.
Nothing more.
But that Saturday morning her feet turned toward the old town on their own.
Lina only noticed it once she was already walking down the cobblestone street.
She stopped.
Laughed at herself.
– Curiosity, I guess.
And kept walking.
The market was already winding down.
Vendors were gathering boxes.
Stacking tables.
An old man was wrapping porcelain cups in newspaper.
A young girl was arranging vinyl records into a wooden box.
Lina walked slowly among them.
She wasn’t looking for objects.
She herself didn’t know what she was looking for.
Then she saw her.
The Bone Collector was sitting on a low folding stool.
This time there were no bones in front of her.
Old objects lay on the table.
Black-and-white photographs.
Children’s drawings.
A worn plush rabbit.
A pocket watch without hands.
A cracked mirror.
A wooden spoon.
Lina came closer.
– You again.
The woman didn’t even look up.
– And here I thought you wouldn’t come back.
– You said I didn’t need to.
– People rarely do what they need to.
More often they do what they can’t help doing.
Lina picked up one photograph.
A little boy sat on a bicycle.
Behind him stood a woman.
Both were laughing.
On the back, written in pencil:
Summer 1998.
– Who are they?
– I don’t know.
– Then why do you keep their photo?
– It’s not mine.
– Whose is it, then?
– The one who threw it away.
Lina furrowed her brow.
– You collect other people’s belongings?
– No.
The woman finally looked up.
– I collect what people can’t fully throw away.
She held out her hand.
– Let me see.
Lina handed her the photo.
The Bone Collector turned it over.
Ran a finger over the worn corner.
– See that?
– What?
– It was torn.
Then glued back together.
And only then thrown away.
Lina said nothing.
The woman set the photo back down.
– People very rarely throw away what means nothing to them.
Lina picked up another object.
A child’s drawing.
A house.
A tree.
A yellow sun.
At the top, written in crooked letters:
OUR HOME.
In one corner was a dark black smudge.
As if someone had tried to erase it.
– Did you find this in the trash?
– Yes.
– Why would anyone throw away a child’s drawing?
– Because the child grew up.
– And?
– And adults are often ashamed of what they once believed in.
Lina picked up the watch.
Its glass was shattered.
There were no hands.
Just an empty dial.
– This one doesn’t work either.
– It works.
– But it has no hands.
– And time still passes anyway.
Lina smiled without meaning to.
– Do you always answer like that?
– Like what?
– So that the answer explains nothing.
– And are you sure your questions are good ones?
For a few minutes they were both silent.
The market noise buzzed around them.
Someone was laughing.
Someone was arguing over a price.
In the distance a church bell struck noon.
Lina looked at the objects.
They were plain.
Unremarkable.
But all of them seemed to be waiting for something.
– Why do you do this?
The Bone Collector didn’t answer for a long time.
She slowly placed the photographs into a wooden box.
Set the drawing beside them.
Then the watch.
Put the lid on.
Only then did she look at Lina.
– People think they’re throwing away objects.
She shook her head.
– No.
They’re throwing away themselves first.
Lina said nothing.
– And these…
The woman touched the box with her palm.
– These objects remember.
– What?
– The person who hadn’t yet started pretending.
Lina felt a light chill run down her spine.
– You said you collect what people can’t throw away.
– Yes.
– So what are you really collecting?
The Bone Collector smiled faintly.
For the first time.
Not mysteriously.
Almost warmly.
– Not objects.
She rested her hand on the old box.
– Traces.
– Traces of what?
– Of what was real.
She picked up the box.
Slowly set it on her shoulder.
And as she was already walking away, she added:
– Remember this.
People don’t first throw away what they no longer need.
They first throw away what was real.
When Lina wanted to ask something else, the woman had already blended into the crowd.
She disappeared as simply as if she had never stood in that square at all.
Lina was left alone.
By the empty table.
A small colored pencil lay on the pavement.
Probably fallen from the box.
She picked it up.
It was warm in her palm.
Even though the morning was cool.